Lately, Clifton hadn’t been seen around the neighborhood with his little granddaughter.
Celestine remembered that Cynthia’s parents were living abroad, so the girl must have been spending her days shadowing Gideon.
Stuffing her cheeks full, Cynthia mumbled, “That’s right! Uncle Gid–yun has been taking me to his office every day, making me clock in like an employee. It’s so boring! But today I saw a woman crying and begging Uncle Gid–yun not to transfer her to the sales floor. He didn’t even look at her–just said if she had a problem, she could go see a psychiatrist. I almost died laughing!”
Celestine couldn’t help but wince inwardly.
Mr. Shield’s boundaries were legendary; apparently, his tongue was even sharper at work.
She felt a surge of relief that she’d never overstepped her place.
“Oh, and guess what!” Cynthia, having swallowed another mouthful of rice, beamed with excitement. “My school registration finally went through. I’ll be staying here with Grandpa for good, and now I get to see Miss Angel every day!”
Celestine watched Cynthia’s exaggerated winks and silly faces–it was obvious what the little girl was angling for.
“All right, then. If there’s ever anything you want to eat, just let me know and we’ll cook it together.”
Da
“Oh my gosh, Miss Angel, you’re the best! You’re so nice and pretty! Great–gra barely knows how to water his plants, let alone cook. Honestly, he’s more clueless in the kitchen than a jammed garbage disposal!”
For someone so young, Cynthia had a way with words.
The effect was both jarring and strangely endearing.
Celestine raised an eyebrow–she’d never actually tasted Clifton’s cooking. “Is that so?”
Cynthia nodded furiously. “Totally! Miss Selwyn, have you ever heard of dumplings stuffed with strawberries? Or tofu boiled in lemon–lime soda? Or frying chili peppers with sugar?”
Celestine choked on her tea, coughing hard.
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That was… truly horrifying.
Meanwhile, across town at the Prescott family’s dining table-
There they were: strawberry–stuffed dumplings, tofu simmered in lemon–lime soda, chili peppers glazed in sugar, and a stir–fry of pork and dragon fruit.
Three dishes and a soup, all laid out with pride.
Gideon sat in silence.
There was, he reflected, an excellent reason he rarely ate at home.
He averted his gaze, picked up his phone again.
Clifton banged a fork against Gideon’s plate. “No phones at the table! Eat while it’s hot!”
Gideon arched an eyebrow. “Grandpa, you’re a doctor. Are you sure this combination of dishes is actually safe for human consumption?”
Clifton plunked a bowl and utensils down in front of him with a flourish. “Didn’t you just say I’m a doctor? Would I poison my own grandson? This is a fine meal! Balanced and nutritious! You hardly ever make it home–so I went the extra mile tonight. And you’re not allowed to waste a bite!”
With no way out, Gideon forced himself to pick up his fork.
He regretted, just for a moment, not having swallowed his pride and knocked on the neighbor’s door across the hall.
Cynthia, you’d better remember to bring back that chicken soup.
“Achoo!”
Cynthia was in Celestine’s kitchen, helping to pour out the last dregs of the chicken
soup.
She suddenly sneezed–a loud, surprised burst.
“Are you feeling chilly?” Celestine asked, touching Cynthia’s forehead. “Leave the dishes, I’ll handle them in a bit.”
“No, no, just an itchy nose!” Cynthia rubbed at it, stubbornly shooing Celestine away. “No way, Miss Angel. You cooked, so I have to wash up. It’s not fair for just moms to do all the work. I’m a big kid now!”
Chapter 89
Celestine froze for a second.
She remembered how, when she’d been at home with her own twins, neither of them had ever offered to help–ever. Even getting them to pick up their toys required a meltdown, and then they’d do it grudgingly, complaining that she had nothing better to do anyway.
Celestine gently ruffled Cynthia’s hair. “You’re such a sweetheart.”
Cynthia leaned into the gesture, her cheeks flushed with happiness.
After they finished tidying up, Cynthia stayed and watched cartoons in Celestine’s apartment for a while.
At seven–thirty, the doorbell rang unexpectedly.
Celestine opened the door.
Gideon stood there, looking pale and drawn, lips pressed into a tight line.
They stared at each other.
He fixed her with a long, meaningful look and, without preamble, said, “Where’s my chicken soup?”
Chapter 90
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