Her hand tightened around mine as she reached for her apple and took a deep bite of it. There was a jauntiness to her movements, a kind of bounce that made me realize she was happy too.
And that was the cherry on top of the sundae.
THEA
“I don’t get it.”
Laughing despite myself, I muttered, “Where did you find this stuff?”
“Google, of course.”
It was the following day, and we were eating a banana and an apple again. I knew the staff wouldn’t mind, so I brought out a Tupperware with some crackers, veggies, and peanut butter, and had placed it between us on the table.
As I munched on some celery, I peered at his phone screen.
“Some of it’s true, some of it isn’t,” I told him after a quick glance, loving the way his arm brushed mine, and how I could feel his breath on my cheek when I turned to him. “But, to be fair, I’ve forgotten some of the ways. Well, pretty much most of them.”
He’d been researching my culture, which meant he’d done more reading on it than I had in years.
It kind of made me feel guilty, but looking at the customs of my people made me feel cloistered and claustrophobic. Relieved, almost, to no longer have to be a part of all that. To have to lead my life that way.
Then, I felt guiltier. There was no freedom in death for the living, but I was only leading my life this way because I’d been orphaned.
“I genuinely remember that one,” I muttered, tapping one paragraph and expanding it. “Nanny never went to the second story of the house. She’d always send me. Momma and Papa lived in a caravan. Papa moved us around, but we’d always end up back with Nanny every couple of months when a job ended, and the upstairs was never used unless I was staying there.”
“How come?” He pulled a face. “I may have watched Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, so I know the brides don’t tend to stay close to their family and have to merge into their husband’s.”
My eyes widened at that, then I burst out laughing at the prospect of him watching TLC on my behalf. He was definitely more of an ESPN kinda guy. “You watched that?”
“For you? Sure. I want to understand.”
I snorted. “Well, there isn’t that much to understand. I don’t live that way. If I did, we wouldn’t be talking. We wouldn’t be eating at the same table. I wouldn’t be drinking this coffee, and my leg wouldn’t be touching yours.” Nor would I feel that aforementioned whisper of his breath on my cheek.
His eyes widened, and he quickly scrolled down the passage like he was hunting for reasons why. Luckily for him, I remembered this. Even luckier still, I was ignoring my heritage.
“Men and women don’t usually mix, unless it’s family. Roma men and Gadže women can meet, that’s okay, but the opposite? Nope. I wouldn’t drink this coffee, because the cup is mahrime—it hasn’t been washed appropriately. I only do that at home though. And I wouldn’t be touching your leg because my legs are mahrime too. Everything below my waist is. I wouldn’t...” I pulled a face. “Infect you with that.”
“Infect me with that?” he repeated, sounding taken aback.
I shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t follow the old ways because Nanny died when I was eight. I can only remember so much. Plus, it’s hard. I live with Gorgers. Have since I was put in the system, and I’m lucky that they’ve tolerated the odd things I do.”
“What are these odd things?” he questioned, his curiosity clear. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever been this interested in me, but it fit.
He was my one, after all.
After a few nights of trying to remember, I’d picked up on the word Nanny used to describe it—jílo. It was so long ago that I couldn’t remember what it actually meant, nor could I even pronounce it, but it had popped into my head this morning while I was swimming and, ever since, I’d been trying to remember how to say it.
“Mostly, it’s to do with cleanliness. Nanny instilled that in me like nothing else. Now I don’t do it because it’s mahrime, but because it’s normal to me.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does it?” I asked, smiling because I was teasing.
I had to admit, I found it sweet that he was reading up on this stuff.