Set Me Free// L. Staley

9. Fib Mommies

"So you're telling me that because you wouldn't get out of your sister's room, she broke your pinky?"

Rowan doubled over in a fit of laughter, holding her stomach. "Yes!"

The pair managed to find themselves sitting on the wooden floor, starting their greeting with light-hearted banter. The stranger found Rowan oddly charming to talk about her quirky childhood; only then did he butt in, making witty remarks or sarcastic comments.

"She must be full of all sorts of rage. Say, is she a short little thing like you?"

Rowan shot up, shooting him the stink eye. "Easy there, Jack Skeleton. Even though I'm short, I'm still feisty," she quipped as she pointed her finger at him.

He turned his head to the side in amusement, a small smile playing on his lips. "Jack Skeleton? Really?"

"Hey, don't shit on that movie," she began. "I quite like it..." she mumbled.

The stranger held his hands up in defense. "I'm not shitting on the movie! It's good, don't get me wrong. It's just...musical."

Rowan raised her eyebrows, displaying sarcasm. "Uh, duh?"

He slid over towards Rowan as he gently hit her shoulder playfully. Rowan turned her head to look over at his fingerless glove-clad hand that made contact with her arm. She looked up into his eyes, a sense of ease washing over her.

Little did she know that the stranger felt the same way.

"So, are you tryin' to tell me that the Nightmare Before Christmas is too musical?"

"Well, no, but yes," he explained. "See, it intends to be a musical. However, I think it would've made a good movie without the musical aspect."

"Dude, it's Disney. Most of everything they make is musical."

"I know! And that's why it's a musical, obviously," the stranger stated as he waved his hands as he spoke. "But I'm just saying it'd make a good film, either way, music or not."

"You make a fair point," Rowan added with a shrug of agreement. "But yeah, no. My sister is a couple of inches taller than me, and she's younger than me."

"Talk about not fair," the stranger pointed out.

"Exactly," Rowan spoke. "But I did get my shortness through my mother."

"Really? I was thinking you got your height from your father," he joked.

Rowan shook her head at the joke, moderately amused. The stranger didn't know about her drunkard father, so she wasn't going to get onto him for it. After all, it was a joke with no malicious intent. And if her father were to be present in her life, then she would find it hilarious. 

"Check it," she said, holding up her right pinky. She moved her hand closer to the stranger so he could see the permanent disfiguration of her finger. He squinted his eyes as he leaned in to observe the damage.

"Damn," he said as he barely touched her pinky. "It's crooked."

Rowan colored at the feathery contact. "Y-Yeah. It goes the opposite way of all my other fingers," she said as she held her hand up for him to see. Low and behold, the tip of her pinky did not align with the rest of her fingers.

Before she realized it, the stranger took her hand in his own. He brought their hands down as he looked at her hand with constrained eyes.

To Rowan, his hands were gentle but worn. Although they were young-looking, it felt as if a philosopher were observing her hand. Not to mention, his fingers were much skinnier, much longer than Rowan's. There was a contrast between the sizes of their hands. However, this didn't seem to bother both of them. Their hands, their touch, fit together like a puzzle piece, regardless of the difference.