Of Ginger & Spice

R&N: Of Opalescence & Omelettes

27: R&N: Of Opalescence & Omelettes

11 pm, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment

I know what you did, Rani thought to herself. I don't know exactly what happened or whether you're entirely at fault, but I deserve to know what happened. She glanced up from where she sat at the rounded small kitchen table, plucking another flower from this week's bouquet of glistening marble-and-pearl-colored peonies. Reaching for her red pen, she began to compose another message on the small piece of watercolor paper before her.

10 am, Several Days Later, New York City, Breakfast Joint

Rani sat across from Nico in the chic diner. It almost seemed like a misnomer, Rani thought to herself. How could a 1950s relic be considered...stylish? Up-and-coming? But somehow it was, as she surveyed her surroundings, covered in pearl, eggshell, ecru, and cream canvas prints all along the establishment's wall. Her prints, Rani thought, with a certain sense of inward satisfaction. Delivered earlier this morning, just in time for the morning rush, as her and Nico's food arrived.

10:10 am, New York City, Breakfast Joint

Nico and Rani had dug into their English pea, broccoli, and French Gruyère omelettes; Nico dabbed a drop of ketchup, whereas Rani preferred mild salsa. Also, Nico preferred to cut the egg unevenly with her large fork, but Rani took a more meticulous approach, dicing hers up into tiny, 1-centimeter pieces with the marbled opalescent Mother-of-Pearl fork and knife she always carried around with her, that harkened back to a particular Ashford table from a decade ago.

She's barely touching her omelette, thought Nico, observing Rani dice and mince the breakfast contents, pushing bits around her plate absentmindedly, while taking a stray bite every now and again. "Rani, what's on your mind? Shoot," she said, using a term from her academy days.

"Guilt." Rani continued to macerate the ovum, occasionally stabbing at the fragments of miniscule bright-green broccoli florets.

"Why?" Nico asked, adding "—and can you not take it out on the omelette?" Sighing, Rani shifted her fork to the other hand, nibbling on the fragments of melted cheese.

"I knew Great-Aunt Celeste's mental state wasn't great—I knew that. She was strong, but age crept up on her and something changed somehow. She grew more power-hungry, more...narcissistic. She saved my life, but I wasn't there for her." Rani looked down at her cubed morsels. "It's my fault the Sarcana overpowered her mental abilities. If I had stepped in, somehow, somewhere, she would probably still be alive—"

"You don't know that," Nico evenly replied, as a waitress brought them each a cup of coffee.

"I didn't intervene—I could have—I probably should have. She was so eccentric that nobody else in the family understood her except for me, at one point. She'd alienated half the clan and the other half stayed away because they didn't want to get involved in her dealings. She had no husband, no kids—I was the closest thing to family she had."

Nico reached forward and clasped Rani's hand. "I think you're being too hard on yourself."

"Am I, though?" Rani asked. "I could've intervened—told her to enter an assisted living facility—"

"Rani." Nico stared into her partner's eyes through the wisps of steam emanating from her coffee cup. "Do you honestly believe Celeste would have taken you up on that offer, especially from what you've told me? You're talking about a power-hungry vulture that eats cute, furry woodland creatures for breakfast, metaphorically speaking. I doubt she'd listen to anyone, including you, even if you were close before."

"I left her in Mykonos," Rani murmured, sipping her own brew. "She told me off for having the audacity to fall in love with you—for choosing love over power—and I lost it—and disappeared."

"Celeste made her own choices with the power she had," Nico said, gazing at Rani. "It was her own downfall. You played no part in it."

Rani shoved a piece of egg into her mouth at that point, chewing slowly, and sipping once more from her cup of coffee. "Abigael, though. My ex, remember? She doesn't play with her food—she eviscerates them in an ashen heap. That's how she's always been. And now, she's the only one who really knows what happened and why."

"Hence the reason you've been sending those white flowers?"

"The rose and the peony? Yes. And I haven't heard a word from her yet, despite it being my signature mode of communication." Rani finished half of her omelette and placed her napkin, neatly folded, onto the center of the plate.

"What do you really want from her, Rani?" Nico put down her cup of coffee at last. "Are you trying to rekindle things...with her?"

"No—no—nothing like that," replied Rani hastily. "Mainly, I just want an honest explanation from Abigael—I want her to own up for the mess that's been made. I want the truth. I'm owed that much, at the very least."

"But maybe," Nico brainstormed aloud. "Maybe Abigael doesn't understand what you're asking for?"

"Trust me, she does," answered Rani.

"Then why hasn't she answered you?" Nico posed the question to a contemplative Rani, her platinum hair shining below the diner's glowing sconces.

"I dunno. Maybe she wants to avoid it, shove it into a corner—pretend it never happened. But I know it did, and it's my great-aunt that's dead."

"Perhaps...you could change the method of communication? Ask for something different, this time around?" Nico inquired. "She might not be into subtle hints, that one."

"Maybe..." Rani had a certain lightbulb moment. "I think I know what to do."

6 am, Days Later, New York City, Floral District

It was in the early morning hours that Rani found herself wandering West 28th Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues. Her platinum hair tied in a half-bun atop her head, she could smell the sweetest, most lush blossoms in all the state. Having spotted her favorite vendor of cream-colored and ecru blossoms, she made a beeline for the stall, waving a shy hello to the woman, who waved back. "I'll have half a dozen of your finest Holland tulips in ivory and ecru, if you have it."

"Coming right up," the woman answered, and Rani soon found herself in possession of several lovely blooms, attached to their upright, sturdy emerald-green stems.

10 am, New York City, Brooklyn Apartment

Rani carefully placed the now-trimmed stems and their blossoms in a glass Mason jar, one of many that were stashed under the sink. Pulling the brightest tulip out of the pile, she composed yet another message to Abigael.

I'm visiting tonight. -R2

Rani placed the watercolor paper and the tulip together, uttered a few words, and dropped them in her enchanted mail chute by the door. Hoping that, for once in her life, Abigael Jameson-Caine wasn't such a cowardly chicken-shit.