InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Starting Over ( Chapter 10 )

"Daddy!"

"Shh," Ashur muttered, casting Kells a quelling look as he slipped a balloon over the nozzle of the helium tank and turned it on.  “Quietly, remember?”

Kells held up his finger to his lips.  "Why we whispering, Daddy?"

Smiling a little wryly, Ashur tied off the balloon and let it go.  It floated up to the ceiling as he reached for another.  "I told you, Kells.  It's Jessa's birthday, and we're going to have a small party for her—a surprise party."

"A surprise party!" he exclaimed at the absolute border between whispering and yelling.  "Wif Uncle Ben and Aunt Chaiwwy and Nadi and Emmy?"

He started to say, 'no', but stopped and considered it.  "Uh, yeah, I guess we can call and see if they're busy."

Waving his hands—Ashur could tell that it was taking everything in the boy to try to contain his excitement—Kells hopped up and down.  "But we can't tell Jessa, or she won't have her birfday!"

He opened his mouth to correct the boy, but stopped and gave an inward shrug. "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed.

Kells ran over, grasping the sides of his pants to pull the legs up off the floor since the pair he'd chosen for the day were still a little too big for him.  Then, he dug into Ashur's pocket for his cell phone and made quick work of unlocking it and locating Ben's number in the recent call list.

Shaking his head slowly and thinking yet again that Kells was just a little smarter than any two-nearly-three-year-old ought to be, Ashur tied the last balloon and let it go.  It floated up to the ceiling high above as he turned his attention to the child with the phone.

"Uncle Ben!" Kells whispered.  "We're havin' a party for Jessa, and you guys come, too."  He paused for a moment then giggled.  "It's her birfday!  I want a truck!"

Ashur hunkered down to whisper, "But it's not your birthday, Kells."

"But when it was Nadi's birfday, we got a pwesent for Emmy," he whispered back.

For the third time, Ashur closed his mouth on his retort and shrugged.  Of course, he could point out that, since they were twins, Nadia and Emmeline's birthday were on the same day, but then, Ben could easily afford a present for Kells, too.  "Okay, but not that fire truck with the ungodly siren."

"Here, Daddy," Kells said, jamming the phone under Ashur's nose.  "Uncle Ben wants to talk to you.  It's time for Monster Rangers!"

Heaving a sigh as he pushed against his knee to stand up, Ashur held the phone to his ear and headed for the small office while Kells dashed into the living room to watch his favorite television show of the week.  "Not the fire truck?"

"If you buy that damned thing, I'll disown you forever," Ashur warned dryly.  "When we were in the toy store, the tiny oppressor set off a whole row of those God-forsaken things, and . . . yeah . . . It was not pretty.  Anyway, if you can make it for the party, that'd be nice—unless you bring a bloody fire truck for the little tyrant.  If you do, I'll be forced to kick your ass."

“Okay, so the fire truck and my sword.  Got it.”  Ben chuckled.  "Uh . . . Any suggestions for the birthday girl?"

Ashur snorted, opting to ignore Ben’s not-so-subtle ribbing.  "Cash," he muttered.

"Come again?"

This time, Ashur sighed again, rubbing his forehead and wrinkling his nose since the helium had gotten to him, at least, a little bit.  "I have no idea what to get an eighteen-year-old girl, no," he confessed.  "I don't even know if she'll like what we chose for her."

Ben grunted.  "Well, I'm sure Charity will have something in mind that she'd like.  Do you want me to get you a backup gift?  You know, in case she doesn't like what you got her.  What time do you want us to come over?"

Clearing his throat, he frowned at the desk.  "No . . . I mean, she's old enough to pretend she likes it, anyway, so there's that . . . Anyway, would you mind picking up a cake, too?"

"Anything else?" he asked.

Ashur raked a hand through his hair and made a face that Ben couldn't see.  "Give me a break.  I just found out last night that today's her birthday, so all of this is a little off the cuff, so to speak.  Besides, she was with us when we went to the grocery store, so it would have looked a bit odd if I had bought a cake then, don’t you think?"

"Where is she now?"

"Right now?  As far as I know, she's in her room, reading a big, fat book with a picture of a couple, locked into a ridiculously torrid embrace.  She picked it up on the store."  He snorted.  "She gave me 'The Look' and told me not to judge her."

Ben chuckled.  "You mean, she's reading a romance novel."

"If that's what you want to call it," he muttered.

"Charity reads those from time to time, too, and then, she asks me why I'm not a pirate and weird stuff like that."

"I'm pretty sure that I just don't want to hear this," Ashur replied, "and if you tell me that you've cosplayed as Jack Sparrow, I may never speak to you again."

Ben grunted.  "No, and don't you dare mention that to her, either."

"Anyway, come over whenever you get around to it," he said.  "I bought some food, but, uh . . . Well, it’s food . . ."

"What did you get?" Ben asked, unable to staunch the wariness that crept into his tone.

Scratching the back of his neck, Ashur stubbornly refused to admit to the idea that his choice might not have been the best one, all things considered.  ". . . Frozen pizza."

“Froz—” Ben heaved a sigh.  "We'll pick up something."

The call ended, and Ashur dropped the device into his pocket again as he considered briefly, whether or not to change the passcode to unlock it.  Unfortunately, Kells was entirely too fast on the uptake, and he'd just watch Ashur until he'd figured out the new one, too, which pretty much defeated the purpose of having a lock on it, to start with . . .

Letting out a deep breath, Ashur rounded the desk and sat down to reach for the drawer where he'd stashed the present he'd bought for Jessa.

He frowned.  He didn't know what he was thinking when he'd bought it.  At the time, he was trying to explain to Kells that Jessa really wouldn't think that a huge box of Lego was the best present, ever, and he'd noticed the music box in the window of a small little niche store that he'd never really paid attention to before.

The bell over the door chimed when they walked in.  The shop was empty except for the small, gray-haired man behind the counter.  He looked up as he pushed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up his nose with a crooked finger, a broad smile crinkling the skin of his face as he hopped off his stool and hurried around the counter despite a noticeable limp in his gait.  "Welcome, welcome!" he greeted.  "Can I help you, sir?"

"It's Jessa's birfday!" Kells exclaimed happily.

"I'm looking for a birthday gift for a . . . a girl," Ashur replied.

"A gift, a gift . . . Okay.  And how old is the young lady?"

"Today's her eighteenth birthday," Ashur said.

The small man clapped his hands.  "Ah, eighteen . . .!  That's such a magical time, I remember . . . Is there anything in particular that you were looking for?  We have many unique and interesting things, though most of them tend to be one-of-a-kind, so if you see something you like it's best to get it because most of our inventory goes pretty quickly."

Ashur nodded.  "I'd like to see that music box in the window."

The man seemed pleased, and when he smiled, his wrinkles nearly obscured his eyes.  He hurried over, reached through the black brocade curtain to carefully retrieve the music box, pausing long enough to carefully wind it with a small, antique key.  "We found this extraordinary piece at an estate auction a few months ago, but it's taken that long just to restore it.  The box was in pristine condition, but the mechanism inside had to be completely retooled by hand . . . We've dated this particular one back to about 1870.  It uses the metal disk system, which predated the use of the smaller cylinders, and this model actually comes with three other disks that are interchangeable . . ."

It was a simple thing, crafted out of pressed tin with holes punched into it in an intricate design of scrolls and swirls and flowers and darkly polished wood panels with jewels set into it to accentuate the design.  "This one was missing a few of the gems, so we had those replaced, as well.  The jewels alone appraised at three hundred seventy-six dollars—I have the documentation from the jeweler . . . It's a wonderful piece."

It was a beautiful piece.  Ashur just didn't know whether or not Jessa would like it.

"Jessa!"

Glancing up from her book, Jessa smiled at Kells, who stood beside the bed, hopping up and down happily.  "Where have you been all day?" she asked the toddler.

Kells stopped hopping long enough to claw his way onto the bed.  "Planning with Daddy!" he exclaimed.  "C'mon, Jessa!  It's time for dinner!"

She couldn't quite stop herself as she made a face.  It was fair, she thought, given that the last time he’d tried, he’d managed to burn a few steaks on the grill.  She had choked hers down somehow as Ashur had watched her with a completely horrified expression on his face, but it wasn’t an experience that she wanted to repeat, either.  "Your da didn't try cooking again, did he?"

He laughed and hopped on his knees.  "No . . . Uncle Ben brought the food wif Aunt Chaiwwy and Nadi and Emmy!"

She giggled, swinging her legs off the bed as she stuffed an old receipt between the pages of her book and stood up.  Then she held her arms out, catching Kells when he launched himself at her.  Jessa frowned thoughtfully, leaning back to give him a suspect look.  "Kells, why do you smell like cake?"

The boy pushed against her chest and shot her a decidedly nervous sort of glance.  "I didn't do nuffin!" he insisted, eyes growing large, round, as though he were trying to convince her of his innocence.

"You're not going to get in trouble for something, are you?" she asked warily.

He shook his head.  "No-o-o-o-o . . ."

She sighed and shook her head as she headed down the stairs and toward the kitchen.

"Surprise!"

Jessa stopped short, blinking in surprise at the assembled people—most of whom she barely knew—as Charity hurried over with a silly paper party hat and a quick hug.  "Happy birthday, Jessa!" she greeted, slipping the hat onto her head and carefully adjusting the thin bit of elastic under her chin.

"Uh, thank you," she said, letting Kells slip down her side so that he could run over to stare at the cake on the table with the twin girls: Nadia and Emmeline.  From where she stood, she could see the spot on the corner that looked like someone might have stuck his fingers into the frosting, and she cleared her throat and tried to hide her amusement.

Myrna sauntered over and kissed the air on either side of Jessa's face.  "Happy birthday, Jess," she greeted, slipping a glass of champagne into her hand.  "And since you're now officially an adult, then I guess I won't have to worry about being a bad influence on you anymore."

Jessa smiled politely as Myrna gave her another quick hug as she wondered just how much champagne her cousin had already imbibed.

"I'm actually leaving shortly.  Have to go to New Orleans to check into a couple things, but I wanted to stop and wish you a happy birthday . . . Let me give you your present," Myrna said, setting her glass aside as she dug into her blazer pocket for a nondescript envelope.  "Here you go.  It's not much, but I thought that you'd like it."

Jessa stared at her for a long moment before cautiously taking the envelope and ripping it open.  The first thing she pulled out was a Visa gift card, but she ignored that at the moment.  Frowning as she pulled the pictures out, she slowly flipped through them.  Images from the one visit years ago when she and her mother had gone to visit Myrna in Paris . . . Jessa was maybe six at the time . . . Images of Jessa and her mother or Jessa and Myrna or just Jessa alone, sitting in cafes, shopping in tiny stores that they wouldn’t have found without Myrna's help . . . Even a picture of them on horseback when they'd rented horses to ride through parts of the city . . . She hadn't realized that Myrna had anything like that . . .

"Thank you," she said quietly, unable to tear her gaze away from one picture in particular: a picture of Jessa and her mother outside the Notre Dame Cathedral.  Orlaith’s bright smile as she knelt behind Jessa, holding her around the waist while her pale blonde hair whipped around them in the spring breeze, hair down and without a touch of makeup that day, so far removed from the polished and perfect Marchioness of Aumberlese that was Orlaith Daugherty-O'Shea . . . The one in the picture was a rare side of her that was rarely captured on film, and that was the mother that Jessa hardly knew.

"You're welcome.  I have copies of all of those, so these are the originals.  They didn't let you grab many of your things when you left, did they?"

Caught off guard by Myrna's thoughtfulness, Jessa shook her head.  “No, they . . . They didn’t.”

Myrna smiled, but the expression seemed almost sad.  "I've got to run if I want to catch my flight.  We'll do lunch when I get back, okay?"

"Okay," Jessa said as Myrna hugged her again.  Then she was gone, and Jessa bit her lip as her gaze fell to the picture once more.

"You look nothing at all like your mother," Ashur remarked, looking over her shoulder.

"I look like Da," she explained almost absently.  "He didn't go with us on this trip, though . . ."

A small tug on the leg of her jeans drew her attention, and she smiled at the tiny girl who was holding a very large gift bag and smiling up at her.  "Dis for your birfday!" she said, uttering a small grunt as she tried to heft the bag a little higher.

"Thank you," Jessa said, kneeling down to take the gift from the girl as her twin sister dashed over.  They were dressed entirely differently—one in pink, the other in yellow—but they were so identical that Jessa couldn’t rightfully tell one from the other.  "Are you Nadia or Emmeline?"

The girl in pink giggled.  "I'm Emmy!" she said.

"I'm Nadi!" the yellow one added.

"I don't know how to tell you apart," Jessa admitted.

"Surprisingly, it's never been an issue for us," Ben remarked, scooping up Emmeline and kissing her cheek.  "I'm not sure why . . ."

"Open your present!" Kells hollered, dashing over to wait impatiently.

"The food's going to get cold if she opens presents now," Ashur said, taking the gift from his niece to set it aside for later.  Then he glanced at her and shrugged.  "Don't worry.  I didn't cook."

"I thought you bought frozen pizzas," she murmured as she leaned toward him.

He snorted.  "Ben didn't think that was appropriate for a birthday party," he replied.  “I have no idea why.”

She almost laughed at the drier-than-usual one of his voice, and she smiled just a little, just enough to make him blink, stare for a moment.  "I don't mind frozen pizza," she admitted.  His thoughtfulness . . . It touched her.  "Thank you for the party."

Jessa let out a deep breath as she gathered the silly, festively printed paper cake plates off the table and dropped them into a trash bag before slowly lifting her face, staring thoughtfully at the helium balloons that still hugged the ceiling.  A few of them had fallen over the course of the evening, but there were still stubborn ones that had yet to come down.  But the ceiling in the dining room was easily fifteen feet high, so retrieving those wasn't going to be an easy task, either . . .

Ashur strode into the room, stopping short when he noticed the bag in her hand, and he frowned.  "I'll get that," he said.  "You shouldn't have to clean up after your own birthday party, should you?"

She shrugged but didn't lower her gaze.  "It's fine.  I don't mind," she replied.

He finally noticed what she was doing, and he turned his head to see just what had captured her interest.  "Oh, those," he intoned.  "They'll come down eventually."

"Maybe," she allowed, "but your house is entirely too formal for those not to look sorely out of place."

"You think this place is formal?" he countered.

She nodded.  "It reminds me of Aumberlese . . ."  She made a face.  "I was never really at home there."

"Is that right?" he asked as he took the bag and picked up the discarded wrapping paper and empty boxes.  "Wasn’t that your father's signature estate?"

Reaching for the leftover cake, she nodded again.  "We didn't go there often," she admitted.  "Just when formality dictated."

He sighed.  "This probably wasn't what you're used to for your birthday," he ventured, sounding almost apologetic.  "If I'd had more notice . . ."

"No, I liked it," she assured him.  "It was very nice of you to go out of your way for me."

He didn't look like he believed her, but he nodded anyway.  "So, what did you do on your last birthday?"

She let out a deep breath, leaning against the table as she retrieved a balloon that had fallen, holding it between her hands and staring at it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.  "Last year?  I argued with my parents and ran away on my horse for a few hours . . ."

"Argued with your parents?"

She nodded, wincing as the memory surfaced, despite her desire not to think about it at all . . . "My ma decided that it was time for my official debut," she explained hesitantly, haltingly.  "I didn't want it . . . It's archaic and stupid . . ." She shrugged, but it felt like an empty kind of gesture, as though she really just didn’t know what else to do.  "They invited everyone, decided that we had to have it at Aumberlese.  Ma thought that it was high time I started paying attention to would-be suitors, like there was some kind of rush—like I had to be married by the time I turned twenty or I'd be an old spinster or something ridiculous like that—which is entirely outdated, isn't it?  I mean, I was about to turn seventeen, was finishing my leaving exams . . . The last thing I wanted or needed was some irritating fop who didn't know when to just leave me alone . . . I . . . I wanted to think about uni, wanted to concentrate on the next stage of my life, and . . . and instead, I was arguing with Ma . . ."

"How old was your mother when she married your father?"

She snorted indelicately, dropping the balloon so that she could catch her hair, dragging it over her shoulder as she twisted it around and around—something she always did when she was agitated.  "That's the really infuriating thing.  Ma was nearly sixteen when she met Da, and then, to hear him tell it, she led him on a merry chase for a good number of years before she finally resigned herself to the married life."

He shook his head.  "So, why was she so set on seeing you married so young?"

That earned him a rather baleful look, as though she thought that he really ought to know the answer to that particular question.  "Once she became marquess, she became entirely absorbed in the whole thing—which is why I ended up taking every lesson known to man—so that I would be the perfect wife one day—the consummate lady . . . I mean, I didn't hate the lessons," she hurried on to say.  “At least, that’s what I thought.  I just thought that she was stuck on the idea of one-upping the other ladies in her circle—They all wanted their daughter to be the hit of the season . . . But later, after Ma died?”  Rubbing her face, she shook her head.  “Maybe it had more to do with the offer of marriage that Da had already declined on my behalf.”

Slipping the leftover cake back into the bakery box carefully, Ashur frowned as he considered her words.  “Maybe she just wanted to see you, happy,” he suggested in a neutral kind of tone.  It was a little too neutral, though, too careful, as though he didn’t really believe that, either, but maybe he wanted her to, for her own peace of mind.  “Isn’t that . . . that what a mother wants for her child?”

She frowned at the odd hitch in his voice, at the strange sense of melancholy that lingered in his youki.  She wasn’t sure, just what he was thinking about, but whatever it was, it bothered him.  Too bad she really didn’t know him well enough to ask him anything about it.  “I don’t really know what she wanted,” Jessa admitted quietly.  “Sometimes, I thought so, but others?”  She sighed, shook her head.  “Other times, I don’t think she really liked me, at all.”

“She seemed like she liked you well enough in those pictures,” he pointed out almost gently, moving the cake over to the counter.

Jessa shrugged.  "Maybe, but that was why . . . Some days, I just wanted to take my horse and run, but Ma . . ." She trailed off with another sigh, then suddenly flicked her wrist, as though to dismiss her own thoughts.  "I probably should have been a little more sporting of it all.  It made her happy to do all these things, to plan it all, to throw those parties . . . Da begged me more than once to humor her, and I . . .  I should have . . ."

"But you weren't interested on being married that young," he concluded.

She made a face, shoving herself away from the table to slowly stalk around the room, her fingers still twisting her hair over and over again.  "It wasn't that," she admitted slowly.  "It was more the idea that it felt like I had no say in it . . . If I'd found the one who was meant to be my mate, then I would guess that it wouldn't have bothered me, but . . . But to feel as though you have no choice?  That it's your life, but you can only stand by and watch as it's planned out for you . . .? I can't explain it . . . It just . . ."

". . . Just feels as though you're trapped, and you cannot breathe," he replied.

She glanced at him, only to stop and slowly shake her head.  Staring off into space with a thoughtful scowl, as though he were seeing something in his own past, something that had made him feel exactly as she did . . . She had to wonder if he even realized that he'd spoken out loud.  Somehow, it bothered her, didn't it?  That he should understand what she'd felt because maybe he'd felt it, too . . . And that feeling that she'd believed no one would ever understand . . .

It hurt, didn’t it, and for some reason, the idea that he'd hurt like that, too . . . That bothered her the most . . .

"Exactly like that," she murmured, lowering her voice, loathe to interrupt his thoughts.

He blinked, shifted his gaze to meet hers.  She didn't know how long he stared at her, his eyes cloaked in something dark, an emotion that she didn't even begin to comprehend, and yet, there was a certain familiarity there—the same sense of familiarity that she'd felt the night before, in her room, in the quiet—as though he grasped those things about her that he couldn't possibly discern . . .

She knew it, and she understood it because she felt the same things about him, too . . .