Blow My House Down

Chapter 32

"Knock, knock," I said, knocking on the half open door.

I could almost feel Cecily roll her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, come on in," she said.

I walked in and found her sitting on her bed, cross-legged, surrounded by business textbooks. "Doing some light reading?" I asked, giving her books a judgmental look.

"Peter and I want to eventually own our own record company. Or at least recording studio. I'm trying to brush up on my business terminology." Cecily explained, capping her highlighter.

"Brush up?"

"Yep," She nodded. "I got accepted to Yale for business. Funnily enough, my parents didn't like that. They wanted me to be able to choose what I wanted. It's not like they didn't give me a choice my entire life, but they were right. I didn't actually want to go to college."

"So, if you didn't get the textbooks from Yale, where did you get them?"

"That's something you don't need to know."

"Why?"

"Because then you'd be complicit, and I'm trying to keep you away from the law." Cecily winked.

"Hmmm," I said, nodding thoughtfully. "Well, thank you for that. Anyway," I threw the gift wrapped swimsuit down on her heap of textbooks. "Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy your gift."

Cecily's face was fraught with confusion, gently touching the gift wrap. "How did you --" She stopped and rolled her eyes. "Peter."

I nodded.

She tentatively unwrapped the present and held up the swimsuit in front of her. "Well, Kathleen, I didn't know you had taste."

I rolled my eyes.

She suddenly seemed hesitant. "But I don't know if I can --"

"I can take it back," I said abruptly, reaching for it. "If you really don't think you can accept it."

Cecily hugged it to her chest. "No, I love it! Thank you, Kat. I do hate birthdays, but thank you for doing something anyway. It means a lot to me that you care that much."

I sat on the edge of her bed. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you hate your birthday?"

"Um, I was close to my grandmother," Cecily said, looking down. "She was French. We used to have the loveliest, eloquent conversations in French. I don't really know as much as I used to, sorta just abandoned it after she died. She passed away on my 12th birthday. Haven't celebrated a birthday since."

"Cecily, I'm so sorry," I said. "If I had known --"

"But you didn't," she said gently. "I don't exactly go around blabbing my past. Some things take time. You'll learn more about me as we go along, and I with you."

"Cecily Stevenson, you are an enigma." I grinned.

She seemed taken aback. "Why?"

"Because you're a smart-ass one moment and the wisest, strongest person I've ever met the next."

Cecily smiled -- a real, genuine, breath-taking smile. "Have to be a chameleon to survive, Lennox. The first rule of the Stevenson family."

I raised my eyebrows. "That doesn't sound weird at all."

She shrugged. "You learn. We had to, where we came from."

"Why?"

"My parents both have the same background: half French, part Greek, part Israeli. There's some Italian in there somewhere, too." Cecily explained. "But people don't take too kindly to those who look like me."