Total pages in book: 254
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
It wouldn’t, but how would he know that? He and I had never discussed my family situation before, other than my comments in front of the elders. I never really talked about those people, period.
I took a deep breath of mostly Duncan’s scent and winced. He was going to need a bath soon. “Not much. Not enough to mean anything,” I answered, keeping my voice light so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea that this was a devastating conversation for me.
“Tell me what you know.”
I hugged Duncan a little closer. “I know that I was left outside of my parents’ house as a newborn.” I thought about it. “All I had on me was a blanket. I didn’t even have clothes on. The doctors guessed that I was less than a month old.” I took another sniff of Duncan. “You know that though, don’t you?”
His grunt echoed throughout the trees, and I thought about what he’d said before about how grunting didn’t get things across.
I tipped my head. He was on his back too, the part of his face that was visible looked tight. Concerned? Maybe just thoughtful? Despite his silence, maybe he was still worried about the gnomes too… and why they’d spoken to me in a different language and how I’d understood it.
Sneaking my forearm under my head, I propped it up as I focused on the sky again. My breathing was loud in my ears, so I kept talking. “That’s pretty much all I know for a fact. No one has ever recognized what I am, not for sure, you know? Some people just… know they don’t like it.” Hated it, more like, but there wasn’t much I could do about that other than wear a bracelet that almost made me invisible.
Like I was telling the world that they could like me, but only when I was someone else.
I scratched behind my ear before I thought about something. “My parents had their guesses.”
“What did they suspect?”
“My mom’s family can trace their roots back for generations. Back to the days when the Mayans built their pyramids, did you know that?” I didn’t wait for his answer. “My mom is a devout follower of a few of their gods, and so was her mom, and her mom before that… the list goes back centuries. Anyway, because of my fertility gift, she thought there was a chance that I might be…” Her superstition of saying their names out loud almost kicked in. She used to spell them out instead. But I tamped that urge down, thinking, Let her hear me say her name. “Ix Chel’s.”
Ix Chel, the Mayan goddess of midwifery. Some lore referred to her as the goddess of the moon, of love and medicine, among other things. The Aztecs, they had revered Cihuacóatl. And I was sure, I could’ve gone back in history or gone to another continent and found other fertility gods that maybe, just maybe she might have been known as.
It would explain a lot of things, internal stuff and external stuff… if she was my DNA mom.
I peeked over to find Henri side-eyeing me.
I gave him a small, flat smile.
“If a god was going to leave something as valuable as a child with someone, it would be a devoted follower,” he agreed steadily, his face a neutral mask that really made me assume he was still attempting not to hurt my feelings.
“That’s what my mom said, that it would have been thought of as a gift to raise her child.” I shrugged. “Who knows though? She didn’t leave a business card with me.”
Henri didn’t seem to like that response much.
I didn’t want to talk about her anymore though. I turned my attention upward again. There were other things to spend my time and energy on. “Anyway, there is one other thing that might mean something, but might not.” I might be dumb for bringing it up, might be oversharing after everything else I’d already admitted, but he was asking, and there was no reason not to bring it up to him. “I don’t think anyone has ever believed me, but I’ve never been able to explain it either.”
The way he asked, “What is it?” made me smile. Somebody was nosy.
“I don’t really ever dream.”
“Dream?”
Maybe he didn’t believe me after all. “Yes, dream. I’ve never had normal dreams. Not really. Not like everyone else,” I answered, half expecting him to give me the same lines other people had. You just don’t remember them. I’m sure you do. Everyone dreams.
Sure, everyone probably did, but not as rarely as I did. The thing was, I wouldn’t call what I did experience “real dreams.” I never had some epic fantasy while I slept. Never woke up terrified after being chased by zombies. I’d never been naked in front of people or been lost in a maze of my own imagination or met a celebrity while I slept.