Charcoal |'Char,kol| noun; a porous black solid, consisting of an amorphous form of carbon, obtained as a residue when wood, bone, or other organic matter is heated in the absence of air. – The Oxford American Dictionary.

Chapter eight; charcoal

"Mom. He hates me." I grumble to my mom as she stirs the chicken fettuccini in the pan, the heavenly smell making it hard to concentrate and also seems to be having a conversation with my stomach, seeing as it keeps making noises every five seconds in reply to the scent.

My mother rolls her eyes, pausing for a moment to look up at me. "Lovely Grace Bates, your brother does not hate you. Now get that out of your head or you two will never have a real relationship."

I take what she's saying into consideration as I sit on the kitchen stool, my legs dangling over the edges as I swing them back and forth, before I say, "Yes but, mom, then we can have one of those moments where we go through life with the pain of our father's death and one of us, hopefully me, becoming extremely successful while the other lives a normal and pitiful life. But then, as fate has it, we meet again and at first continue to hate each other but as time goes on, we form that bond we never had in the past and decide to let all the pain go. It could even become a Hallmark movie! One based on our lives, how cool would that be, right?"

She gives me a look that says I'm crazy before continuing to stir the pasta, sprinkling more salt in. "Okay, honey, first off you could just avoid all that and form that bond now and get over the pain together now. Second, there are probably at least ten Hallmark movies with that plot."

I consider this before nodding in agreement. "Yeah I guess you're right. But please, please don't make me try and talk to him. He's mean to me now. Besides, I forgot to tell you, Lila volunteered to talk to him. You know, since she can actually speak from experience. She offered a few days back." I tell her.

"Lovely, don't make this sound like some sort of club. Losing a loved one is one of the hardest things you could possibly experience. And don't volunteer Lila for this. You know Ray really isn't going to open up to her, no matter how much we love her. He won't even open up to his own family." She sighs, pushing her chestnut brown hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

I look down at my hands. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

She reaches across the island to set a motherly hand on mine in comfort. I look up to see a small smile on her beautiful features, her smile lines making her seem all the more gorgeous. "I know, Lovely."

"And I'm not making this up. Lila really did volunteer to talk to Ray. She even seemed like she...wanted to." I tell her pressingly.

"Really?" She asks, an eyebrow rising.

I nod. "I was surprised too. Do you think she could actually...you know, help?"

My mother shrugs, her attention back on the task at hand. "I don't know. Don't get your hopes up. But that actually sounds like the Lord to me. We need to pray Ray opens up to someone."

I smile, standing up from my seat to leave but her voice stops me.

"Oh, Lovely, who was here earlier? Ray said he heard someone down here with you today."

I let out a nervous laugh. "Um...Arthur – came over to um – hang out. And he brought my journal."

Her eyebrows furrow. "You know I don't want boys I don't know coming over here. I'm not mad but if you two are planning to spend more time together, even as friends, I would like to meet him. It's not that I don't trust you. I don't trust him." She says with a wink.

I smile and walk over to give her a hug around the waist. With us being almost the exact same size it's always strange to lay my head on her shoulder but I don't mind the struggle. "Okay, mom, if it makes you feel any better, I'll invite him to church tomorrow." I pull away.

She grins, kissing me on the forehead. "That makes me feel much better. Let me know if he needs us to pick him up."

"Will do. Love you."

"Love you too."

I walk out of the kitchen and up to my room in search for my phone. When I don't find it there I head into the bathroom, getting slightly worried d when I don't find it there. I eventually search practically the whole house before marching to Ray's room with a groan. I stop, glaring at the sign on the door before knocking.

"What." His voice is muffled through the wood but there's no mistaking the annoyance laced in his tone.

I close my eyes, trying not to get frustrated. "My phone. I haven't been able to find it. Do you, by any chance, know where it is?" I ask, praying he doesn't yell at me for bothering him.

There's nothing but silence for the next few seconds and I assume he didn't hear me. "Ray, do you happen to know –" I'm cut off by the door opening, a slight breeze hitting me.

Suddenly, my phone is thrust towards me and I look up at him in confusion. "Why exactly do you have my phone?" I ask, holding it up for emphasis.

He rolls his eyes before slamming the door in my face, another breeze hitting me, leaving me ticked off and really confused.

I sigh, double clicking the home button to see if I can find out what app he was on (if he was on it at all. He could have been just trying to bug me – which – check, mission accomplished) but I find that he dismissed all my apps so I have no way of knowing.

Oh well, I guess there's always things that are probably better off not knowing. But, dang it, I am beyond curious.

I bite my lip, glancing from my phone to the door as I try and let the whole situation go. There's no use banging his door down and demanding an explanation because I highly doubt he'll acknowledge my presence, let alone answer any questions I may or may not have.

So, with a reluctant turn on my heel, I shuffle to my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Arthur answers on the second ring, surprising me and causing me to pause, for a moment completely forgetting what I was going to say.

"Hello? Lovely, you there? Did you butt-dial me?" His amused chuckle brings me out of my shocked reverie and I let out an awkward nervous laugh, scratching the arch of my brow.

I clear my throat. "No I didn't. I was just uh – yeah. Anyway, I was just calling you to ask something."

"Ask away."

"Right, um...well, you see my mom is sort of old fashioned – which is fine because I respect her – but she knows that you and are going to be spending some time together and so she just wanted to make sure that um... –"

"Lovely." He cuts in.

"What."

"The question. You had a question to ask me. Sorry, but my mom is being a bit temperamental and we have this family dinner we do every Saturday and so I don't have a lot of time." Regret seeps into his apologetic confession and I nod before realizing he can't see me.

"Of course. No, I'm so sorry, I should have thought about it before calling. I didn't mean to –"

"Lovely, there's no use wasting time apologizing, especially when you have nothing to apologize for. Now; there was a question you wanted to ask?" The gentleness in his voice should make me feel like a child being soothed but, for some reason I release a breath, feeling more relaxed and less embarrassed.

"Well, I don't know what your beliefs are, but my mother would like for you to go to church with us tomorrow morning. We're Christians." I blurt out, mentally smacking myself on the forehead for being so awkward.

He releases a chuckle and I feel my cheeks flush. "Good to know. Well, I haven't really been to church much. My grandmother used to bring me when I was little but my parents have always told me 'business before pleasure' and, apparently church is a pleasure we can't afford." There was no bitterness in his tone but I could tell he was sad to be deprived of such a living.

"I'm so sorry." I say quietly.

"It's not your fault. She was catholic so..."

I laugh a little at this. "We are definitely not catholic."

"I hoped not. It was always so boring. But, I'm willing to give church another shot if your 'mother' wants me to go." I hear the accusation in his voice and my eyebrows furrow.

"What." I ask suspiciously.

"Hm? What?" His voice is teasing and low, making me blush for some odd reason. I shake it off with a frown.

"You say it like you don't believe my excuse."

"That's because it seems to me that's exactly what it is. An excuse."

I pause, letting his words sink in.

"An excuse for...what exactly? Please enlighten me." I snort.

"Don't feel too embarrassed. It's more creative than what I have been able to come up with." He teases, ignoring my previous question.

"What the heck are you talking about, Art? I'm just inviting you to church because I think you'll really enjoy it." I press, feeling slightly irritated that he seems to be looking too far into this simple and completely friendly invitation.

"Oh, so you're inviting me now? I thought it was your mom who was inviting me. Looks like you've ruined your alibi." I can practically see his smirk even now, fueling my irritation to the point of anger.

"Oh shut up. There is no alibi and you know it. If you're coming to church, meet us at the church at ten or at my house at nine forty five sharp."

"Sharp? Oh, you're absolutely endearing when you take charge, Lovely." His tone is on the brink of laughter.

"I mean it, Art."

"I love that you have a nickname for me, Lovely. It's actually quite fitting when you think about it –"

I hang up with a huff, unable to take any more of his pompous and narcissistic behavior.

Before I can contemplate any further on the subject, my mom calls Ray and me for dinner, my hunger ruling out my annoyance.

For the moment, that is.

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