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“Oh, I’m very sorry.” Cora obeyed immediately, righting the child and setting her on her feet. Cora put her hands behind her back, as though she were being formally reprimanded, and looked to Rosie for further instruction.
Rosie stared at Cora for a moment, then ran forward into Cora’s legs, her chubby arms stretched upward in the universal gesture of Do that again.
The adults laughed, and James shook his head with a smirk as Cora inverted his child once more. “I guess that’s nap time over,” he said.
Signy chuckled, but privately, she was thankful. Even if she hadn’t caught the wink, she knew Cora had intercepted Rosie on purpose. It wasn’t that Signy didn’t like kids. Kids were amusing, and could be interesting, sometimes. She would’ve needed a heart of stone to not feel touched by a pint-sized girl calling her Simmy. But Signy never really knew what to do with kids, or what to say. Each of them spoke their own private language. Each of them came at life from their own angle. And that was wonderful, in a way, but as somebody who had already learned the world—more than one of them, for that matter—Signy never knew how to adjust for that level of havoc.
Cora, on the other hand, could flip a child like a sack of flour. She could make them laugh, make them sleep, make them stop crying. She could play right along with whatever wacky conversations their half-baked little brains attempted. She didn’t mind holding a sticky hand or cleaning up a snotty face. That was true of her with any human of any age, really. Blood, dirt, sweat, grief—didn’t matter, didn’t matter. Cora never shrank away. She always reached toward.
That was such a gift, in Signy’s eyes. She had never been afraid of people, but she’d always felt a step apart. She would never be someone who could chat for twenty minutes before finally dropping off the knives she’d come here for, or make friends with strangers while in line to get a cup of chicory. But when she was beside Cora, she got a taste of those things. She no longer thought small talk was stupid, not if you were listening to someone who knew how to do it right. She could feel the joy of holding a sticky hand, even while her own stayed clean. She could maintain the distance she preferred while still soaking up the richness of community. This was the thing she hadn’t understood, once. It wasn’t enough to take the ferry every day and do nothing more than navigate the world the way other people did. Passing through wasn’t the same as living in. Cora had unlocked that door for her, and everything on the other side was so bright.
Signy walked over to Cora, who was still holding the toddler by the ankles. Signy crouched down, lining her face up with Rosie’s, a few handbreadths away. “Hello, Rosie,” she said.
“Simmy.” Rosie grinned gummily, before bursting into giggles again. “Up-sye down.”
“Yes, you are,” Signy confirmed, returning the smile. “You are upside down.”
Chapter 39 Signy, Fortune
I’m going to kill her,” Cora said.
Signy squeezed Cora’s hand. It was not the first time Cora had said those words in the past couple of hours, and if it wasn’t the last, that was understandable. They were sitting in a waiting room in the Raft Six Police Station, in the company of strangers likewise having a terrible time. Signy wasn’t sure she should be here for this, but she’d offered to come along, once their plans for the evening abruptly changed. Cora had accepted, because she didn’t like to be alone. And as much as the choice of venue made Signy anxiously attentive to everything on and about her person (her pockets were empty this time), it did also feel good to be the person Cora wanted with her on a bad night.
“Do you want me to see if I can find some better chicory than this?” Signy asked. She tilted her head toward the two chipped mugs sitting on the table beside their uncomfortable chairs. Neither Cora nor Signy had drunk much of the machine-made brew, and honestly, going beyond the first sip had been generous.
Cora shook her head, both grateful and remorseful. “No, don’t bother suiting back up,” she said. “This sucks enough.”
“It would suck less with a better drink,” Signy replied.
Cora leaned over, pressing her forehead against Signy’s. “I owe you so big,” she said.
Signy tsked, pressing right back. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Bullshit,” Cora said. “Name it.”
The idea of treating her presence like something to be traded did not compute for Signy, but for the chance of making Cora smile, she played along. “Well, let’s see . . .” She tilted her head back, making a show of thinking. “I think, when we’re done here, we should get takeout at Sando Press.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Cora said with zero hesitation.
Signy feigned surprise. That café had been an old standby of hers once, but . . . “You don’t like Sando Press.”
“I don’t. They oversalt their fries.”
“And you’re not going to put up any fight about it?”
“I said ‘name it,’ and if that means subpar fries, then—”
“They are not subpar,” Signy argued. “The salt is what makes them good.”
“Sure, if you want to, like, preserve yourself. Make your body shelf-stable.”
Signy snorted. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to force you through the hardship of fries you don’t like on a night like this.”
“Listen, I would eat fucking anything right now, I am so—”
Cora stopped abruptly, her head turning toward two people who had entered the hallway. Relief crossed her face for only a moment before her eyes hardened and her jaw set. She let go of Signy’s hand, stood up, and marched toward her sister.
Signy knew she should stay seated for this part. She hadn’t found her footing with Twig yet, despite repeated tries, and as such, she still didn’t know her well. Even so, it didn’t require any real familiarity for Signy to note three things immediately: Twig was bruised, Twig was embarrassed, and Twig was handcuffed.
