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***
That evening, after I read Saylor her bedtime story, she had questions. I knew this would be coming.
“Why did Maya move in with us again?”
I’d already lied to my daughter once, which I hated, but she clearly didn’t understand. Nor should she, since the whole thing made no rational sense.
“She needed a place to live for a while…” I once again told her. “So, since she’s my…friend…I agreed to let her stay with us.”
“When is Billie coming back?”
Billie had had a talk with Saylor to let her know she’d be gone for a little while, but that she’d be coming back. She didn’t want my daughter to worry or think anything was wrong. But that hadn’t stopped Saylor from asking me for updates. Who could blame her?
“Hopefully soon, sweetie.”
She hesitated then asked, “Do you love Maya?”
Why would she ask that? My daughter was way too smart. She was starting to put two and two together—that Billie’s departure coincided exactly with Maya moving in.
“No. I don’t love Maya. I need you to understand that, okay? Maya is just a friend.” I hugged her. “I love Billie. And you, of course.”
Saylor pouted. “I want Billie to come over. I miss her.”
That broke my heart. “I know you do, honey. Believe me, I miss her, too. More than anything.”
From behind the door, I could hear that Maya was home now, based on some clanking out in the kitchen. Not wanting to go out there and face her, I told Saylor another bedtime story. And then another. But before I went for a third, I realized avoiding Maya totally defeated the purpose of this torturous living situation. If I had to live with her, I might as well study up on the information I needed to nail this hearing.
So, I tucked my daughter in and kissed her goodnight. When I emerged from Saylor’s room, Maya was standing at the stove, frying something.
She turned to me. “Hey.”
I groaned and pulled up a chair.
Before I had a chance to blink, flames flew everywhere. Maya freaked out, flailing her hands.
I jumped up. “What the fuck?”
I immediately grabbed a baking tray from the drawer and covered the flames with it. Somehow a brown paper bag had caught on fire. I managed to put it out before it got out of control and burned my damn apartment down. Wouldn’t that have been fitting symbolism? Everything just burned to hell like my life at the moment…
Maya continued shaking uncontrollably.
“Relax. It’s out.”
She covered her mouth with trembling hands. “I’m so sorry, Colby.”
“You need to be more careful.” I looked closer at what she’d been cooking. “Why the hell did you have a paper bag near the flames anyway?”
“I was making French fries. I put the fries in a bag to shake off the grease.”
“Can’t you just buy fries like everyone else?”
“It’s not the same.” She kept shaking her head, and then she leaned against the counter and started to cry.
I had no time for her crocodile tears. But as the seconds went on, I realized she was truly shaken. So, I took it upon myself to discard the burned fries sitting in the grease and clean up the mess she’d made. I looked over at her as I was dumping grease-soaked paper towels in the trash. “Did you have a plan B?”
“Huh?”
“For dinner.”
She shook her head in a daze. “I don’t have anything else to make. All I bought was potatoes.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sit down. Try to calm yourself.” Begrudgingly, I offered, “There’s some leftover casserole, if you’re hungry.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? That would be great. I’m so hungry, and it’s late.”
I heated up a plate, placed it in front of her, and took a seat across the table. I crossed my arms and watched her as she ate. Every so often, she’d take a bite and wipe more tears. She still seemed broken up over the grease fire, and I didn’t quite understand it.
I forced myself to ask, “Why are you still upset? It’s done.”
Maya sniffled. “You can’t possibly care why I’m crying. You don’t have to pretend to.”
Was she trying to make me out to be the heartless one in this equation? “While I may not care about your feelings—because you sure as hell don’t care about mine—I do care about getting through these days with you. We need to get our shit together and figure out how to relate to one another if this is going to work. Sitting here in front of me, crying and not telling me what the hell is wrong with you right now isn’t helping.”
She wiped her eyes. “I’m not proud of the way I’ve handled the situation with you. I’ve taken things too far in my desperation to stay, but it’s too late to go back now. I knew forcing you would be the only way to get you to help me. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me or understand. But I have my reasons for needing to stay here.” She blew her nose into a napkin. “I can’t go back to Ecuador, Colby. It’s a nightmare.”
