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The houses on either side of Rayne’s are large, but they’re trashed. Boards cover most of the windows, the porches are rotting off, and I recognize a decal in the back window of one of the three cars in the driveway. They’re with a local gang I’ve done some work with in the past. They’re troublemakers more than actual criminals, but still not the kind of people I want living next door to my daughter.
I turn around in my seat and smile at Yuliana. She returns it timidly, leaning further into Rayne’s side.
“Do you mind if I come in and see your house, Yuliana?” I ask.
Her expressive face puckers, her chin dimpled in confusion. “You can see it right now.”
I chuckle. “I mean the inside. Do you have your own room?”
“Of course she has her own room,” Rayne snaps.
“I was asking Yuliana.”
Rayne blows out a frustrated breath at my chiding, but she has no right to be upset right now.
“My room is purple,” Yuliana says softly. “I have a nightlight with stars on it.”
“Show me.”
Her green eyes gaze into my very soul. I’ve never felt this kind of instant connection with a child before. She’s… she’s fucking perfect.
“You don’t have to,” Rayne whispers in her ear. “It’s your room, so you get to give permission or not, okay?”
I like that Rayne is teaching Yuliana to be assertive, but I despise that I’m the outsider. I should be in the backseat with them. I should already know what my daughter’s bedroom looks like. What foods she loves, what colors she hates. I should know her.
I can’t stand that I don’t.
Yuliana considers it for a second, her mouth twisted to one side. Then she nods. “Okay. But don’t touch anything.”
I start to laugh, but she’s fixing me with a very serious glare. I have no doubt she meant what she said, so I bite back my smile. “Of course. Hands off. You have my word.”
We climb out of the car and move up the cracked sidewalk to the front door. Rayne leads the way, her shoulders stiff and hunched around her ears.
She slides her key into the handle and fidgets with the knob. It looks like it’s about to fall right out of the door. After jostling it a bit and giving the base of the door a good kick, she pushes it open.
“Looks like someone ought to come check on that.”
If possible, her shoulders slide up even further. “I can handle myself.”
I know she thinks that, but one look at that door and I know it isn’t safe. There’s no bolt, just a flimsy handle lock. If I was so inclined, I could reduce the whole damn thing to matchsticks without breaking a sweat.
Not good enough for my daughter and her mother.
Yuliana cuts across the narrow living room with purposeful steps. There are pictures of Rayne and Yuliana hanging on the walls, a pile of shoes next to the door, and finger paintings stuck to the fridge door.
Evidence of an entire life they’ve shared together.
A life I was cut out of.
I duck my head to get into the low hallway. The rage inside of me swirls and intensifies, but I do my best to tamp it down. Then I see Yuliana standing in the middle of her purple bedroom, a bright pink dinosaur stuck under her arm.
“This is my room.” She twists nervously at the dinosaur’s plush horns, her eyes never leaving me.
I feel like I’m in an audition without my lines. “Very purple,” I observe. There’s a strip of purple LED lights around the ceiling, a purple, sequin-covered comforter on the twin bed, and a mountain of mostly purple stuffed animals in the corner. “Is purple your favorite color?”
“Rainbow, actually,” she says. “But Mama said it was too osh—What was that word, Mama?”
“Ostentatious.”
