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“Gemma?” Half of Erin’s face appeared in the gap of the chain lock. “Happy to see you,mija.” She said, quickly shutting the door to unlock the chain. She opened it back up.
“Erin…” I tried to smile, but the stench of pungent cigarettes from inside stopped me. I couldn’t help but swallow the excess spit in my mouth, which suddenly felt too full to even speak.
“I told her you were coming, but she said nothing.” Erin replied, looking over her shoulder, then back at me, “You can fix this? Right,mija?” She asked more in a plea, but depression isn’t something you fix, it was something that was survived. I was only an observer, but the fear of becoming Claire, a disposition to the disorder, made me want to run in the opposite direction, as if the proximity was infectious. I couldn’t tell her how she was feeling, just like no one could tell me.
“We’ll talk.” I assured.
Erin reached for my hand, but then noticed Alejandro by my side. Her eyes traveled up from his boots toward his broad shoulders, drinking in an image she probably had only ever seen on T.V. The pause in her reaction signaled a delay, but the sudden realization became almost startling as her brown eyes expanded.
“No puede ser…”She muttered in what felt like a prayer. Alejandro ran his hand along his stubbled cheek, staring down at me, and once again, only me.
“Por hoy no, solamente una sombra.”He responded, his gruff voice somehow deeper in Spanish than English. “For Gemma.” He added. Just as before, I wasn't sure what he said, but it seemed to affect me nonetheless. All I needed was the tone, and that was enough to feel what he was saying.
“Will you come in?” Erin asked, making way in the darkened apartment for us to enter. I stared inside, wanting to hold Alejandro’s hand to keep myself anchored. I resisted but didn’t want to be absorbed, and temporarily felt more scared than ever before. If Parker were here, I’d probably let him in as well, but instead, I had the man who found me in the dark, and what better person to have considering the shadows inside.
“You can come in.” I looked back at Alejandro, unsure if it was the right thing to do. But I did it. “If you want.” I added quickly.
“Of course. I’ll be out of sight, but here if you need me.” He followed behind as Erin shut the door. Everything seemed as it was before, though it was difficult to tell given how little light there was. The yellow curtains in the kitchen were shut, though the barely visible sun seemed to cast its tempered hue through the crack of the window. I could make out the brown couch, matched with shag carpet and a wood paneled T.V. Even that was the same; big and clunky, its knob still missing as it was from when I was a child. That was where Dad watched his movies, the action flicks that played a little too loud, but not louder than the arguments he had with Claire.
“She’s in the kitchen.” Erin advised, leaning into my ear. Contrary to the living room, the kitchen seemed to glow, radiant from the teal cabinets and yellowed counters. Cautious as to not startle Claire, I approached quietly. She sat with her back turned at the table, smoking Marlboros, the cigarettes we somehow afforded while growing up, despite the food we never had. My knuckles cracked, alerting her attention as I wrung my clammy palms together.
“Of course,” she announced with a drone, not once turning around, “of all the times to come, you choose now.” She took a drag of her cigarette, flicking its ash down onto her powder pink robe.
“I’m here for you,” I replied. “I need to make sure you’re ok.” For whatever reason, she laughed but then got quiet, and without the ticking clock above my head, I’d figured I’d gone deaf.
“Oh, Gemma.” She drawled sarcastically, clearing the smoke from her throat, “As if that were any possibility.”
“Maybe.” I added, “What happened today?”
“Oh just fucking save it.” She sniffed, twisting the butt of her cigarette onto the table. “Things are piling again, one on top of another. You don’t call, you don’t visit, yet here you are. A savior?” She scoffed, still avoiding my eyes. A cabinet door sat wide open, its mouth a trajectory to a bag of sugar that lay on the floor. Her steps had tracked over its powder, trotted like blots of snow, leading to her foldable chair.
“I’m not trying to be a savior,” I replied. “I’m just who they call when there’s no one left.”
“What a short list.” She flashed a fake grin.
“Short, but necessary.”
“Well, good for me. I know how to get you home now.” She said sarcastically, resting her head onto her palm. She fished out another cigarette from the loose carton, sticking it between her cracked lips. I leaned in and noticed what was scattered around her. I stopped in my steps, observant to a collection of photos, all of which were of my father.
“Where did you find these?” I asked.
“Who cares where? They’re here, and it’s all I have left of him.”
“You shouldn’t be looking at those, you know what it does to you.”
“Yes, but at least it’s something, and I can’t help but imagine someday I’ll do the same for you; the absent daughter who avoids her mother.”
“I don’t avoid you.” I lied, somehow more uncomfortable with the truth. She knew I did, but how could she blame me?
“Erin shouldn’t have called you.” She snipped.
I sat by her side, but she turned away, “Erin didn't know what to do.” I replied calmly, collecting the photos I tried not to stare at. Dad was in them all, tall with sandy brown hair, dark eyes. He appeared to be in his early forties, possibly even Alejandro’s age, a photo taken not too long before he left. I was by his side, the top of my head barely reaching his chest. He was so tall, capable of protecting me, yet he did the opposite. He left like a coward, leaving me here with Claire, after what she had done. “Why don't you look at me?” I asked, my brows knitted.
“I don't have the strength.” She mumbled.
“Strength or desire?”
“Neither!” She hissed, finally turning to face me, her stare more startling than I remembered. She aged quicker than most with her bad habits, the grey in her hair more pronounced and frizzier, but not as much as the heavy bags under her eyes. When was the last time she slept? Her lips curled from years of disappointment as she reached for her Bic lighter, rolling the flint wheel with her thumb. It snapped with a flame.
