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Both of them pout instantly. Caroline turns to me with knitted eyebrows and Reagan plants her fists on her hips like the five-year-old grandmother she is.
“Whodid you come to see?” Reagan demands. “We wanna know.”
Emma gives me an apologetic look over their heads, her cheeks flushed.
“I came to see the car,” I tell the two little she-devils in front of me. The moment their faces fall, I add, “AndI came to see you guys.”
They erupt in cheers while Josh covers his ears and Emma fights a laugh. “So much for getting them to bed early,” she reprimands me.
“Add it to my list of sins.”
She gives me a helpless little shrug and a smile that makes me want to take her down and strip her naked right here and now. Then she turns to the kids and claps her hands together. “Okay, gremlins, time for bed—” She keeps talking over the chorus of disappointed moans that ensues. “—which means we brush teeth first. You know the drill.”
When the girls ignore her, she grabs an elbow each and starts dragging them towards their room. Josh sidles a little closer to me. “Thanks for coming.” He blushes a little and takes a deep breath. “It makes Aunt Emma really happy when you come over.”
Then, before I can respond, he bolts out of the living room. I stand there, in the midst of Emma’s life, staring at everything she’s built, with one glaringly obvious observation on my mind.
You don’t fit in here.
Shaking my head, I walk towards the mantel. A series of framed photographs beams out at me. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s chaotic and mismatched. Butalsolike the rest of the apartment, somehow, it works.
Most of the pictures are of the kids. Chubby-cheeked babies, toddlers with skinned knees and gummy smiles. But off to the left, tucked almost out of sight, is a picture of Emma and another young woman who can only be her sister. Both have fake highlights: Emma’s hair is an electric blue and her sister’s are bubblegum pink. They’re both looking off-camera, laughing unreservedly. Something about the scene makes my heart pang uncomfortably.
I stroll down the mantel, running my finger along the edge of it. On the far side is a small wooden music box, nestled between a photograph of a four-year-old Josh smearing birthday cake on his face and the girls blowing bubbles in the park.
I touch the silver crank on the side and look at my fingertip. No dust. Someone comes here and winds the toy up often.
I open the lid delicately and a little figurine of a ballerina rises up from within. When I push the crank, the first few tinkling notes of a song begin to play softly.
“It was Sienna’s.”
For the first time in as long as I can remember, someone caught me by surprise. I was so engrossed that I didn’t even realize that Emma had returned to the living room. She joins me at the mantel.
“She gave it to me when I went off to college,” she explains. “I’ve carried it with me everywhere we’ve moved since then. It’s the first thing I pack and the last thing I unpack.”
She turns to me as the silence creeps in between us. She’s shared so much of her life with me and still, I’m greedy for more. Greedy for the backstories to every picture on the mantel, for the secrets she keeps locked up tight, hiding behind those aqua eyes of hers.
It’s not a fair ask. I haven’t given her anything of myself in return.
“Ruslan—”
She stops short at the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway. I hear the sound of a key being forced into the front door. Then it swings open and Ben stumbles in.
“Oh, God, Ben!” Emma gasps.
He looks like an absolute fucking trainwreck. He makes it half a step into the living room before collapsing against the side of the sofa, an eerily inhuman moan floating from between his lips.
Emma stalks over to the front door and closes it just as a passing neighbor looks in with alarm written on his face. “Wasted again?” she hisses with an embarrassed glance over her shoulder at me. “This is the fourth time this week!”
He presses three limp fingers to his forehead. “I’mma not d-drunk,” he slurs.
“You were supposed to take the kids to school this morning! Where were you?”
He looks at her for a moment, before his eyes veer to me. “I had…” He burps mid-sentence before finishing, “… shit to do.”
“You promised the girls you’d take them. They were counting on you—”
She breaks off when the kids enter the living room. They take one look at Ben and their wide smiles falter. Josh looks wary; Rae and Caro look nervous. Ben aims another shifty glance at me and clears his throat before turning his sloppy attention toward them.
