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Miley grins. She has a really pretty smile, all fat cheeks and freckles and dimples. ‘You won’t take Genny’s place as bridesmaid, but you’d stay the night in her boyfriend’s bed?’
My cheeks flame, but her smile merely widens. ‘I’m joking. I don’t give a crap what my brother does. It’s none of my business.’
But I’m not entirely relieved. I get the impression that the dig was intentional.
‘What do you paint?’ I ask, because I want to talk about something other than Genevieve.
‘Abstract, mainly. I also like a bit of life painting, but Eloise is definitely not allowed to those classes. Do you paint?’
‘Not really.’ I used to in high school. I think a lot of my confidence in art stemmed from having an encouraging teacher, but he was off sick one day and his substitute said the plant I was drawing looked more like a naked man bending backward, and I never went to art class again. ‘Unless you count the sun in the corner.’
She laughs.
‘Little piggies in da sky!’ Eloise exclaims suddenly, and we both turn to find she’s ripped off the seal on the canvas, opened Miley’s case, and has scribbled fat, pink splotches all over the canvas. At least she got the colouring right. ‘Pwincess piggy,’ she says to herself as she splashes yellow onto a pink splotch. A dress, I assume.
Miley groans as she drops her head into her hands, and I bite my lip. ‘Do you want me to look after her for a few hours?’ I ask hesitantly.
I expect an outright no. After all, Miley doesn’t know me. But she lifts her head. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. You can go do something. Paint or whatever. Or nap. I don’t mind. It’s not like I’m doing anything today.’ It’d be a welcome distraction. When I awoke just an hour ago, I went to check my phone before remembering I turned it off. I haven’t switched it on, but the urge is there, wanting to read every text from Archer, to see if he’s okay.
But how many times have I worried for him and it’s made no difference at all? How many sleepless nights have I had just for him to turn up completely unharmed? He didn’t care about me when he left me on read for hours; he just stumbled into the apartment early morning absolutely hammered.
I feel bad about doing this to him, especially since I know how it feels. I’m just not ready to face him.
I need time. And after that, I might draw my own conclusions about how I want to move forward. But I’m in no mindset to make such a decision yet—I need to grieve for both lives I lost yesterday.
‘Are you sure?’ Miley asks, but I can already see there’s no going back from this now. Her eyes fill with hope—and maybe a little excitement.
‘I don’t know when Chase will be up.’ He slept in the spare room. Apparently, they rented the house but the family was kicked out due to noise complaints, so Chase has taken full advantage of the empty house. He must be home for his sister’s wedding, but he clearly came early for my dad’s funeral. ‘I honestly don’t mind—‘
Miley gives no warning before she jumps up and throws her arms around me. She smells like paint and lavender. ‘Thank you.’ She sounds like she’s about to cry.
‘Eloise?’ I say. She pokes her head up, her hair full of her mum’s colouring pencils, as if she’s tried to best Miley’s hairstyle. ‘Wanna make cakes?’
She bounds up to me, and Miley seizes her opportunity. She quickly zips up the case and tiptoes to the door, but not before shooting me one last, appreciative smile.
As the little girl looks up at me expectantly, I wonder if this was a terrible mistake. This small human is now relying on me to be a responsible adult, one thing I’m definitely not ready to be.
But there’s something about taking care of a kid that makes something snap into place: it gives me an excuse to be careless and stupid and messy. Eloise doesn’t care if I’m a smelly witch; she just wants me to make her the damn cakes I promised her.
‘Fankie?’ Eloise says, dragging a little block to the counter to stand on. ‘You hair crazy.’
I laugh.
???
The kitchen looks like a cocaine farm by the time Chase ambles in. Flour and caster sugar scatter the counters, and egg slime sticks to the marble, and scales and measuring cups are pulled from their cupboards. At least the cakes in the oven smell amazing.
‘How are my girls?’ Chase says, breaking into a grin when he spots Eloise.
My girls.
The words settle like lead.
Eloise looks up from colouring in the animals I’ve outlined on the canvas, and then she bounds to her uncle. He scoops her up with ease and plops her on his shoulders. He holds her little legs as her hands dig into his hair.
‘Wanna see your dwagon,’ Eloise says.
