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Chapter Three
Daphne
The birds in Leo’s courtyard sing in the sunshine, beating their wings against a clear blue sky. They don’t seem to care that it’s winter. That the world is snow-covered and generally not great for birds. It’s safe in here for them.
For me, too.
“Does it feel like a cage?” I pose the question to the smallest one, on the lowest branch.
It sings a trilling, cheerful song.
I push my hands deeper into my pockets. It’s too quiet in the house. Too busy at the same time. My parents went home, but Carter and Lizzie stayed. The rest of my siblings take turns checking to see if I’m still here. They’re coming for dinner tonight. All eight of us in Leo’s dining room. Eleven, counting significant others.
I’m glad for them. I am. I missed them.
But I got too acclimated to Emerson.
I fell too far into the soft routine of the days in his house. I went under. I imagined forever. Now, when my brothers and sisters talk to me, it feels like too much. Right up until the moment they step out of the room. Then it feels empty. Awful.
Where is he?
I close my eyes against the sun and breathe.
Leo might not be angry, but we’re still not speaking. Not really. Not the way we used to. He didn’t have to tell me that I’d be staying. I know he won’t drop me at my apartment until he finds a way to make it a smaller version of this courtyard. A place he can control. A place he can keep Emerson away from.
What am I supposed to say to that?
The birds chitter, and I open my eyes again. They’re not much help with making a convincing argument. They like it in the branches of Leo’s tree. Hot frustration burns my throat. I like the courtyard, too. The den. His dining room. I was home here until I met Emerson, and now it’s wrong.
Everything is wrong.
I love you. That’s why I have to let you go. You can’t be with a man like me.
“What now?” I ask the birds. It’s probably not a good sign to be talking to them, but really. What now? One beautiful prison after another until I’m dead?
A robin lands in the tree, opens its beak, and sings. My fingers curl in my pocket. I wouldn’t paint this bird, but I’d sketch it. Play with the red color of its feathers on clean, white snow. This robin has been here for a long time. It could leave, if it wanted. It chooses not to. Instead, it hops down to the stone bench. Skips around. Flies back up.
I feel like an ocean.
A swell of emotion, all bounded by the continents. Thrashing at the sand. There’s nowhere for my thoughts to go. They’re blocked, somehow. My body keeps trying to paint. Aching to paint. I can’t bring myself to do it or to go back to my sketchbook.
I need to know where Emerson is. If I can’t have that information, everything I do will be saturated in painful worry. Wave after wave after wave. Where is he?
One of the courtyard doors opens behind me. I don’t turn around to see who it is. If it’s Leo, back early from the office, we’ll have the same conversation we’ve been having. Polite, stilted bullshit about whether I need anything. That, or we’ll stand here in more silence. I don’t know how to talk to him about this. I don’t know how to win. How to have both my family and Emerson.
I don’t even know if winning is possible.
“Hey.” Eva comes to stand beside me near the bench. My oldest sister hasn’t left. She’s staying in one of Leo’s guest rooms. “I looked for you in the studio. I thought you’d be painting.”
“I didn’t feel like painting.”
Not strictly true. I have a headache. I’ll have a headache until I can paint again. I won’t feel like painting until I know where Emerson is. Until I can talk to him. Those things are both going to be difficult, if not impossible, until I figure things out with Leo.
Eva’s brow furrows. “How are you on sketchbooks? Did you run out?”
“No, I just—I can’t.”
The birds sing into the quiet between us. Eva steps over to the bench and opens a container set into the side. She takes out a handful of birdseed and cups it in her palms.
