“Just cheese, Auntie,” she says, holding my hand as I make the call.
Later, after a bubble bath and a manicure of sparkly pink polish, we settle on her bed for stories. We make it throughBeauty and the Beastand half ofAladdinbefore she’s out, sucking her thumb, squeezing a plush baby doll to her chest. I wind her music box anyway, then tuck her blankets up to her chin and kiss her squishy cheek.
Her eyes, rimmed in long blond lashes, flutter open. “I love you, Auntie,” she whispers.
“I love you, too, girlie.”
“Babysit me again soon, okay?”
“You got it.”
I leave her room wrapped up in thoughts about how careful I need to be when it comes to spending time with Mati—Audrey can’t find out. I can’t lose more time with my niece; since my brother died, I’ve felt a sense of duty to him, and to Janie. It’s my job to pass stories of Nick and his childhood antics to his daughter. I can’t fail him, and I can’t fail her.
I spend the rest of the evening on the sofa, editing images on my laptop. The photo I took of Mati this afternoon is sublime. I see him, all of him, with arresting clarity. It’s as if his essence, his aura, hissoul, swirl in air around him, rendering the colors of the garden in the background bland. I want the world to see him this way: son, brother, writer, dreamer.
When Audrey comes through the door, she’s rumpled and weary. She drops her bag on the entryway table and scans the living room, like she expects me to have a troop of Afghan boys hiding behind curtains and inside cabinets.
“Everything go okay?” she asks, collapsing on the sofa.
“Awesome. There’s leftover pizza in the fridge, and tons of cookies on a plate in the microwave.” I pause, tempted to tell her about Nick and his cookie-dough overindulgence, too—it happened shortly before their time—but she looks so tired. I close my laptop and slide it into my bag, eager, suddenly, to be on my way. “Janie was an angel as usual. We watchedThe Little Mermaid.”
Aud slips her swollen feet out of her flats. “She loves that movie.”
“I know.”
Silence. She’s my closest friend, mysister, and she’ll barely meet my gaze.
“I should go.”
She nods, then stands to walk me out. At the door, she takes my hand and says, “Thanks for babysitting. I know things have been rough, but I’m happy to have you back.”
Happy in her delusion.
Still, it’s a step.
MATI
I love you for saying that
is not
the same
asI love you.
This is what I tell myself
as I sit through my parents’
evening conversation.
As I boil water for chai.
As I warm leftovers and eat,
standing alone,
at the kitchen counter.
