“Does it hurt?” Emma asks, and there’s genuine concern in her voice now, like she’s worried about me.
I let out a surprised laugh because that’s actually kind of sweet. “Sometimes a little. But it’s normal. It’s just part of being a grown-up.”
“Oh.” She hands it back to me carefully, like she doesn’t want to break it. “That sounds not fun.”
“Yeah, it’s not my favorite thing,” I admit, tucking it back into my purse quickly before we can continue this particular line of conversation.
Emma moves on to the next item, thank God, and when she picks up the disposable camera she completely transforms. Her whole face lights up, those blue eyes going wide with excitement.
“What’s this?” She’s holding it like it’s treasure, turning it over in her hands.
I’m still kneeling on the floor, gathering the last few subway tokens, and I glance up at her. “It’s a disposable camera. You take pictures with it.”
“How?”
I point to the viewfinder. “You look through here, and when you see something you want to keep, you press this button. It traps the picture inside.”
Her breath catches. “That’s magic.”
“It really is,” I agree, and then I get an idea. “Want to see?”
At her eager nod, I take the camera. Leo is still propped against the wall, arms crossed, watching this entire surreal détente with an expression of bewildered fascination. Before I can think better of it, I raise the camera, point it at his suspicious, handsome face, and press the button.
The flash pops and he flinches. “Hey!”
Emma and I both giggle, and it’s such a light, unexpected sound that for a second I forget I’m in the apartment of a man who hates me, interviewing for a job I’m definitely not going to get.
“Can I try?” Emma asks, already reaching for the camera.
“Sure.” I hand it over, showing her how to hold it steady. “Just look through here and press this button when you’re ready.”
She points it at Leo, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.
“You have to make a funny face, Daddy,” she tells him, and there’s still that giggle in her voice, like she’s extremely delighted by this entire turn of events.
He sighs, the long-suffering sigh of the eternally besieged. “Must I?”
“Yep,” Emma says, so matter-of-fact about it that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
He mutters something under his breath that I don’t quite catch—probably something about dignity or why he agreed to any of this—but then Emma starts counting. “One…two…three!”
He mutters something darkly, but as she begins to count—“One…two…three!”—he contorts his features into a glorious, ridiculous grotesque: crossed eyes, tongue lolling, nose scrunched. Emma clicks the button, the flash goes off, and she squeals with delight.
Leo tosses a glare in my direction, like this is somehow my fault, which—okay, fair—it is.
“When do I see it?” Emma asks, cradling the camera.
“The pictures are trapped inside the film. I have to take it to a shop to get them developed. It takes a few days.”
“Can you bring them when they’re done?” Her eyes are enormous, pleading.
“If…if that’s alright,” I say, glancing at Leo.
He gives a curt, begrudging nod.
“Yes!” She bounces on her toes, the earlier storm utterly forgotten. She beams at me, and in that smile, I see not an angel, but a real, complicated, wilful little girl. And I have, against all odds, connected with her.
I have no idea how that happened or what I’m supposed to do next.
