There’s a collection of photos of a newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket within a plastic hospital cot. In all of them, Chase is crying, his cheeks flushed almost violet. Ella flicks the page to reveal more hospital photos, but this time Chase is in the arms of a middle-aged woman I don’t recognize, and in the next picture he has been handed to a man of similar age.
“The boys’ grandparents,” Ella informs me a little stiffly. More pages go by and I notice that there are several blank spaces with faded outlines where photos were once placed, and then Ella stops at a particular page, which she laughs at. “Oh God, my long hair.”
Chase looks a few weeks older now, with his eyes wide and alert as a younger version of Ella holds him up to the camera, her long blond hair framing her face and her smile wide, as though the photo was snapped mid-laugh. She looks so young and so happy and so carefree. It’s as though in that moment, her life couldn’t have been more perfect. A smaller child stands at her side, clinging to her purple sweatpants with pursed lips. I can tell it’s Jamie from the blond hair, and he must be around three years old in these photos.
“They’re a little bare,” she apologizes as she switches the album around for one of the others. “This is Tyler’s.”
My interest grows even more when she says this. Adjusting myself to ensure that I’m comfortable, I bite my lip and gaze down at the black album as Ella flips open the first page. Empty. She turns over some more. Empty. And finally, six pages in, we come across the first two photos. There’s a tiny baby in an incubator, so small and so fragile and so pink.
“He was four weeks premature,” Ella tells me. “He was supposed to be born in July, but he was born in June instead.”
“I didn’t know that.” We flip over some more empty pages until there’s a photo of Ella lying on a bed in a dark room with Tyler curled up against her body. She appears even younger here, merely a teenager, perhaps only a year older than myself. Her long hair is thrown up into a scruffy ponytail and her eyes are full of fatigue. She looks exhausted, but I don’t comment on it.
On the last page of the album, Tyler is no longer a tiny infant. He’s a few years older, standing on his own two feet in a tiny black tux. He’s grinning at the camera, and I smile back at him, the dark hair and green eyes feeling so familiar to me. He hasn’t changed at all.
“That was on the day of my wedding,” Ella says quietly.
It feels slightly awkward hearing her say these words given that I’m her new husband’s daughter, but I find the whole thing interesting all the same. “When did you get married?”
“When I was twenty-one. Tyler walked me down the aisle, because I don’t talk to my parents. He was only four, but he loved it.” And then she shuts the book and places it to the side.
“That’s it?” I ask, slightly in disbelief. “Only eight photos?”
“It used to be full,” she admits. She sounds sad as she talks, but she glances sideways at me and gives me a small smile, as though she’s fine. “Tyler burned a lot of them.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Burned them?”
“He set up a fire in the backyard,” she explains with a shrug. “There were a lot of photos he didn’t want to keep. I let him do it because I thought it would make him feel better.”
Before I can press the subject any further, she clears her throat and reaches for another album. It’s most likely Jamie’s, but she hasn’t even opened up to the first page when we hear the sound of the front door opening and closing.
“Ella?” a voice calls. I think we’re both expecting it to be Tyler, but the voice is feminine, and I recognize it.
“In here, Tiffani!” Ella calls back, confirming my thoughts. I wonder what she’s doing here.
It takes a few seconds for Tiffani to reach the living room. When she does, she pushes the door open and tilts her head. “Oh, hey, Eden.”
“Hey.” I can barely make eye contact with her, like I’m a drug pusher and she’s a federal agent.
“Is Tyler around?”
Ella hands me the photo album and gets to her feet, smoothing out the creases in her outfit as she takes a step closer to Tiffani. “Hmm, I haven’t seen him all morning,” she says. “Have you tried calling him? Maybe he’s still at the gym.”
“I’ve been calling him since last night,” Tiffani states bluntly. “He keeps rejecting all of my calls. And speaking of last night, where was he?”
Ella’s eyebrows furrow. “Wasn’t he with you?”
It’s at this exact moment that my heart stops beating and my blood runs cold. My lips part as I stare up at the two of them, and the only thing running through my mind is this: we have totally fucked up. I don’t know why Tyler thought our excuses last night wouldn’t backfire, and I don’t know why I agreed to go along with them.
And just when I think I’m going to drop dead, I hear the front door again. This time it is the person we’re expecting. I hear him before I see him, his deep voice murmuring, “What are you doing here?” as he makes his way down the hall.