My hands clench. “I can’t give up our home.”
Andrew waltzes in, grabs a plate of eggs and a bagel, then stuffs half of it in his mouth. “Yo, did I interrupt NATO negotiations?” He darts his eyes between us.
“No,” I say.
“Morning, Tiny,” Jane says, calling him by his childhood nickname.
“Aaaa, aaaa, aaaa” comes from Londyn as she holds her hands up for him.
He picks her up and dances with her around the room. “At least Londyn adores my company,” he says as he puts her down in front of her toys, then takes my hand and laces our fingers together. “Your turn, Ma. Let’s salsa.”
Setting down my coffee, I try to follow his lead but can’t keep up with his beat. “I recall a time when the only dance you knew was the pee-pee dance. Who’s teaching you?”
He waggles his eyebrows. “The girl at the library. She’s a dancer.”
“Stripper?” Jane snarks as she nibbles on a protein bar.
He dances us close to her and pops her on the arm. “No, dumbass. She’s in a show.”
“Don’t say ‘dumb a-s-s’ in front of you-know-who,” I remind him.
He swings me out, dances back, then dips me until my hair trails the tile.
“Help, Londyn. Your uncle thinks he’s Patrick Swayze,” I call out.
She claps her hands. “Eeee, eeee, eeee.”
Andrew bows. “And my job here is done. All the women are smiling.”
Jane sticks her tongue out at him. “You never dance with me.”
He pours himself a cup of coffee and clinks his cup with hers. “Next time I’ll teach you how to moonwalk. You can’t do it, and frankly, it’s embarrassing. For a model, you’re very uncoordinated and, dare I say . . . clumsy.”
I giggle. “Oh, the drama. Those are fighting words. We better give them some room, Londyn.”
Jane points a finger at Andrew. “You’re a turd. I walk a catwalk like I was born on top of it.”
“Anyone can strike a pose.” He throws his shoulders back, puts his hand on his hip, then struts across the floor with big steps. He stops and levels us with a haughty, squinty look.
I smirk. “Blue Steel. You’ve got it.”
Jane snorts. “You wish you were me. Oh, I forget, you’re too short to be a model, Andrew.”
“I’m six foot!” he calls. “And I never wanted to be a vapid model.”
“I’m not vapid, you Neanderthal,” she snaps back, “but I am taller.”
“By a quarter of an inch,” he retorts. “I’ve grown. Come on, let’s see who’s taller. Put your back to mine, and let Emmy measure.”
“Your head is bigger. Big, fat, ugly head,” she calls out.
I roll my eyes. “Children, please. Stop or I’ll put you both in the corner.”
“All right, Ma,” Andrew murmurs, and I push him back, laughing.
The doorbell rings, and Jane jumps up. “That’s the sitter. I’ve got a meeting with my agent today. Maybe it’s about a job.”
When she leaves to let Sasha, an older woman who lives downstairs, in the apartment, Andrew follows me out into the hallway.
“Emmy, look, I can drop out of school. NYU isn’t going anywhere.”
He must have heard us talking.
I cross my arms, drawing an obstinate line. “I went to college, Jane had acting lessons, and you’ll get your turn. Plus, you help out with Londyn.” He watches her at night if neither Jane nor I are here.
“What about a school loan?”
“You’re only nineteen,” I insist. “School debt like that will follow you the rest of your life.”
“I’ll quit.”
“No, Andrew, stop saying that. You’ve dreamed of NYU for years.”
He sighs, his face uncertain. “You had heart surgery, then picked back up with two jobs. It makes me feel like shit.”
“It was minor surgery.”
“No, it wasn’t. You could have died, Emmy. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever been through.”
“Oh, sweetie. People as young as me rarely die of A-fib. I’m going to be fine.”
Atrial fibrillation is a rhythm disorder caused by irregular heartbeats in the upper chambers. When the too-fast pounding in my chest and shortness of breath started a few years ago, I thought it was just panic attacks or PTSD from my childhood. It wasn’t. After getting an official diagnosis, I tried meds, which worked for a while, but then I stopped. What followed was me at the bookstore doing my job, when my heart started pounding out of control, as if I’d run a marathon. I tried to breathe slowly and soothe myself like I’d been taught, but nothing worked. My chest wouldn’t stop roaring like a train. My head swam, and I stumbled into a bookshelf and passed out. They rushed me to the doctor, and a week later, I underwent mini-maze surgery.
I give him a fierce hug, tell him that everything will be okay, then shoo him out the door. Later, I go to my room and sprawl out on the bed and rub my face.
Yes, I’m running out of options when it comes to keeping the apartment, but at the top of my worries is the fact that I stole a car.
Every time the doorbell rings, I imagine it’s the cops. Yesterday, I was alone when someone knocked on the door, and I forced myself to look through the peephole. I expected NYPD, but it was the neighbor downstairs selling cookies for her school. I was so thankful that I bought ten boxes.
I chew on my lips. Yes, I gave Andrew valid reasons for not filing a report against Kian, but I’m also scared that going to the police station will only end up in me being arrested for theft; then I’ll be sent to rot in some desert prison in Arizona. I’ll never get to see my family.
Last night, my dreams featured me in a cell in the middle of the desert, naked and freezing as I slept on the bunk. Millions of scorpions crawled on the floor, up the walls, and over my face. That’s when I woke up, screaming, as I tossed covers in every direction to fight imaginary scorpions.
Obviously, my meandering subconsciousness worries for my future as well, and if dreams come true, I’m screwed.
Chapter 5
EMMY
After showering, I blow out my hair and arrange the strands into a sleek bun on top. The air-conditioning isn’t great, so I have a fan pointed toward the bathroom to keep me cool. From the closet, I grab a black shirt with a corseted lace bodice and pair it with a layered long tulle skirt cut into strips. Louboutins that Jane bought me are on my feet.
I give myself a pep talk. I’ve got enough in savings to get us through the year. Jane’s modeling will pick up. Andrew will finish this semester soon.