“Layna! There you are! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”
I closed the door to my apartment and schooled my face into perfect detachment. “Mrs. Statham, hello! I just saw you over the weekend,” I teased good-naturedly. I gave her the smile she was looking for. Only slight. Just barely.
“Well, that’s just too long,” the old lady chastised. How little could I say before I could leave? What small amount of time would be enough so I could walk away?
“Are you leaving?” Mrs. Statham asked. Innocent. Oblivious. She played doddering simpleton well.
“I was just on my way to the store.” False smiles. Forced gentleness. Endure. Engage.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I wanted you to come up to try this new cookie recipe I just tried. Chloe and I have been baking all morning.”
“I didn’t realize your granddaughter was still here. I thought she was only down for the weekend.”
Mrs. Statham’s toothy grin was almost infectious. I could feel her joy. Her elation.
“She’s decided to stay a bit longer. I never get to see her enough. I love having her here. It’s been lonely since my Desi passed last year. And I can’t expect my wonderful neighbor to spend all her time with a silly old lady.”
She chuckled. I laughed a bit. Easy. Effortless.
Lies.
“Okay then, but I only have a minute.” I followed Mrs. Statham up the stairs and into her apartment. I was hit by the overwhelming smell of cookies and the instant nausea was overwhelming.
“Don’t eat those, Layna! They’re for your father. They’re his favorites,” my mother simpered, wearing an apron and looking exactly like a fifties stereotype. I hated the act she put on when she knew Daddy was expected home.
She was a good mom, but she went into overdrive to please Daddy. Baking him cookies. Cleaning the house. Trying to do whatever she could so he wouldn’t want to leave again.
I always knew that she loved Daddy more than she could ever love Matty or me. Her love for us would never be adequate. It was him that she wanted. Him that she broke her back to build a home for.
But nothing in our home would ever make him stay.
“You remember my granddaughter Chloe.” Mrs. Statham waved a hand towards the kitchen where pretty, pretty Chloe was up to her elbows in dough. She looked up, startled, like a deer in headlights. Stunned.
“Hi, Chloe,” I said, inclining my head. I looked into her eyes. Never wavering. She remembered. I remembered. Our last encounter had been a test of wills. I had won. I didn’t tolerate others infringing on what was mine.
Elian.
I had seen the way she looked at him. I had heard the flirty tone in her voice. And I made it clear who he belonged to.
Mine.
“Have the chocolate crackles come out of the oven yet?” the older woman asked, ignorant to her granddaughter’s discomfort and my glee.
Mrs. Statham’s apartment was similar in layout to mine. Open floor plan with a galley kitchen. The biggest difference was the feel. Bright colorful curtains. Fluffy patterned pillows. Pictures adorning walls. Smiling faces on shelves.
The home of a woman once happy with her life. A woman still trying to hold on to what she once had.
I lived just below her but our worlds were different in every way that was important. Love. Family. Unconditional support.
I moved to stand beside Chloe at the counter. I watched her tense and move away. Just slightly. But noticeable.
I didn’t say anything. I stood there, watching her. Her hands shook ever so slightly and I had to cover my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh. The knife she used to cut the dough into circles trembled in her grasp.
I made her nervous. Anxious. She wanted to flee. Her instincts served her well. I reached out and took a small ball of chocolate dough and rolled it between my palms. Burrowing my fingers in, pulling apart.