Page 10 of Here In Your Arms

“Good to see you too, Mom.”

“I mean it, young lady. Anyone could have come walking in!”

“I know, Mom, but I live on the third floor, and it was locked until about ten minutes ago because I knew you were coming,” I explain with what I hope is patience.

“Well…” She sniffs.

“Thanks for bringing Claire over. What time should I have her back?”

“Never!” Claire declares, drama still going strong.

“Any time after dinner. Maybe seven so she has time to do her homework.” My mom looks at Claire as she finishes her sentence.

Claire, to her credit, doesn’t even respond. Good for her.

“Okay, Mom, bye, love you,” I tell her, trying to shoo her out the door.

“Sure, just kick me out,” she grumbles.

“You have plans!”

“That’s beside the point,” she says, still sounding put out.

“Have fun,” I tell her and close the door on her, making sure I flip the deadbolt lock extra hard so she hears it.

I flop on the couch next to Claire. “How are you doing, kiddo?”

“Fine. Don’t call me kiddo,” she says.

“Okay, kiddie,” I say in retaliation.

“Not better,” she grumbles.

“I’ll work on it, tyke.”

She rolls her eyes at a tenth grade level, and I cackle. We get to work on our “girl day” and promptly start making our baked goods.

Several hours later, we have brownies and cookies galore on the coffee table in the living room and nail polish bottles everywhere. I’m trying to squish my toes into those little separator things and Claire takes pity on me.

“Aunt Rory, you are hopeless.”

“I just like to give you something to do,” I say, leaning back and relaxing as she slips the spreader in easily.

“What color do you want?”

“Oh I can paint my own, squirt, you don’t have to.”

“One, squirt is not an option either. Two, I know, but I’m gonna make you do mine as payment.”

“Fair enough.” I laugh. “Let’s go with purple.”

I’m repaying the toenail painting favor with my legs in a weird, contorted position so I don’t fuck up the paint, when I hear a heavy sigh. I look up at Claire, a question in my gaze. She’s not looking, though. She’s watching whatever movie we have on with a happy family cheesy ending.

“What’s up, rugrat?” I ask her

“Why don’t my parents want me?” she asks.

Well, fuck, I was not planning on this conversation today. I feign nonchalance as I finish up her last couple of toes. Putting the nail polish back, I take a moment to look her in the eye, and pause the movie.

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