Page 33 of Mama Si's Paradise

“I know you’re nervous. Please understand that I will not be forcing you to do anything you don’t want to.” Mama Si laughed, and the air was somehow thicker in the corridor—or maybe it was just the narrow space that was getting to my head? I’d gotten used to big rooms and openness so quickly in the past week, and it shocked me to realize it. One week—that was all it had taken me to adapt.

Made me wonder how quickly we could adjust toeverythingelse without even realizing it—like abuse, physical or emotional or psychological. Or a bad life. Or a mediocre one, too.

“No, I know that,” I said, though it was a relief that she reassured me. I wouldn’t be forced into doing anything I wasn’t comfortable doing, and knowing that made me feel more at ease instantly. If I couldn’t handle whatever Mama Siwas about to show me right now, I could say so. I could leave. I could move back out.

The problem was, apparently, that my body revolted against the idea. My instincts were so reactive, so powerful, that my cheeks heated up instantly and the urge to want to do everything and anything in my power to stay here made my knees shake.

“Good,” Mama Si said, and she stepped in front of me. “All I ask of you is to keep an open mind. Prejudice is bad for the soul, Fall Doll. Do not fall prey to it.”

Prey.

Funny, because just now the look in those colorful eyes made me think of the wordpredator.

“I won’t,” I said with a nod. “I’m open-minded.”

“Try to understand that people have needs we sometimes find strange, and that’s a beautiful thing. We don’t always have to understand, but we can always accept.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“Come with me. I’ll show you.” She pulled me down the corridor while Assa followed, all the way to the third door. The plaque on it saidD13.

It was a square room, maybe as big as the bedroom in my apartment—well, Brandon’s apartment. Except this one didn’t have a bed. It had two armchairs, a round table in the middle, a rich red carpet covering the floor, and a large, gold-framed painting across from the door, taking up half the wall in front of those armchairs.

Except…it wasn’t a painting. It was a goddamn window into a room.

I forgot to breathe.

Mama Si pulled at my hand. I walked into the room and Assa closed the door behind us, stopping by the wall while I was pulled deeper, to the armchairs, and Mama Si gentlypushed me to sit in the one on the right. Then she sat beside me, put one leg over the other, and smiled.

“What…what is this?” Even my whisper came out twisted.

The window that was in front of us showed a room, a large room with people in it. A large room with a man lying on a lounger, while one of the dolls—Celia—sat on an armchair beside him with a big children’s book in her hands.

“This, Fall Doll, is one of our oldest clients, Mr. Patrick,” Mama Si said, folding her hands over her knee, her eyes moving toward the window. “He had a rough childhood. Has never been read fairytales before bed. You see, his mother was trying to keep him and his brother fed, and she didn’t have time to give her children affection. That is why affection is what Mr. Patrick now seeks.”

My mouth opened and closed, but all I could do was shake my head because no word wanted to come out of me.

Mama Si laughed at the look on my face. “You asked me what I’d need from you, Fall Doll, and I’m showing you. We entertain our clients. Whatever their need, we meet it in the best possible way. Celia here looks a lot like Mr. Patrick’s mother did when he was a boy. That is why he’s her regular. He comes here, stays for two days every few weeks, and he spends time with Celia. She helps him bathe. Helps him eat. Helps him get dressed. Reads to him after dinner and tucks him in bed for the night. He sleeps like a baby.” And she smiled proudly.

My brain was malfunctioning. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Watch, doll,” Mama Si whispered, leaning over to touch the side of my jaw with her fingertips, so she could push my head toward the window gently, until I was looking right into the room again.

I watched.

It was as fancy as everything else, the wallpapers a mixtureof blue and violet and pink. The furniture, the paintings, the mirrors, the dining table, the bed—everything in it screamedluxury.

The man lying on the lounger wore white pajamas with big blue buttons, and a cap on his head as well. He was older, possibly in his late fifties, with salt and pepper hair and beard, so handsome he could have been a Hollywood actor. This whole thing could be a movie set, and he was great at his job because he looked perfectly at peace. His hands were under his head, his legs crossed, and he was looking at Celia like he was utterly happy, a big smile on his face as she read for him, then turned the page.

On the small table in front of us was a remote I hadn’t even noticed, and Mama Si grabbed it, pressed some buttons, and suddenly the small room was filled with Celia’s voice. She was reading Pinocchio, and her voice was indeed angelic. She spoke softly, slowly, a smile on her face at all times, and she wore a pink dress with a white apron in the front, her brown hair down in thick, frizzy waves, her nails neatly trimmed.

I listened to her reading as my heart slammed in my chest, and I could hardly find enough air to breathe.

“We offer Mr. Patrick a safe space to be a little boy again,” Mama Si eventually said, making every inch of my skin rise in goose bumps. “Tell me, Fall Doll—what do you see wrong with that?”

Oh, I saw plenty wrong.Plenty. Like the fact that a grown man hadn’t yet healed from childhood wounds, that he wouldn’t consider seeing a therapist to overcome his trauma but instead fed into it and possibly made it worse. Not to mention the fact that Mama Si basically took advantage of the fact, even if she gave hima safe spaceto be what he wanted to be.

So, so wrong…yet I couldn’t say a single word, so Mama Si smiled.

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