Page 55 of Cashmere Ruin

As the movie—sorry,art documentary—begins, I sneak glances at my baby’s enraptured face. Only, she doesn’t seem to care about the TV at all: instead, she’s looking atus.Me, Charlie, her dashing defender Mr. Buttons. As if we’re the only movie worth watching.

I make a face at her and watch her erupt in giggles.

Will she have this phase, too, one day? Will she come to breakfast in full gothic gear at fifteen and roll her eyes at anybody who questions her? Will she want to go to death metal concerts one weekend and archaeological museums the next?

Will her dad let her go?

I force myself to stop there. It’s a good day today. No sense in ruining it with complicated thoughts.

For once, I just want to lose myself in the moment.

The documentary seems to be all about Bernini. I almost nod off once or twice, but my cat slaps me awake. Like, honest-to-Godslaps.I have no idea where he got that habit, but I suspect June may have something to do with it. That’s the way shewakes me up when I start dozing at the height of a romcom.

The way sheusedto wake you up, whispers the voice inside my head, sharp as a dart.

Right. That’s not my life anymore. Not the mornings spent fighting with the water heater, and not the evenings spent curled up on the couch with snacks of dubious origin and a bossy cat in both our laps. The bickering, the banter, the food fights.

Thelaughter.

So much for staying in the moment.

I snap myself out of it one more time, determined to enjoy the documentary. Or at least not fall asleep during it. That’s when something catches my eye on the screen: a statue of two figures intertwined, a man and a woman, her arms stretched to the heavens as if trying to escape. I squint at the odd shape of herfingers, trying to make out what’s wrong with them. Because they almost look like…

“Laurel,” Charlie answers my unspoken question. “Those are laurel leaves. She’s turning into a tree.”

“Why?” I frown.

“It’s a Greek myth,” he explains. “Apollo and Daphne.”

“Oh, so it’s not just art, history, video games, and skating? You’re also a mythology buff now?” I tease.

“Bite me,” he retorts, but he’s laughing. “I had a Percy Jackson phase in fourth grade. Pestered Mom for a library card every other day until she gave in.”

“Seriously? How did I miss that?”

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I realize:fourth grade. Charlie must have been around nine, which means I was just turning eighteen then. It was when…

When you left your parents and never looked back.

God, what is it with my brain today? Why do I keep knocking myself down on purpose? And why am I wondering if May will leave me, too?

You know she will. She’ll see how unhappy you are and find someplace else to be. Another home. Another family.

“Look,” Charlie snaps me out of it. “They’re about to explain it.”

I push my nasty internal monologue away and shift my attention to the screen.

“‘… no longer able to escape Apollo’s pursuit, Daphne prays to her father to save her. Bernini’s sculpture captures the moment of her metamorphosis: her fingers elongate into branches; her toes root into the ground; her body becomes enveloped in a thick layer of bark. There is desperation in her final stand, but also a combined and conflicting sense of yearning. While it is Apollo who yearns to trap her into his arms, Daphne who yearns to be freed. Ironically, it is only by losing her freedom completely that she finally manages to save herself, becoming truly free. Bernini’s craftsmanship in this piece…’”

Without thinking, I place May in Charlie’s arms and pick up my sketchbook. “Apes…?” he asks.

I don’t answer.

I don’t know how long I stay like that, tracing my pencil across the paper like a woman possessed. All I know is that the world disappears. For one, blissful moment, there isn’t a single thought in my head that isn’t,Draw. Make something good.

When I finally come up for air, there’s a finished dress project in front of me.

Charlie pauses the documentary, then leans over to gawk. “Sis, this is…”

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