Page 21 of Unsteady

“What?”

“Your phone.”

I open it and hand it to her, watching over her shoulder, where she settles right next to me, as she pulls up the app and selects her profile and clicks the first playlist.

There’s a picture of a very sad looking beagle with a party hat on his head, even while he lays spread flat on the floor, but across it in sparkly letters the name of the album is bright.

“Sadie’s Songs for Reece’s Sad Demon Brain,” I read aloud, before adding, “You spelled Rhys wrong.”

“Your parents spelled your name wrong on the birth certificate. Your way looks likeRise. So if anything, I fixed it.” She rolls her eyes, but her teeth clasp onto her lip a little self-consciously. “I made it last night. I… Well, graphic design isn’t my major.”

My heart pinches for a moment, like a lingering stab wound at the thought of her in her bedroom, up all night curating songs and making art for the cover so it looked like this. For me.

“I thought maybe you could listen to it while you skate and… I don’t know. It’s stupid—“

“It’s not,” I cut her off vehemently. “You made me a playlist.”

“Yeah.” She nods, rocking in a wide circle on her skates back and forth, pushing off my chest each time. I grab her when she returns this time, my hands on her wrists to keep her touching me. I transfer her wrists into one of mine, selfish with her touch as much as her time. Digging the second set of AirPods from my pocket, I slip them into her ears and gently let her go.

“Do you want to pick first?”

“I think you should just shuffle it. That's what I do, then you focus on that instead of panicking.”

I hover my finger over the button as she starts to skate off to the other end, before I see her pause and swizzle backwards.

“It might not work, and I don’t really know what’s bothering you, but music helps me.”

She stops there, but the unspoken words are just as loud. If anything, her eyes say it easily; it’sI wanted to help and this is all I haveandI see you.

“Thank you,” I offer, but it feels too insufficient.

I press shuffle and chuckle a little laugh when “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” starts blaring in my ears.

She skates around quickly, zigzagging along and warming up, focused like always. But when she passes me again, her eyes meet mine and she mouths along with the words playing through our headphones.

A laugh rumbles in my chest. I want to stay just like this with her forever.

* * *

“Your father mentioned something interesting—damn it!”

I look up from my perch at the countertop, checking over my mom as she rushes her finger under the tap while boiling sauce bubbles over the pot behind her.

“You okay?” I smile, watching as she wipes her hands on her overalls and turns back to the stove.

My dad might have been an incredible hockey player, but my mother was well known in her own right. “Architecture's Darling” according to many news articles and magazines, Anna Koteskiy is mostly known for designing grand gazebos and extravagant gardens. Now, she mostly spends her time running a few charities for sustainable housing projects.

Still, my mother loves to cook—no matter how hazardous it is for her and everyone in the vicinity.

Somehow, my father’s entrance scares her enough to drop the pan on her forearm, shouting a little curse and still managing to keep hold of it. My father and I both race towards her. While I take a mitten from the counter to grab the pan, Dad dotes on her like she’s suffered a life-threatening injury.

As he mutters to her in a mix of Russian and English, my mom and I share an eye roll.

“Maybe I’ll take over dinner.” He sighs, letting her go with another kiss to the burned skin. “It’s nice outside, take our son out to the patio and set the table.”

Mom grabs the stack of dark green pottery plates while I pile silverware, napkins and other table necessities in my arms, and both of us leaving the large kitchen through the attached glass greenhouse and out onto the back patio. The string lights are already on, warm golden light casting an added glow to the amber of the six o’clock sun.

The custom oak wood table needs a slight dust off, which is usual for this time of year, with the obscene amount of flowers and blossoming trees near the outer perimeter of the sunken patio.

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