Page 30 of The Artist and the Muse

“George, you’re early,” Katerina said, hurrying to get the door with my nephew, Mattias, cradled on her chest in a baby wrap.

“I don’t think I appreciate your tone of surprise,” I joked as I took off my shoes and followed her into the living room.

“Well, you aren’t exactly the most reliable guy around.”

“I’m trying to set a good example for Matty.” It was half-true; the other part of me was trying to be better for the rest of my family. For the sister I’d neglected so long.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it one day.” She unwrapped him from the baby carrier she wore and placed him in my arms.

I carefully cradled his head, smelling the sweet scent of baby powder and whatever baby shampoo Katerina washed him with. Did people use shampoo on their babies? I wasn’t actually sure.

“You’re being a huge help, George. I really appreciate it.”

I’d offered to come over and watch my nephew today while she worked from home, since I didn’t have any classes to teach and had delegated the rest of my marking to my TA, Hunter.

“I guess I feel obligated to make up for my time away, after not being in your life for so long.” I settled myself on the couch with Matty.

While Katerina took some calls for the charity work she was doing at the Steele foundation, I played with my nephew. On our seventh round of peek-a-boo, he began crying.

Katerina tsked, but didn’t glance up from her laptop. “Do you know how to change a diaper?”

“Of course I do,” I said, putting on an affronted tone. I knew I was the last person she would expect to be capable of changing a diaper, but I’d babysat for family friends growing up. Sure, that had been under parental supervision, but it had to count for something.

Ten minutes later, with freshly washed hands, I returned to the living room. Matty had squirmed and wriggled about while I was trying to clean him and put a fresh diaper on him, but I’d still managed to get the job done. “I told you I could do it.”

Katerina closed her laptop and reached for her baby. “Let me see.” She examined his diaper and declared, “It’s on backwards.”

We locked eyes for a moment. I’d been so certain that I was capable of getting this right—

“Just kidding.” My sister cracked up, doubling over with laughter. “You should’ve seen your face!”

I rolled my eyes. “Not funny, Trina.”

“Oh, but it was hilarious.” She grinned before looking down at Mattias. “Don’t you think so, Matty?”

While she cooed over her son for a few minutes, I went into the kitchen. “I’m gonna make us some lunch. Does grilled cheese sound good to you?”

“That would be perfect, thanks!”

I dug through the fridge and found a half-used block of aged Parmigiano and some marble cheddar that was almost dried up, along with a stick of salted butter. Making grilled cheese brought me back to our childhood. To a simple life in Montréal, before I’d let everything I wanted get in the way of being with the people I loved.

Pulling out a frying pan, I went through the familiar motions of making our sandwiches. Growing up, we’d eaten grilled cheese sandwiches countless times, usually on nights after our mother’s passing, when our father was working late. I had come to associate the simple dish with nostalgic comfort, with the feeling that I wasn’t alone even when our parents weren’t around. I still had my sister.

Only, I’d left her.

After the cheese was gooey, and both sides of the bread were golden brown, I plated the sandwiches and handed one plate to Katerina.

She took a bite. Matty was lying on his stomach in a playpen in the living room next to a coffee table now, playing with a plastic ball.

“Wow, this is delicious. Can you come over and be my babysitter and private chef every day?” she joked.

“It’s the least I can do, after all the years I was gone.”

Her expression changed from joy to… frustration? Irritation? I wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it was a look I rarely saw on my younger sister. “George, do we really have to talk about this? I thought we’d moved on from the past.”

“No, I have to…” I took a deep breath. “There’s things I haven’t told you, and I’d like to, if you want to hear them.”

“Things like what?” I could see her steadying herself as she put the sandwich back down and shifted the plate onto the coffee table. “About why you didn’t come to Dad’s funeral?”

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