Rachel Andreini

          Laura opens the door of her home, looking exactly like she did in grad school. Her hair springs from her head, tight curls exploding. She wears overalls and a tie dye T. She must have seen me park opposite her house, because she is out the door before I even turn the car off. She walks barefoot to the driver’s door. God, aren’t her feet burning?

          She steps back so I can open the door but hugs me as soon as I am upright. My hands fall loosely around my friend’s waist, and I lift my chin to rest on her shoulder. I inhale loudly, feeling my ribs expand between her arms, then exhale through my nose. She lets go. Laura tries too hard to look at me. Her eyes seem bigger behind thick glasses – and I mean thick. That is another thing that hasn’t changed, I suppose. “You’re pregnant,” I say with flat surprise.

          Laura flashes a quick smile, clearly not quite sure whether she is supposed to. “Yes.” She peers through the back window of the car. “Hi, Natalie!” she says with forced cheer. “Are you excited for your sleepover?”

          Natalie beams through the window, nodding excitedly. 

          Laura helps me grab our bags from the trunk. She hangs two bags from her shoulder and crushes another in her arms. The strap from one slides precariously down her shoulder. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” she says. “Let’s just get you guys situated. The sooner we get cozy, the better.” I make Natalie carry in her toy box, and I grab some more bags.

          Trinity bounces on the balls of her feet just inside the doorway as we walk in, a four-year-old ball of giddiness. “Hi, Natalie!” she chirps, dimples crossing her face shyly.

          “Trinity!” Natalie beams, eyes bright.

          “Mom, can we go play?” Trinity asks Laura. “I want to show her my new Polly Pockets.”

          Laura’s eyes flick in my direction. She nods stiffly. “Sure, if Natalie wants to.”

          “Do you want to see my room Natalie?”

          “Yes.” And then the girls’ feet pound across the wooden floors. I hear a door close. I hear their giggles and playful shrieks. I hear the suspiciously rhythmic squeaking of two children jumping on a bed. I have told Natalie not to do that, but I’m not interested in dealing with a fit of histrionics right now. 

          Laura leads me upstairs, which opens directly into a single small room. Its walls are white. Sunlight from the far open window stains the carpet a dull yellow. “It’s a little empty,” Laura says apologetically. “We were using this as a playroom before. I had Trinity help me pick everything up, though, so most of the toys are in her room or the basement.” She carries her load of bags to a futon near the center of the room and sets them down. “Well,” she clears the back of her throat. “Make yourself at home.”

                                                                                                    -----

          Brad enters the house around four. Apparently, he got off work early. Laura leans into him. He hugs her and kisses her on the forehead then turns to me, pulling me into a side hug. “You are welcome here for as long as you need,” he tells me. Beside him, Laura gives a stiff smile. She looks me earnestly in the eyes, though, and nods. Yes, you are welcome, she tries to convey. I know this. I know her.

          “Want a beer?” Brad asks, already grabbing two. He hands one to me.

          “Thanks,” I say. Brad nods towards the living room and I follow him. I sit in the rocking chair, which is wooden. Some of its old wood stain is fading, leaving pale scars on the frame. Two green cushions are strapped to the seat and back. Laura sits on the couch with Brad. She sits separate from him, not using him as a cushion like the last time I visited. Presumably, this distance is for my benefit. I want to tell her not to bother.

          Together, we jolt our way through small talk. Brad is pursuing a master’s degree in business administration. He takes classes when he doesn’t work. I ask, “How are your classes going?” 

          “Oh, good. Good.” His head nods reflexively. 

          We fall silent until Laura smiles, “It’s too bad Trinity and Natalie don’t go to the same preschool.”

          “Mmm,” I agree.

          “Soon they’ll be off to kindergarten. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.”

          “Yeah.” We all stare at each other. Brad taps his heel against the floor. His thumb moves in time with his knee. “How far along are you?” I ask Laura.

          “A little over five months,” she says. Her smile is now a real one.

          I nod. I’m about to let it go. Still, I ask. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

          Her answer is quick. “We wanted to be sure.” She pauses, bites her bottom lip. Looking at the arm of the couch, she says, “Also, you’ve had a lot going on. I didn’t want to lay more on you.”

          “I would’ve been happy for you.”

          She nods, “I know.”

          I take a sip of beer and look around the living room. To my left in a corner rests a boxed television. Beside it is a piano. Small dust bunnies float through the room, made visible in bright beams of sunlight shining through the windows. It is near evening now. Inhale, exhale. My legs are crossed. The left one touches the floor. I use it to rock back and forth in my chair. We sit in blessed silence for a while.

          “So, how’s the… situation with George?”

          “Brad!” Laura snaps.

          “What? I’m just asking.”

          Laura shoots me an apologetic look. She bites her lip again. Her shoulders are hunched together.

          “I’m waiting for the paperwork to get approved,” I say, getting up. “I… might go take a nap.”

Laura stands up as well. Her arm twitches like she wants to reach out and grab me. It hovers in the air. “Nevaeh…”

          I wait, give her time to speak. She doesn’t. “It’s really alright,” I smile. “I’m just tired.”

                                                                                                    -----

          I hear the word arsonist and think, for whatever reason, of a burning trashcan. A fire blooms in the trashcan, scenting the air with charred rotten banana peels and the sickening fumes of burned plastic. An arsonist is a kid playing with a magnifying glass, sadistically setting ants on fire until they are spots of soot on the ground. A square of light from the magnifying glass might rest innocently on the cemented sidewalk when the child tires.

          I never heard the word arsonist and thought of George. I should probably get used to that now, though. George is an arsonist, I chant in my head. Over and over, I will think this until it settles in my mind like a worn song, until the phrase loses all meaning.

          According to his co-workers, he did not show up for his shift at the post office. He worked a part-time night shift from 10 pm to 4 am, three nights a week. He often complained of the monotony. He said the smell of packing tape and cardboard would never leave him.

          Around 1:37 am, a house burned to the ground on the other side of town. It belonged to a family of four. The father and older brother were out of town. The mother and younger son were injured but are healing. The smoke caused them the most harm. 

          George was found a few blocks away, lighter fluid gripped tightly in his hands. He didn’t run. I dream that the whites of his eyes flashed red and blue as the police car slowed to a stop beside him.

          Did I have any indication that George was capable of this? People won’t ask me, but of course they wonder. No. I think. Maybe. I don’t know. The police think he was resentful of the family’s money, call it societal revenge. The family lived on a nicer side of town, with their own house and big yard. I don’t know. Maybe our apartment made him feel lesser in comparison. 

          Maybe he knew one of the parents.

          Maybe he just wanted the excitement, the feeling of power.

          I don’t know.

          I just remember coming home one Mother’s Day to find yellow daffodils in a vase that Natalie had painted that day. The vase sat on our kitchen table, lit by warm sunlight. George and Natalie were at the kitchen counter mixing together ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. Natalie chattered happily about her day. George saw me and smiled, “You’re early.” The smell of home baked cookies filled the room less than ten minutes later.

          It is hard to reconcile that earlier George with the one in prison. I guess he burned more than a house that day.

                                                                                                    -----

          Laura and I are bent over a puzzle. When it is complete, we will see a small farm town stalled in winter. Each time I find a piece that fits, I tap on it twice. This must amuse Laura, because she races to find matching pieces. She taps louder, peering at me playfully from the corner of her eyes.

          Nothing new is safe to talk about, so we say nothing. Laura tries to give me space.

Trinity enters the room and slinks towards Laura, not saying a word. She hugs Laura and sniffles. “Trinity? What’s wrong?” Laura asks. Trinity just shakes her head into her mother’s side. Laura shoots a bewildered look to me across the table.

I push out my chair and walk towards Trinity’s room. Natalie sits in a circle of toys. She tenses when I step through the door. “Natalie? What happened?”

          Natalie scoops as many toys as she can into her lap. “They’re mine,” she says, jutting her chin out in defiance. I look at the toys in her lap, a mixture from her toy box and Trinity’s own stash. 

          I sigh, “You have to share, Natalie. I think Trinity is worried she won’t get her toys back.” I grab a Polly Pocket. “I bet you can’t play with all of these at once. Maybe you could pick a few to let Trinity play with?” 

          Natalie’s lower lip starts to tremble. Then she thrashes about, trying to collect more toys into her lap. “You never take my side!” she wails as I try to separate her toys from Trinity’s. I swear, her fits become worse each day.

          By the time Natalie is done with her tantrum, I owe Trinity a new Polly Pocket. The old one has lost an arm.

                                                                                                    -----

          Natalie sleeps beside me on the futon upstairs. I can’t sleep. I stare at the textured ceiling, with its grooves and hills. I find shapes in them like children make dragons from clouds.

          I imagine Laura and Brad in their bed below. Maybe I’m paranoid. They talk about me, though, in my mind.

          “I never liked him,” Brad will say. “Remember when he first met us? He stayed in his car the whole time Nevaeh was in our house. He just sat there. It was a power trip, you know? Manipulative. Should have been a warning sign.”

          Laura will sigh, like she doesn’t around me anymore. She feels guilty about being happy. “You shouldn’t press her,” she will try to defend me. 

          “It can’t be healthy to keep it bottled up.”

          “She’ll talk about it when she wants to.”

          I do not want to talk about George. I want to talk with Laura like I did when we were roommates in grad school. I want to rant about classes, gush about boys, gossip about the celebrities in rags. I want us to sit and paint each other’s nails while music plays low in the background. I want to go clothes shopping and help Laura get ready for her new baby. 

          I stare at the ceiling, rubbing the indent that circles my left ring finger. The patterns don’t even look like smoke, but that is all I see.

                                                                                                    -----

          Laura is on speaker phone with her sister, Bri. She browns beef in a skillet on the stove for a casserole. “I’m not saying I’m necessarily against it,” she says. “I just don’t want to be impolite.”

          Bri’s voice is scratchy across the speaker. “It’s not impolite. It’s a just a party. Sure, it is themed around your baby, but I wrote not to bring presents on the invitations.”

          “I don’t know…”

          “Listen, it will just be family and close friends. Nothing big or fancy,” Bri wheedles. “We just want to celebrate with you. And I’ll host. You know I’ll keep it low key.”

          Laura’s back faces me, stiff, as she says in a low voice, “I’m just not sure this is a good time.”

          “Laura,” I say to her back, exasperated.

          She sighs and then grins. “Fine.” I rest my head in my arms on the dining table, while Bri talks to Laura about the details of the party. The smell of the sizzling beef makes my stomach rumble.

          My invitation to the party came to Laura’s house in the mail. It was almost funny, her handing me an envelope as I ate oatmeal in her kitchen. The party will be at Laura’s house, because it’s a central point for her close family and friends. Obviously, I’m invited. She couldn’t kick me and Natalie out of the house while she had a party.

          I’m being cynical. It was a nice thought.

          Natalie and I have been here for a month now.

                                                                                                    -----

          A doorbell rings, announcing that another guest’s arrival at Laura’s party. The room is filled with a chorus of hellos and welcoming smiles. The woman walks in with a package of diapers tucked under her arms. Laura blushes, thanks her, and carries it over to the corner of the room where three other packages are packed. People have brought gifts despite the instructions on the invitations. 

          Laura turns back to the woman. “Introductions!” She gestures to a group on my right. “You already know those guys from work… Have you met Bri?” 

          Bri waves, “I’m Laura’s sister.”

          “Meg.”

          “Nice to meet you.”

          Laura uses her entire hand, palm up, to direct Meg’s gaze appropriately. “My parents are over there… my cousin, Ryan… and that’s Nevaeh. She’s a friend from grad school.” Meg’s eyes flash with recognition. I attempt a smile and wave. Laura must have explained my situation before the party. “Grab a seat,” Laura urges. 

          Meg walks towards her coworkers, giving me a shifty smile as she walks by me. I stare at my hands as the group talks together. How uncomfortable. They know about me. I feel exposed. I feel their eyes on me. I’m an oddity, a display at a museum.

          “These are nice decorations,” Meg’s voice is close to my ear. I look up to find that she has moved beside me. 

          “Yeah. Bri did them,” I say. Laura and Brad have decided not to learn the baby’s sex, so a few blue and pink streamers hang limply from the ceiling. A few balloons rest on the ground.

          “They’re nice,” Meg pats her thigh. “So, what’s new for you?”

          My face twists. I open my mouth, close it. “Nothing much,” I say finally with a shrug.

          Meg nods. She remains beside me, looking back towards her coworkers. After some time, she gets back up to join them.

                                                                                                    -----

          Trinity wears a T-shift that says, I’m a Big Sister! She enjoys the attention from guests.

          “Are you excited to have a little brother or sister?” Bri asks Trinity.

          “Yes, yes, yes!” she answers. Natalie shifts beside her, antsy.

          “Let’s go play, Trinity!” There are a lot of people around, and Natalie doesn’t understand why Trinity is getting more attention. I hope she can handle sharing the attention until the party is over.

          Laura is beaming and radiant. Her family and friends tease her, singing Paul Anka’s song about babies. The room smells sweaty and is warmer than usual, from all the people present. Laura has forgotten about me in this moment, taking the spotlight. I think I prefer this. She isn’t tiptoeing around me.

          Eventually, the conversation turns to baby names, but no one can stay serious for long.

          “Jupiter!”

          “Blob. Just tell people you couldn’t decide between Blake and Bob.”

          “Reina Bo!”

          Good grief. “I always thought Nevaeh was a good name,” I contribute, smirking. “Original. Just rolls of the tongue. Nuuuuh-vaaaay-yuuuh.”

          Laura giggles. Oh, she’s really gotten started now. She snorts when she laughs and laughs when she is embarrassed. It is an ongoing cycle. “I’m not” – snort – “naming my kid” – snort – “Nevaeh.” 

          I shrug, “Your loss.” This is fun.

          “Jesus,” says Laura. “This is fun.”

                                                                                                    -----

          They bring out the cake, which has purple frosting. Natalie and Trinity jump up and down, grasping the table ledge. Children have a sixth sense for this sort of thing. 

          “I want cake! I want cake!” they chant. Laura hushes Trinity, but Natalie keeps up the chant. She finally has all eyes on her.

          I grasp Natalie and take her with me to the nearby wall. She turns, her back to me, looking at the cake. I lock my arms around her, in a backwards hug. She is a bit riled up, and I need her to calm down. She is a push away from a tantrum. Mother’s intuition.

          I relax when I see Laura cut the cake. Natalie will get a slice, and we can eat with Trinity in her room. Natalie evidently disagrees. She breaks free of my arms and sticks her hand in the middle of the cake before she brings it up to her face to eat. She leaves crumbs on her face and shirt. They tumble to the floor. 

          I can feel heat move up my neck into my forehead. “Natalie!” I snap. “Apologize to Laura!” I brush her hands off and drag her to the sink.

          “No,” she mumbles.

          I pause. “What was that?”

          “No!”

          “Alright. No cake, then.” 

          Laura jumps in. “It’s really alri –”

          Natalie screams.

          “Natalie, stop that!” I say. 

          “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! You never let me do anything fun or what I want. Daddy would let me have cake! He would! Where is Daddy? I want Daddy!”

          I am hot and cold and shaking. I lift Natalie into my arms and carry her towards Trinity’s room. Natalie kicks, hits, and wiggles the whole way. “Natalie. Natalie,” I say. “We are going to calm down together. When we are calm, we will apologize to Laura.” I pause. Consider. “Then we can eat cake.”

          Natalie glares at me, hits me again. I sit with her until I can see her anger dim into embarrassment. She hiccups, starts to cry again. “Mommy…”

          I hold her and rock her until she falls asleep.

                                                                                                    -----

          “It’s really okay,” Laura tells me after everyone has left. “Trinity has her moments, too. Part of being a mother, yeah?” She takes a quick breath. “And the fact that George isn’t around is probably a hard transition for her.”

          We are picking up. The streamers are in a trash bag. I have wiped frosting and cake crumbs off the table. Laura washes the dishes while I dry. Brad is in the master bedroom. He means to give us time alone.

          “It’s not okay,” I say. “It’s really not okay.”

          Laura bites her lip, nods. “I’m thinking of going to the farmer’s market tomorrow. Do you want to come wi –”

          “What am I doing?” I interrupt. I scrub vigorously at my dish. “What am I doing?”

          Laura looks at me. “It’s okay.”

          “It’s not! It’s not!” I yell, banging the plate down on the counter. I pause, waiting to see if I woke Natalie or Trinity up. I continue, hushed and angry. “Nothing about this is okay. I have been living here for two months. I’ve not explained anything about… anything to Natalie, not really. And you treat me like a… like a child!” I take a deep breath. “I’m not doing anything. You feed me, give me a place to stay, make sure I have things to do. And I get to – what – sit by and watch you move forward?”

          Great. She looks ready to cry. “That’s not fair.”

          “I’m stuck! I’m stuck, and you’re moving forward.” God. How embarrassing. I run my fingers through my hair then grasp the strands into fists. “What the hell am I even doing here?”

          Laura shifts awkwardly. “Do… you want to talk about it?”

          “No,” I huff. “No.”

          Laura looks me in the eyes, takes my hands. She tugs on my arm and leads me towards her rocking chair. She sits down first. I almost want to hit her. She pulls me, and I crumble into the chair with her. 

          It’s an awkward fit. There is no room for me, but I carefully mold myself around her growing belly. The chair’s arm presses into my back. My legs are halfway off the chair, and I am not fully seated. My neck is bent back so that my chin is propped on her shoulder. I feel strung out like a clothesline, taut and weighed down.

          Laura rocks and hums absently. Her thumb strokes up and down on my hand. When I breathe in, I can smell coconut shampoo on her hair. I am distant from these sensations, trapped in my own mind. I stare wide-eyed and unfocused at the green cushions, eyebrows furrowed. 

          My throat feels tight.

          We stay like this for a long while.

                                                                                                    -----

          “I rented an apartment,” I tell Laura three days later.

          She is reading a book to Trinity in the rocking chair. Trinity fits in her arms much better than me. Laura frowns at me, nods, and keeps reading. 

                                                                                                    -----

          Natalie and I load our baggage into my car. Laura hugs me goodbye, looking an awful lot like she did in college. “You know you can come back any time,” she says.

          “I know.”

          “You’ll call me?” She doesn’t sound hopeful. “We will hang out sometime soon.”

          “For sure,” I lie.

          I step into my car and make sure Natalie is buckled. Then I drive off. As I turn the first corner, I watch Laura’s house disappear from my rearview mirror. Natalie looks out the window and points up at the clouds, smudging the glass. “Look,” she says. “That one looks like a dragon.” 

          We pull into the parking lot. I make Natalie carry her own toy box. I make multiple trips for the rest of our bags and pile all the bags in a corner. “Look, you have your own room,” I say. 

          “Like Trinity?” Natalie asks. I nod. She beams up at me before dumping her toy box upside down. The toys spill out over the floor. “Jenga first,” Natalie decides.

          I hunker down beside her. “You are going to have to pick this mess up later,” I warn before helping her stack the blocks.

          “Pssh. That’s what you’re for.”

          After Jenga, we play Go Fish and Twister. I make Natalie brush her teeth, then tuck her into bed. “We’ll pick up together tomorrow,” I say, just to let her know I haven’t forgotten. I kiss her forehead. “Good night. I love you.”

          “Love you, too.”

          I lay in my own bed without Natalie’s warmth beside me for the first time in two months. I stare at the textured ceiling, rubbing the indent over my left ring finger. The indent is less pronounced now. The patterns in the ceiling don’t look like smoke, but that is all I see. 

          I snort. My shoulders shudder in laughter, at first, but this quickly turns to crying. “Look, George,” I giggle. “I can burn things, too.”