Allie

Allie stuck the key in the ignition, started the car, and then pulled onto the road and left the playground-turned-pond, heading toward the house that she shared with Esmere.

The sun was going down.

Her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she watched the sky darkening out of her passenger window.

She had her fingers crossed for Micah's date with Natalia, though history taught her to keep her expectations low.

Tall, brooding, and charming by default, as if it were a protective mask, Micah had never had any trouble getting dates, though they led nowhere but short, fiery flings, followed by stony silences once the other half of the couple realized there was no budding relationship, no emotional intimacy, no vulnerability. Allie knew a side of Micah that was caring and able to tolerate certain levels of vulnerability in their friendship, but the depths of his love life began and ended with the mask.

She suspected some of it came from his complicated relationship with his brother. She had met Rex a few times and had no desire to do so again; she had chalked him up to an inexorable misogynist cursed to carry on his father's simultaneous hatred and love for women and alcohol. She was, of course, glad that Micah had not picked up his brother's alcoholism, but the fact remained that her longtime companion's chances at a healthy relationship were marred by both his brother's and their father's attitudes, and his only real reference for a relationship was the damaged template provided by his parents.

Ah, but you can understand that, can't you? Your father—

She quickly cut off that train of thought as if it were a gangrenous limb, come to spread its infection deeper into her.

Nope. Not getting into that one. Almost home, she thought.

Still, she pondered as she turned onto the road leading up to her house, their friendship had weathered many of his short and fruitless flings, and she had never been the object of his pursuits, so she dismissed them. She knew that it was his skeleton in the closet to come to terms with, and someday he would either find fulfillment outside of a relationship or figure out what it was that he really wanted.

She pulled into the long, winding driveway of the colonial monster of a house that Esmere had taken upon herself to remodel to fill her time. She had once been Allie's nanny, but as Allie grew up, they had come to instead live mostly independent lives in the same house, bound to each other as the last remnants of their other lives.

Allie parked next to Essie's sleek car, careful to give her enough room to back out, exited the Jeep, and cut across the lawn on foot to the front door.

Inside, there was jazzy, upbeat music going, while Essie sat on the floor of the den, looking at paint swatches and holding them up to the walls for comparison. As Allie entered the room, Essie smiled fondly, continuing to fiddle with her swatches as she hummed with the tenor sax.

"How was your day?" Allie asked, dropping her purse onto the couch.

"Good," the other answered. "I decided the living room needed something different on the walls." As she spoke, rolling R's and Z-like fricatives were more apparent in her voice than usual. Her accent was always heavier when she hadn't left the house for an extended period of time. "Did you do anything special?"

"Had that law exam today," Allie replied, sitting next to the other and picking up a couple swatches to compare.

"I'm thinking eggshell strips of this color--" Essie pointed to the dark purple in Allie's left hand, "--or textured walls of this one," then to the aubergine swatch in her own right hand. "How did that go?"

Allie held up both swatches to the wall and closed one eye, trying to imagine the entire room in the muted colors.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to the logic these people use when they create laws -- they'll put addendums and exceptions on anything, merchants to murder. It's like the entire point of learning law is to become as knowledgeable as possible so you can use the loopholes to accomplish the end goal, wherever the money leads." She paused and shook her head. "Maybe I should have picked another major. A doctor, like Micah, maybe."

"You would not make a good doctor," Esmere said matter-of-factly, laying down her testers and spreading them so she could see all of them at once. She chose not to let Allie see her roll her eyes, having heard this line of thought already.

"Like an ER doctor -- busy all the time, working on urgent things so I'd hardly have time to think about my own life -- sounds perfect."

Allie uncrossed her legs and rolled to her back, looking up at the high ceiling.

"Then again, ER doctors have to deal with all the drug addicts and idiots shoving things up places they weren't meant to go."

"You've already changed your major three times," said the other. "Just because you have the money doesn't mean you should do it."

"Yeah, that's what the adviser said." Allie hesitated, and then confessed, "Essie, I feel like I'm at a loss as to a purpose here."

Esmere gave her a sidelong look.

"Aeli—" she started, pronouncing her nickname closer to her full name, "Have you considered that you are trying to find purpose in a world that is not yours? That your purpose lies back home?"

"No, Essie... I can't."

Pinching and rubbing the bridge of her nose, Essie said, "If you can't find the answer where you're looking, then it's probably time to look elsewhere. Have you even thought past your own feelings? Often the answer lies outside your emotional framework."

"Are you saying I'm selfish?"

Esmere sighed, not wanting to dance around the subject any longer.

"You can't just stay here and be a child forever. You have to go back and grow up. You were never meant to sit here and stagnate, scratching at the gaps of your soul."

"Stop," Allie said sharply. "I don't want to talk about this."

Esmere only shook her head and began organizing her paint swatches in leaden silence, her browned hands moving more briskly.

Allie got up and started toward the stairs, her head held high as she felt soothing indignation replace the pain ignited by Essie's words.

"Would you consider that this guilt means it really is time for you to go back?" Essie said to her departing back.

Allie said nothing, continuing up the stairs, suddenly weary. Each step took a disproportionate amount of effort to climb. She felt the flare and shame of the truth threatening to burn her, and she extinguished it with practiced vindictiveness.

At the top, in her room, she climbed into her unmade bed and huddled down under the covers and slept.

She woke later, far earlier than she would have liked.

"I guess that's what I get, going to sleep so early," she mumbled through a yawn and stretched, throwing her legs over the side of the bed.

The analog clock on her nightstand read two in the morning. Solidly a morning person who rose and fell mostly with the sun, she never felt quite right in the witching hours of the night, always ill at ease, as if she were a lapdog caged with bigger and meaner breeds.

She pursed her lips at her own analogy and stood, facing the floor-length mirror in the corner.

"I could be a big dog, too, if I needed," she told her fluffy-haired reflection, pulling back her lips and baring her teeth at it, but she wasn't convincing anyone, least of all herself.

She studied herself for a moment, eyes flitting from skinny arms to tense jaw to green eyes, still a little foggy with sleep. She looked small and scared, she decided. She hated it.

Frowning, she shook her head and walked out of her room, crossing the worn runner rug in the hall and into Esmere's room, where the nightstand lamp was still lit.

Esmere was lounging on the bed, holding a book open with one hand over her head and reading from it, mouthing the words as she went along.

"Essie," Allie said to get the other's attention.

Esmere's eyes flicked to her, and she put the book down, using the book jacket to mark her place. She shook the numbness from her hand and said concernedly, "You're still awake?"

"Nah, I slept. I guess my body thought it was just a nap."

Esmere's voice was slightly heavy with sleepiness, as if she'd been on the verge of dozing. She often spent long, late hours reading into the night, and she absorbed books at an impressive rate as a result. She credited books as her English teacher and constant companions.

Allie noticed the book she had set down, nearly finished, was a copy of Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo, something she herself had recommended to Essie, and felt a little pang of love and remorse for the way their conversation had ended several hours earlier.

"Esmere," she started, which immediately caused the other to look at her, as Allie rarely used her full name, "I wanted to apologize. For earlier, and just...everything. In a lot of ways, you're right and I just don't want to think about it. I'm sorry."

"I know you don't, and I do understand it. But when you block out things that make you uncomfortable, they remain inside you, festering and waiting to reappear when you are most unguarded. You are stunting your own growth by running away."

Allie exhaled sharply in half a chuckle and half a breath of surprise.

"Essie, you'd make an absolutely brutal psychotherapist."

Esmere shrugged.

"The vendor who sells truths makes little money," she replied.

"Wasn't the first part to that, 'One who dispenses flattery is fed for life'?"

"I'm surprised you remember that one," Esmere remarked, then, "but really, who could go hungry when they've always got a mouthful of someone's ass?"

A bark of laughter escaped Allie, again caught off guard.

"No wonder where my sense of humor comes from," she mused.

Esmere stood up from the low bed and crossed to her.

"Thank you for your apology." She embraced the other affectionately, patting her back gently. Then she said, her voice muffled by Allie's hair, "It's okay to be scared, but we find the best in ourselves when we face everything anyway."

Allie pulled back from her, trying to smile, but instead her expression came across as a pained grimace. Esmere's hand went to her shoulder, squeezed it, and she continued, "It's never too late to be the person you wish you were."

"I do want that... it's just a matter of starting. And I have a feeling that once I start facing it, I won't be able to stop the floodgates."

"Whoever you become, remember that it's just as important to be compassionate and honest, Aeli. You've said you would want your mother to be proud, and she was the sweetest person I have ever known."

She drew away and sat down on a chair, her face bearing a smile that didn't quite match the vague sadness of her dark eyes. "You also must understand that hardships bring strength, and you face few. You cannot both have it easy and also be tough, my dear."

"Are you saying I live a soft life?"

"Like everyone, you feel your pains and sorrows. But yes, you do live softly."

There was a pause, and then Allie let slip, "Do you miss home a lot?"

For the first time, her former nanny looked away, her eyes landed on her tanned, lined hand, grasping the carved armrest of the chair. She swallowed, and Allie figured she was thinking about the world they had left behind, her family, her former life.

Then her hooded eyes met Allie's again, and they were filled with concern and love, but underneath that, they were carefully unreadable. Allie could feel deep inside her that the love and concern were real, but they were not the whole story.

"I loved your mother, and naturally I love you, also. I promised Dafina I would take care of you, and I couldn't let you go alone in the wake of...what happened. I wouldn't change my decision even if I could. Maybe someday I will see our home again. I won't expect it, because I am here for you."

Allie didn't know what to say to that. She felt a hard ball form in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Essie. You've given me some things to think about."

You're my only family I really have, and I've kept you here, she thought, but could not say.

"I'm going to try to get some sleep," she said after a moment, hoping she was tactfully exiting the conversation. Sometimes Esmere's honesty was much-needed and refreshing, and sometimes it was wholly uncomfortable and heavy. Even more uncomfortable, though, were the things she did not say.

Esmere nodded and gave her a small smile, and Allie was relieved that she also seemed equally ready to drop that particular conversation. She picked the book back up, and resumed reading in the chair.

Allie left the room and went to her own bed, and lay awake for another hour, tossing and turning, her thoughts roaming wild.