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peakysabrina · 4 years

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Dark Horse: chapter 5

Warnings: nothing, I don’t think? Nothing other than the usual violent themes and language I guess. I’m back, because I decided I was gonna ship Gigi and Ada.

Ada had meant to visit Polly first thing in the morning, but arrived to her aunt's home and found it empty. It was strange, because since Aberama Gold's death, Polly was always home, usually in bed, facing the wall, curtains drawn, refusing to see anyone. Where in all hell had she gone now, probably alone? Was she high on something, was she drunk, had anything happened? There was even a possibility of her being hurt, and the though alone made the hair on the back of Ada's neck stand up. Polly was so fragile now, so helpless... her strength had left her when the man she loved died, and this time... this time the prospect of her older self coming back wasn't looking too bright.

Out of the blue, there was a knock on the door, a strong and persistent knock, that made Ada jump unwillingly. Her hand flew to the revolver she kept in her purse, and only with the trigger engaged did she approach the front door, and looked through the little window to identify the visitor. It so happened to be the peculiar man with the top hat, the only one of Gigi Gold's companions Ada had seen with her own eyes. The man showed her his empty hands, and cleared his voice before speaking.

"Madam, my name is Lucas Tiller, I am with Gigi. We met the other day, I believe. I came to deliver a message: your aunt is safe, at our camp. She met with Gigi late last night and ended up staying. Would you be so kind as to accompany us with a method of transportation for her?" Lucas said, loud and clear.

"I remember you" Ada replied, opening the door, and even allowing the man to receive a smile. He had good manners, dressed well, and was apparently clean, despite the muddy riding boots. "My aunt is with Gigi, then? At your camp? Is she alright?"

"She is, no need to worry. She wanted to meet Gigi, which I think is understandable. And she wanted to meet her alone, that's why she came late at night" Lucas deemed, having the common sense not to do any sudden moves: he could see the woman in front of him had a loaded weapon in her purse.

"I can't really argue with that..." Ada conceded, taking a deep breath.

"I do have a message, written by your aunt, madam. So that you can follow me to the camp, without fear of being trapped and hurt" Lucas informed, delivering a sealed letter to Ada with an exaggerated bow. She didn't know how to react to that, but she took it with a thankful smile, and read it hurriedly, recognising Polly's handwriting. It had been nice of her, and of mister Tiller, to provide proof. Ada had to admit she would have followed him regardless, wanting nothing more than to have Polly back where she could be watched, in case she decided to do something she would regret.

"Thank you for coming, mister Tiller. I do have a car, do you reckon I can get close enough to your camp in it?" she asked the second she finished the letter. Polly said nothing special, only that she was alright, and had gone to Gigi Gold because she wanted to, not because someone forced her.

"Certainly, madam. If you'd be so kind as to follow my horse" Lucas requested, waiting for Ada to close the door, put on a pair of gloves, and walk to her vehicle. Soon enough, they were on the road, old school and new school, horse and car.

It took them about twenty minutes to arrive to Gigi's camp. The bonfire was now extinct, but the circle of rocks around it remained, as did the mismatched stools around it. There was some wood ready to burn again, neatly piled, and a plate or two on the floor. Polly herself was sitting nearby, on the step of a vardo, happily chatting in Rokka to a stranger.

"Polly! I was scared half to death when I got to your house and you weren't there!" Ada chastised, seeing her aunt's eyes sparkle for the first time in too long. No one could say she looked hurt, or held against her will.

"Ada! I'm glad you're here. Milosh, that is my niece, and I need to go now. Where is Gigi? I want to say goodbye" Polly replied, getting up and shaking the stranger's hand. Apparently hearing Polly summoning her, Gigi came out of her own vardo, and smiled at the sight of Ada Thorne, as fresh as a daisy, and as beautiful as one, too.

"I assume you got the message, eh?" Gigi called out to Ada, approaching her calmly. "I meant to send Lucas earlier, but didn't want to disturb you in case you were resting"

"I must've beat you by about ten minutes. I had just gotten to Polly's house when mister Tiller came knocking" Ada explained, directing her attention to the head of the camp. Today, she wore black riding pants, and an equally black shirt, made of a linen-like material. Her riding boots were squeaky clean, with not a spot of mud on them, and her hair was up, tied with a raw leather band. The absence of anything remarkable in her garments only did her features justice: she looked positively enchanting. "You ready to go, Pol? My car is just up there, would you wait a bit for me? I'll be right there"

For once, Polly did as she was told, but not without a knowing smile on her lips. She had seen the way Gigi looked at Ada, and could even detect the shadow of something very similar in her own niece. They were different, dramatically so, both in lifestyle and appearance, but somehow, some way, God above had made them see something, something in each other that created a tension between them, a tension that Polly reckoned would intensify in due time. She could see it now, the tiniest hint of a spark, that would surely grow if given space and nurture.

"Should we talk in private?" Gigi wanted to know, hands on her hips as usual, squinting her eyes due to the sun.

"Yes, please" Ada confirmed, prompting Gigi to nod and lead them in the direction of the nearby woods. The trees were dense enough for them to be granted privacy, both from prying ears and prying eyes.

"Polly was perfectly safe last night, she knows the way like the palm of her hands..." Gigi started, but Ada didn't want information she already posessed. Of course Polly would've taken it upon herself to visit Aberama's daughter, and of course she would do so without telling anyone.

"That's not why I asked to speak to you. I want to know if she... if she said something, if she wanted you to do something"

"Whatever it is she told me, she would not want me to tell anyone else, would she? I'm sure you understand" Gigi stated, crossing her arms. "It has nothing to do with you, that much I can say"

"It's not me that I worry about; I worry about Polly. And now that you've met her, I'm sure you do too" Ada explained, with a little more emotion in her voice than she would've liked to display.

"I do, I worry about her, and I've no intention to harm her! How could you even suggest that?" Gigi almost shouted, in complete and utter shock. "My father was going to marry her, I would never even lay a hand on her, let alone..."

"No, no that«s not what I meant, Gigi! Listen to me, I'm asking you if she asked you to do something she might regret, or that... or that could end up getting her killed"

"You know, don't you? You already know what she came here to do" Gigi whispered, in absolute disbelief. "She said she had asked it once before, did she tell you about that?"

"No, she didn't. But I knew, like I know now. I don't know how I know, call it a feeling, a premonition... I just know there had to be a reason for her to want to come alone. And I know now that she is broken, and I know who she blames. Gigi, I can't let you do what Polly asked you to do" Ada everything but begged, stepping forward ever so slightly, unaware of the effect her perfume had on Gigi Gold, who inhaled it as if it was the last bit of oxygen on earth.

"Why not? If you know what she asked, if you really do, why can't I honour her wish?"

"Because he's my brother! And he means well, he wants to protect us, he..."

"He keeps on putting you in harm's way! Polly told me about it, filled in the gaps of what I didn't know. Ada, he's not a good man. He's too broken, he's too far gone to be saved. I can guarantee you that he won't get you, or anyone else, in business that can get you all killed. Even if he is your brother... please, don't deny that what I'm saying is true. You know better than to do that" Gigi responded, getting heated as well.

"I can't. I won't let you kill him. I simply won't, Gigi" Ada countered, on the brink of tears. The only thing keeping her from full on crying was the look on the girl's face, the effect of the greenery that surrounded them on the colour of her eyes, and of the shadows of the trees on her hair. "He'll... Gigi..."

"What's wrong? Ada, are you feeling unwell?" Gigi immediately asked, seeing how pale Ada had gotten all of a sudden, eyes fixated on Gigi's.

"I'm fine, I just..." Ada stammered, not knowing exactly what to say. Should she say that only then had she realised the person in front of her had the most extraordinary eyes? Or should she simply tell her that there was something alluring beyond belief about her duplicity, about her ability to change from hellbent on murdering an entire family, to a normal girl, an amicable host, and a model stepdaughter? "Give me some time, alright? Some time to try and figure out who killed your dad, and figure out what to do about Tommy"

"Of course. We agreed on a month, and I keep my promises" Gigi agreed, nodding to make the message crystal clear. "And I know what I said before I arrived: I wanted blood, and I wanted your family's blood, of all of you. But I no longer want that. I understand now, seeing you in person, that you're not bad. Only Tommy is. And I pride myself on only preying on the rotten"

"That's... a start, I guess" Ada sighed, feeling that particular weight lifting off her shoulders. "I don't... I don't know what to say, Gigi. I understand you. I really do"

"And I understand you, Ada. Trust me, I do. I came from Swansea to defend my family's honour, to avenge a death. There's nothing I can do other than that, and I still made my way here. You're fighting for your brother, who is still alive... I understand it. You love him, he's your brother, but you also know that he has done things you can't hope to forgive"

"Yes" Ada agreed, chuckling for good measure. "Yes, that's absolutely right"

"I understand. And I think you understand me" Gigi responded, taking another step forward, so close to the source of the scent she was falling in love with that she could feel the fabric of Ada's dress on her arms.

"I do"

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #ada shelby #polly gray #fanfiction #fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

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memoirs-from-the-red-room · 7 years

Photo

March 28

The first time that I shot and killed someone was on a mission. I was seven. It was my first foreign mission, and also the first time that I met her. I remember sitting in the helicopter with her as we recited our names and backstories to Madam Yurievna, the language instructor. My name was Fleur Belinou, her’s was Gigi Belinou. We were recently orphaned sisters from the countryside, and we had come to Paris to meet Aunt Camille Belinou, a wealthy heiress who would become our new guardian. In reality, Madame Yurievna played Camille Belinou and was tasked with overseeing our mission. Together my partner and I were to infiltrate a concert and discreetly take out a Russian ambassador who had recently been exposed as a traitor to nation. Madame would aid us only in getting into the theatre, but we were completely on our own for the rest of the mission.

My partner’s name?

Polina.

I remember the view stepping out of the helicopter as it hovered a few miles away from Paris. Polina and I were dressed identically in a short blue gingham dress and petticoats, a small hat tilted and perched above twin blond braids. The wind whipped against the ruffled socks around my ankles as I slid down the rope to the ground Polina followed suite and the helicopter sped away, leaving us alone in the countryside.

France was nice. It was early spring so the air was slightly chilly, but after spending a winter in Siberia nothing really feels that cold anymore. We were able to make it into Paris by the evening, with the help of a slightly pervy bus driver and an elder lady who gave us bread and peaches once she saw we had no food. Polina and I met Madame Yurievna outside the Palais Garnier a half hour before the ballet was scheduled to start, and she checked that we had properly outfitted our weapons underneath our clothes before she sent us in to complete our mission.

I remember how we sat in the back of the mezzanine for the first act, simply enjoying being able to watch a ballet. The dancers were not as well trained as those in Russia, but there was something captivating about the small mistakes that they made. The prima ballerina, who took on the role of the main character Giselle, performed quite well in my opinion and I clapped with enthusiasm after her variations. At one point Polina tapped my arm and whispered in my ear.

“Хватит хлопать так громко, то привлечешь внимание.”

I shrug, softening my claps a bit as per her request.

“она танцевала хорошо.”

At intermission we single out our target at the bar. We split, and Polina approached him first, tugging on his pant leg childishly.

“Monsieur?”

He turns, looking down at Polina in surprise.

“Monsieur, avez-vous vu ma Mama?”

Her eyes are so convincing, fear and innocence swimming in tears threatening to spill over, and I knew that his heart was captured. I approach behind him, slipping a vial out from my dress.

“Ah, princesse, êtes-vous perdu?”

She nods and blinks away tears, moving closer to him as people brush past. I take my shot and uncap the vial, swiftly pouring its contents into his drink. The target smiles and clicks his tongue, scooping Polina up into his lap and gesturing towards the crowd.

“Maintenant, à quoi ressemble-t-elle?”

Polina twists her face in thought and pretends to look around, glancing my way. We make eye contact and I gesture towards myself, indicating that I intend to pour a second vial to speed up the process. She blinks twice in agreement before faking an epiphany.

“Mmm… Elle a une robe rouge!”

Quickly, I remove the second vial from the holster strapped to my thigh and slip the contents into the drink. As I smooth down my dress, I slip away back into the crowd while still keeping a close eye on Polina. She is still on the target’s lap, and her expressions are very convincing.

“Rouge, eh? Hmm, la voyez-vous?”

I wait, forcing my breathing and pulse to quicken, before running back towards the bar.

“Gigi! Gigi!”

I dart through the crowd and squeal at Polina, who hops down from her spot on the target’s lap. We embrace tightly as he looks on in amusement.

“Gigi, où étiez-vous?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pick up his drink and take a small sip as he watches us.

“J'essayais de vous trouver et Mama!”

She replies with an embarrassed expression, and I giggle.

“Nous essayions de vous trouver!”

I embrace her again, stealing a glance at the target. He is smiling and the drink is now half-empty.

“Allons, Mama est en attente.”

I take her hand and head back towards the theatre, but she turns away from me to call over her shoulder.

“Merci monsieur!”

The target waves to Polina and we disappear into the crowd, darting up the stairs to watch the target from a safer distance. Intermission finishes soon afterwards, as does his drink, and we watch as he returns to the theatre. Polina looks at me and I look at her and fiddle with my gun. We sit and wait, the music of the ballet accompanying our dutiful watch over the entrances. I remember listening to Giselle’s theme from Act Two and itching to get up from my spot and dance on the marble floors of the now-empty atrium. Needless to say, I didn’t.

I look over at Polina. We haven’t been introduced.

“Как тебя зовут?”

She looks at me, furrowing her brow.

“Polina. A тебя?”

“Natalia.”

She nods, turning her gaze back towards the atrium. We sit there for a minute before I decide to speak again, this time in English.

“How old are you?”

The words are still slightly accented, and I remind myself to fix my r’s. Polina looks at me quizzically.

“Почему ты говоришь английский?”

“Practice.”

My r is right this time. Polina nods in understanding, switching over to English as well.

“I’m seven.”

Her English is slightly better than mine, and I silently catalogue her so I can seek her out later for more practice.

“Me too, we are in the same class then.”

She leans over, examining my face for a minute before lighting up in recognition.

“I know you!”

“You do?”

“Yes, you are the girl who can do triple pirouettes.”

I nod, surprised at her compliment.

“You have a lovely arabesque.”

She beams at me with what appears to be real sincerity, and I return the smile. She is good, I’ll make her an ally.

“I’m from Kiev. What about you?”

“Stalingrad.”

I reply and she nods, thinking. We settle back into silence, listening to the ballet.

Soon the target emerges, looking very unwell. We look on as he stumbles into the restroom, a handkerchief pressed to his forehead. I nod and she removes the restraints and gag from under her petticoat as I place the silencer on my gun.

“готовый?”

She nods and we slip down from the balcony and dart into the bathroom. He doesn’t see us for a minute, giving Polina the perfect opportunity to tackle and cuff him. She throws the gag to me and I rush forward to silence his screaming. He kicks and rolls trying to throw me off, but I am already perched on his chest. Polina stands and pins his legs down as I press the barrel of the gun against his forehead. In the theatre the music crescendos as Giselle begs the Willies to spare her lover. The Queen of the Willies denies Giselle’s lover any mercy. The strings rise.

And then I shoot.

Time slows as my finger squeezes the trigger. The world slows down and I hear a deafening bang. The target’s head jerks back violently, slamming against the floor as his body goes limp. His blood splatters over my dress and I get up, rolling his body over and tossing the restraints and gag back to Polina.

“пойдем.”

She looks at the body, frozen, and I grab her wrist as I leave the scene. Despite everything that went right, people would be here soon. A gunshot is still a gunshot.

“лучше бы ты использовал нож. Даже с глушителем, выстрела по-прежнему является выстрела.”

Polina doesn’t react but moves with me as I dash out of the restroom and towards the side exit. The door opens easily and fresh air hits me. Time returns to me and I’m suddenly aware of the commotion of the city around me.

We’re in an alleyway, bright lights and danger to our left, shadows and safety on our right. I drag her into the darkness and holster my gun as we make our way to the rendezvous point. Madame Yurievna is there waiting for us and the moment we get in, the car takes off out of the city.

“ты всё сделал?”

Polina nods.

“Все прошло гладко. Ни свидетелей, ни камер наблюдения, работать не с чем.”

Madame Yurievna seems pleased.

“Отлично.”

We fly back that night and our lives resume the routine that they have always had. Word of the ambassador’s mysterious assassination reaches us, but we are too busy training to take any notice.

The next time I see Polina is in ballet class. I make sure that all of my pirouettes are at least triples.

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atlaswriting · 5 years

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“You don’t have to be so angry with him,” I tell Abram later that night, our legs are entwined at the knees and unless I cut him apart and slip under his skin there was no way we could be closer. He’s quiet, breath steady but I know he’s awake by the strained flex in his jaw. “Brody—you don’t have to be mad at Brody, Abram—he was just trying to—,”

I sigh, sitting up and bringing the blanket under my chin, “You don’t have to be mad at anyone. I get it; he should have told you—but just because he didn’t doesn’t mean you have a right to be angry. Not everything warrants anger, Abram.”

A forced laugh leaves his lips but he disappears without saying anything and returns moments later with a bottle of beer between the knuckles of his fingers. “That’s the thing—I am angry. All the time. It sits on my shoulders and chips away at me—every day, every minute it’s there. I’m angry and I don’t need you policing my feelings.” He brings the lip of the bottle to his mouth, drinking until beer dribbles out of the corners; he stops and wipes it with the back of his hand. “If they’re fucking so often—they should just get back together. I don’t get why they aren’t.”

“That’s exactly why they didn’t tell you,” I say waving my hand in his direction, “you expect a happily ever after for Ellie and Brody—maybe that’s not their story, who are you to say?”

“You don’t even know them, Elise.”

“I may not know him but I—,”

“You met Ellie five minutes ago!”

“Abram!”

He shrugs, “Am I wrong? We’ve been inseparable since we were in Kindergarten. Since the day that Ellie decided that we were her best friends and neither of us got a say. They are meant for each other. They get their happily ever after—,”

“It’s like you’re they’re child and they’re your divorced parents!” I yell, standing now and slipping back into my dress, “You think that every ounce of civility means they’re going to get back together. That isn’t how life works. Sometimes people fuck and it doesn’t mean anything.”

“What about us?”

“What about us?” I ask, brows furrowing together.

He’s smiling now, lips pulled so far back over teeth it looks painful, “Do we mean anything, or are we just fucking?” There’s nothing happy about this smile. It’s a loaded gun and each word is another bullet in the barrel.

“Are you kidding me? You know that isn’t all we are. How many times do I have to tell you I love you—,” another laugh is the fire to my fuse and I pick up a pillow, chucking it at him. “You’re impossible, Abram and I’m not dealing with you tonight—I’m going to Simon’s.”

♡ ♡ ♡

December.

A knock at the door startles the three of us, I don’t consider the nightmare on the other side but when I pull it back and see Cerise I half decide to slam the door.

“What do you want?”

“To give you an invitation.” She doesn’t wait for me to invite her in—I bite back a comment about vampires. “This is…cute.” She says looking around.

“How did you find out where I lived?”

Rolling her eyes Cerise sets down her bag on the kitchen table, eyes drifting toward the living room where Ellie was pint deep in Ben and Jerry’s and Abram was slurring into his headset at some twelve year old with a superiority complex on Call of Duty. “Charming,” she says, eyes fluttering back to me.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Ellie kick Abram’s shoulder a few times and then point her toes toward me.

“Can I help you with something? I’d offer you a bottle of Evian, but we only have tap water.”

I think I see her shudder. Cerise composes herself, lips pulled even tighter as Abram encroaches on us, “I’ve come to invite you to Christmas,” she says, “all of you, I suppose. If you think you are able to put down the au de beer. I don’t think my mother would appreciate the assault on her sense of smell.” This comment is directed toward Abram, who instead of saying anything beams happily at my mother.

“Grandma is coming for Christmas?” I ask, incredulous, “How is that possible—she’s dead.”

Cerise waves a gloved hand, “She’s not so much as dead than she is dead to me.”

“I don’t think so. I’m sure we’re going to Gigi’s or Simons.”

“Simon,” my mother says his name, forcing it through clenched teeth, “is coming with Anais. Hélène has requested your presence, Elise; I trust you won’t let her down.”

“I have no problem letting down my own mother—why would I have any issue not showing up for a woman whom I’ve never met?”

“I’ll pay your rent for the next year.”

“Two. And I want a new outfit for it.”

Cerise stands, “Are you sure you’ll fit in anything?” She whispers, lips grazing my ear as her fingers tap my stomach, after a moment she sighs, “Fine. Whatever. Will you be there—and pleasant?”

“As pleasant as possible.”

Cerise nods, “Clean him up. I don’t want him puking on my mother.”

When she’s gone, Abram finally speaks, “You have a grandmother?”

“Apparently.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Flying to New York was the last thing I wanted to do—sitting on a plane for six hours with sickness that still hasn’t subsided and a stomach that pressed too tight against the seam of my pants, when the plane landed I rushed toward the closest bathroom and empty my stomach into the only toilet that’s flushed.

“Stomach bug.” I tell Abram, when I leave. He looks skeptical and I can’t blame him, but he stopped asking questions weeks ago. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t linger around the bathroom doors when I close them after dinner. Or stare at my plate of food while I’m eating—but he’s stopped asking.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, breaking eye contact with Abram long enough to look over at Ellie.

“Whose idea was it to put Brody next to me?” She asks, “it was you, wasn’t it?” she looks over at Abram.

“Actually,” I grin, “that was all me. I had to.”

“You’re an asshole. Really, the biggest, hairiest asshole. He wanted to talk the entire flight,” Ellie says, she stops talking when Brody leaves the restroom. Interlocking our arms, she pulls us several feet ahead of them. “Why did you even invite him anyway?”

I shrug, “He and Abram need to make up. I’m tired of them fighting—I hope this helps.”

She rolls her eyes, “Brody keeps saying he’s going to be there. He’s going to tell Natasha and we’ll be a family. But that was after three bloody mary’s.” She frowns, “I just—don’t want to get my hopes up.”

We stop walking around the baggage claim and one by one our suitcases—or in my case, the three I brought with me—are pulled off the belt. “Cerise told me she ordered us a—oh there’s my name.” I say moving toward the man in the suit holding a dry erase board in my name.

Hélène is there when we arrive. She sits pin-straight on the couch beside Anais, holding both her hands and speaking quietly.

“Elise,” Simon says, rushing toward the door and hugging me. The grip on his bottle is bone white and he kisses my cheek, “I saw your flight had a delayed landing because of the snow. I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

“And miss this Jerry Springer Christmas special? I think not.” Cerise starts walking toward me but the woman I’ve never met stands, and closes the distance between us, “I’m so glad to see you’re back from the dead,” I tell her.

She laughs a throaty, shrill laugh that has been perfectly sculpted from many years of practice. “The new Jesus, no?” her accent is thick and she brings me close, kissing both my cheeks, “Cerise,” she says turning to look at my mother, “I have no idea what it is you’re talking about—this girl is gorgeous—I don’t know how something so perfect came out of something so—,” she doesn’t finish her sentence, instead adding a uch.

She’s beautiful, worldly and smells expensive. I notice all the diamonds on her fingers and her neck, wondering how it doesn’t weigh her down. We spend the night talking, Hélène mostly jabbing at Cerise any moment she enters a room—she tells me that she has tried meeting me, but after I was five Cerise decided to cut all contact. She had no idea Simon and Anais were a thing—but says they’re good for each other.

“I wouldn’t blame your mother though,” she says, mouthing the last bit of champagne in her glass, “she’s never quite grown out of that jealous phase—first with Anais and now with you,” she places a hand to my cheek and I flinch back. I’ve spent years learning that softness always precedes sharp with Allaire women. “She can’t help it. It’s like a disease. A sick black cancer on her heart, I think she’s incapable of truly loving anyone but herself.”

I have so many questions about her—about my mother but they die on my tongue when she excuses herself to her room before I can.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Are you sure you want to do this now? Here?” Ellie asks. “What if he doesn’t react how you want him to?”

My fingers have gone white from gripping the wrapped present. I spent weeks trying to decide on the perfect way to tell him and hours trying to wrap it.

“What if he hates it and leaves and you never see him again?”

“Do you think?” I ask, looking down at the peach and white paper, “Seriously—Ellie, do you think he would do that?” I ask, nauseous churning violently in my stomach. My anxiety was an ocean before a storm, breaking brutally against my bones. “Oh my god. What if this is a mistake? What if—,”

“It’s Abram. I don’t think he’ll leave—but I don’t know if he’ll be happy. Not a lot makes him happy these days.”

Anais knocks on the door softly, “Just checking to see if you’re awake—do you want to come do presents? I believe Abram is waiting for you.” I look over at Ellie, her small belly that is just starting to pudge out and then at mine, hidden in an oversize shirt of Abram’s. I nod and stand up—it was now or never.

There’s a spot for everyone in front of the nine foot tree. Cerise and Hélène ( who has kindly asked me to call her Meme, and not grandma ) are sitting in chairs, Simon has one leg crossed under the other on the couch and everyone else was on the floor.

“Are you feeling sick again?” Abram asks staring at me. The concern in his voice is mounting, “Elise—maybe we should—,”

I drop the present in his lap, “Shut up and open that.”

Ellie hands something to Brody without looking at him and then sits away from him on my other side. Still, Abram refuses to move—he parts his lip to speak and I hold up my hand—, “Please, just open that.”

Despite not wanting to listen to me, he does. He tears at the gold bow, takes his time opening the wrapping paper at the seams and stares at the slate gray box. Carefully he removes the lid and I watch as his brows crease. He lifts the black and grey King’s onesie and stare at it—then up at me—then back down again. Turning around his fingers run over the imprinted Kempe 09 on the back.

“Surprise?”

#thread: ablise #thread: all

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