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Theo’s smile faded as soon as they stepped out of the airport.
The easy grin had arrived with Trish. With their new home. Her new job. With Sam. Despite the rainy greys of Portland, Theo was rarely far from a smile.
And then it was Christmas and they were on a plane and the smile grew dim.
Sam had slept for most of the flight. Other parents would say that she was an angel, a miracle, such a good baby. But Theo knew her daughter better than those other parents. Sam was like her, but she was like Trish too, and the baby likely sensed her mother’s growing anxiety and decided to be like her mama. To be like Trish. Understanding. Kind. So Sam had slept in Theo’s arms, her weight enough to keep Theo feeling grounded high in the air, the warmth of Trish’s arm pressed into her own enough to keep the cold at bay.
Sam woke up as the plane landed, her tiny face a study in confusion at the unfamiliar sensation. The pressure of landing, the sounds – Theo understood her daughter’s discomfort. She reached over to take Sam’s hand, and the lost smile returned momentarily. Because Sam’s grip was strong and Sam’s happiness in Trish’s arms radiated from her tiny body and Theo understood that too.
~*~
Theo pulled their bags from the carousel as Trish began to wrestle with their stroller. Together they put the contraption back together and then turned to the task of dressing Sam for the Boston cold. Theo watched for a moment as Trish settled an impossibly small blue hat on top of Sam’s head, hiding the baby’s little mop of dark hair.
This is mine
The thought appeared in Theo’s mind uninvited, but she held it tightly. Sam had Trish’s eyes and Theo watched as Trish’s gentle fingers zipped the baby into a snowsuit. She looked like a tiny, fluffy starfish.
This is mine
“Ready to go?” Trish asked, slightly out of breath from her task. Theo nodded, but did not move from the spot.
Trish moved for her instead, guiding the stroller forward, the heavy diaper bag slung across her body. Theo followed with their bags, the sight of Trish – her winter boots, her skinny jeans, the way her hair cascaded down the back of her black coat – enough to propel her into motion.
~*~
Theo kept her eyes firmly on the road. She could feel the ache in her teeth from how strongly she was clenching her jaw and she wasn’t sure if it was the proximity to Shirley’s house or the proximity to the house that made it so easy to scowl as she drove.
Their rented jeep was comfortably warm, and Trish was busy singing a nonsense song to Sam, but Theo could only see grey slate and snow and the growing chill in her gloved fingers. She breathed in and out, she merged the car left and then right, she knew the way as well as she knew the tattooed patterns scattered over Trish’s skin.
The wheels on the bus go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
The wheels on the bus go round and round
All through the town
“Let’s see if mommy will sing with us,” Trish said, turning in her seat to shoot Theo a smirk. Theo summoned a slight lift of her lips before joining in, her voice soft and tense, but enough to lull Sam back into a fitful sleep.
~*~
Shirley’s house looked the same, snow-covered and appropriately festooned in tasteful Christmas lights. It would not do to string gawdy lights around a funeral home. The soft white fairy lights spoke of Shirley’s worry and Shirley’s control and Shirley’s vision of her life looking just so. They also spoke of Kevin. Kevin who climbed the ladder. Kevin who’d wanted more colour for the kids. Kevin who grumbled, but held it in, and released his frustration by making Shirley’s life just so.
The guest house looked the same too though it was dark now, a sign that Luke had joined Shirley in the main house. Theo pondered the small home that had served as her apartment for years. Now it was Luke’s, a place for him to remain under Shirley’s watchful eye. But his voice was lighter than it had ever been, and it was good for him. It was good for Luke. They’d all spent a lifetime trying to find something good for Luke. Theo was relieved that the little guest house was part of his good.
Another car had arrived before Theo, something swanky, a rented BMW or Mercedes or something that cost extra for leather seat warmers. Steve was here. And so all the surviving Crain siblings would be together again. Under one roof. A roof that sat atop a house that sometimes contained people and sometimes contained corpses and sometimes contained something in between.
“Babe, a little help?”
Theo turned to find Trish standing in front of the open trunk of their jeep, reaching for the bags and Sam’s folded stroller.
“Let me,” Theo said, striding towards her wife, ignoring the way her heart beat just a little too quickly in her chest.
Anxiety, said her therapist brain.
Breathe through it, said her therapist brain.
Don’t go in, said the child inside.
“Hey, come here,” Trish said, turning her back on their luggage.
Theo easily stepped into Trish’s arms and despite the snow, she felt only warmth when her cheek brushed Trish’s cheek.
“I know this isn’t easy for you,” Trish said.
“Maybe we should’ve stayed home.”
“You said you wanted your family to meet Sam.”
Trish was smiling, Theo could feel the movement of her jaw, and she knew that look. That understanding, slightly exasperated, affectionate look. Theo pushed back from the safety of Trish’s arms to see the look with her own eyes.
“I say a lot of things,” Theo said. She shrugged, but otherwise stayed still, content to look at her wife.
“Besides,” Trish explained, “this is where we first met. It’s kinda romantic, no?”
“You mean when I brought you home and then kicked you out in the middle of the night?”
Trish rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“God, you were such an asshole,” she said.
“The biggest asshole.”
“Why am I with you?”
“I don’t know.”
Trish kissed Theo with warm lips. And a cold nose.
Only Sam’s cries broke them apart.
~*~
Kevin opened the door and Theo was immediately blinded by the light from within the house. She was vaguely aware of Trish stepping forward, of Shirley pushing through the little crowd, of Shirley lifting Sam from her carrier.
Theo watched Shirley pick up the baby, coo at her, and even though Shirley was a good mother, even though Theo trusted Shirley with her own life, she didn’t like the feeling of watching her daughter disappear.
The hallway was filled with people, beloved faces all around, and Theo smiled and awkwardly returned hugs, and eyed her siblings with a mix of suspicion and love. There were more children now too, or two more including Sam. Steve’s little one, Eleanor, toddled over next to Leigh, and Shirley’s kids, Jayden and Allie, were so tall and so mature, but still happy to see their aunt Theo.
Still, Theo felt adrift as Trish disappeared into the crowd of arms and wine glasses and appetizers. In Portland life made sense. There was day and night. There was alive and dead. The ghosts kept their distance. In Boston, Theo’s world was made up of absences. There were spaces in the crowds. Spaces shaped like Nell and her mom and her dad. Spaces that took up residence in her stomach that felt like guilt and regret and sadness. Always sadness.
Because sometimes Shirley looked like Olivia. And watching Shirley hold Sam was like watching Olivia hold Sam. Except Olivia would never hold Sam.
Luke stood on the outside, watching his family with an unsure smile. He seemed healthy – Shirley said that he worked at a group home, helping addicts find their way – but he would never lose that helpless little boy look. Now he was sheepish, eyes darting from Sam to Theo, and she raised her eyebrows and smiled because without Luke, Sam would not have been possible.
It took some time, but the baby finally made it to Luke’s arms and Theo was struck by how strange it was. Not that Luke had helped them with Sam, but that her baby brother was now holding her baby. He had been a baby moments ago, tiny and wide-eyed, and always reaching for Nell. Now he was reaching for Sam’s tiny hand and she reached back.
“Shirley and Steve…just…look for it,” Trish said, somehow beside Theo again despite the holiday crowd that consisted of siblings and one nephew and a couple of nieces and a lot of twinkly lights.
Theo followed Trish’s gaze. Shirley looked at Steve. Steve looked at Shirley. Shirley scowled and shook her head, clearly disgusted.
“Shit,” Theo said.
“Wouldn’t be the holidays without it,” Trish replied.
Trish crossed the room to speak with Leigh and Theo was once more left watching the scene, her leather gloves the only garment of outerwear she did not remove as she fully stepped beyond the entrance.
Trish was with Leigh.
Sam was with Luke.
And Theo was where she always was.
In the middle.
~*~
“This is so like you!”
Shirley’s voice was shrill as she stood at the head of the table, eyes wide with betrayal and fury all directed at Steve.
“Shirley, please, calm down,” Luke said and Theo wondered when he had become the moderator. It was likely a side effect of his job, he led group meetings, after all, but she wasn’t used to seeing him as anything but quiet and weak and broken.
He was still broken. They were all still broken. But Luke’s broken had shifted and now he was chipped, a little tarnished, not quite as shattered.
“No, Luke! I will not calm down! I can’t believe he’s doing this again!”
Shirley thrust one hand towards Steve who was busy removing his glasses with exaggerated gravitas.
“Shirley, try to understand from my point of view…”
“Your point of view? That’s all you ever think about, Steve, you never think abou…”
“Guys, come on, the kids are sleeping!”
Luke was trying reason. Shirley and Steve were beyond that.
Theo watched her siblings, disinterested in this fight. Once again, Steve was going to do what Steve was going to do. And once again, Shirley would benefit from it, even if it was indirectly.
“Dad left the house to me, which means he left a giant pile of debt. This book will make sure I can take care of the house and my family,” Steve said, trying to lower his voice.
“So last time you expose mom and this time, what? You’re going to make Nell look like a crazy person?” Shirley shook her head, refusing to sit down.
“Nell was a crazy person,” Theo said, dryly, wishing there was wine in her glass instead of lukewarm soda.
“Theo!” Shirley turned her attention to Theo, clearly appalled.
“Hate to break it to you, but the whole family is nuts. Steve can write what he wants. He always does.”
“Wow, Theo, thanks for the support,” Steve said and then turned back to Shirley.
Steve’s money had bought Shirley her business. It had sent Luke to rehab. It gave Theo her career. And even though Steve could be selfish, even though his writing was pedestrian and trashy and used their family like action figures in a haunted playset, Theo didn’t care. This time Steve’s money would send Sam to college. Maybe it would let her take Trish on a vacation.
They had all paid their dues. They had all paid until there was nothing left pay.
Theo looked at her siblings and wondered about cost. The house had cost Steve his kindness. It had cost Shirley her courage. And Luke…
It had cost Luke his life. Because Luke died when Olivia died and the thing that took his place was only part of Luke. A piece of him. The same had happened to Nellie. Together they made a whole. Barely.
And what had it cost Theo? What had been taken?
Sometimes Trish’s parents held Sam and whispered gentle lullabies in Korean. Theo’s mother-in-law liked to carry Sam around in a podaegi and show her trees and birds and the sky. Olivia would have shown Sam how to draw, how to make lines and squares and dreams one tiny box at a time.
But Olivia’s brain had splattered on the floor of a decaying hope and now there would be no lullabies or lessons.
The house had cost Theo her safety. It had cost her a possible future. It had cost her a mother and a father.
And it had cost her Nell. Nell who loved Christmas and would have loved Eleanor’s curly blonde hair and Jayden’s new baseball glove and Allie’s piano recital and Sam…
Nell would have loved Sam.
The house had cost Theo. But in a way, it had cost Sam too.
And that legacy gnawed at Theo’s insides until she was certain there was little to her but shards of decaying bone.
~*~
Theo snuck out of the room amongst a cacophony of tensed voices. They made words like what and about and how and asshole. In the midst of the argument, Luke served to inject an endless refrain of guys, hey, guys, wait.
The room was dark save for the glowing lights on the Christmas tree. Theo could see very little, but she knew from memory that there was a couch and a TV and a fireplace. She exhaled, puffing her cheeks, trying to release the built-up anxiety in her chest.
In through the nose. Count to ten. Out through the mouth.
She didn’t see Trish at first, not while she was busy finding some sense of calm. When she heard her name whispered in the dark, Theo opened her eyes and braced, expecting a living nightmare.
Instead, she found the opposite. Trish was leaning in the doorway that led to the stairs. Her arms were folded, as were her ankles, and with her shoulder pushed against the frame, Theo was struck again by how beautiful Trish was. Calm and present and always watching.
“Oh, thank God it’s you,” Theo said, subconsciously removing her gloves and shoving them into her back pocket.
From the very first moment she’d laid eyes on Trish, she’d wanted to touch. Initially as a means of escape, now as a means of sanctuary.
Because Steve and Shirley and Luke understood only a part of her. The part that had grown up in the same trench. The part that was forever submerged in bloody mire.
But Trish was hers in a way that no one else was and no one else could ever be. Trish was the beacon in the darkness, the hand from the shadows that held Theo instead of pushed her away. Trish was hers and she belonged to Trish too and their world was of their own making.
“This house has me nostalgic,” Trish said, resting her forearms on Theo’s shoulders as Theo pulled Trish into a loose embrace.
“Oh?”
“You tried so hard to get me to leave. The first night and then at your sister’s funeral…”
“Which you showed up to without asking permission,” Theo argued, but she didn’t mean it.
Trish stayed when everyone else would have run. When everyone else would have looked at Hugh’s disheveled hair and Luke’s haunted eyes and Nellie’s corpse and turned. Trish leaned in. More importantly, Trish leaned into Theo.
“I knew you needed me,” Trish said, shrugging.
Theo sighed heavily. She had been alone and then Trish had shown up and Theo was no longer alone. And no matter how much Theo had wanted to believe that Trish wasn’t special, that Trish wasn’t the one thing on the planet that made her feel less encumbered, she couldn’t fight it. Not when touching Trish had lightened the ache in her heart. Not when touching Trish had filled in some of the empty shapes in the corner of her vision.
“I did. I do,” Theo said, reaching up with one hand to run her fingers down Trish’s cheek.
“Everything okay in there?” Trish asked.
Theo shook her head and returned her hand to Trish’s waist.
“Steve’s writing another book about the house. Shirley’s losing her mind. Luke is playing kumbaya,” Theo said.
“And you?”
“I don’t know.”
They didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead they stood in the dark, wrapped up in each other, because there was nothing to say. Theo would talk when she wanted to. And Trish would listen.
“Kevin and Leigh?” Theo asked, slipping her hands into the back pockets of Trish’s jeans.
“Happily wine drunk.”
“None for you?”
“I was just going up to feed Sam, so sadly no,” Trish said, shaking her head when Theo cheekily raised one hand to cup Trish’s breast over her sweater.
“I’ll be up soon.”
“Good. Because I hear Sam’s mom is pretty hot.”
“Rumour on the street?” Theo asked with a smirk.
“All around town,” Trish answered. She lowered one of her arms and took Theo’s hand, pressing it harder against her breast.
“Don’t be long,” Trish said.
“I won’t.”
“Hey, Doc?”
Trish raised her eyebrows and then looked up. Theo followed her gaze, rolling her eyes at the sight of mistletoe hanging from the doorway.
“Ugh. Lame,” Theo said before pulling Trish closer and kissing her.
Trish felt like summer.
Trish felt like hers.
This is mine
~*~
Theo closed the door to the guestroom, sealing herself into the small piece of calm that was Trish and Sam and their suitcases on the floor. She’d never slept in this room before, but she appreciated Shirley’s thoughtful decorating. A comfortable bed. Two bedside tables. A lamp that was currently illuminating Trish and Sam in soft yellow light. There were pictures of flowers on the wall and an ensuite bathroom and it was all nondescript. There were no family pictures. No memories. It was like a hotel room and Theo luxuriated in the neutrality.
Trish had tossed her sweater and bra and was leaning back against the headboard, Sam in her arms, a cushion in her lap to help support the baby. Theo had seen Trish breastfeed hundreds of times, but it felt different now. They were out of place, far from home, and the sight of Trish and their daughter helped Theo feel like her feet were firmly on the ground.
“Are they still fighting?” Trish asked, never looking away from Sam’s tiny face.
“Not really. Be prepared for a breakfast confrontation. Shirley will rally Kevin and they’ll want to know your opinion.”
Sam fussed against Trish, waiving her tiny hands for a moment before Trish raised her up. Theo was already prepared with a blanket over her shoulder. She took her daughter from Trish’s arms and easily set her against her shoulder, patting her back lightly and smiling as the first small burp made itself known.
Trish settled back against the cushions.
“What’s he putting in the book?” Trish asked.
The question surprised Theo. She’d expected Trish to ask about the money.
“Whatever he wants, I guess? But he said he’s going to focus on that last time…in the house,” Theo said.
Sam’s warmth against her shoulder was a comfort and the little burps were reassuring.
Sam was life. Sam was opportunity. Samantha Olivia Park-Crain was hope – though hope was currently falling asleep against her mother’s shoulder.
“So, he’s going to write about you…I mean…what you went through? Not just his own experience?”
Theo raised her head and found Trish frowning.
“Probably? He said he wanted to do interviews, but Steve writers what he thinks he remembers. He’s going to write the thing whether Shirley wants him to or not.”
“But…”
Trish seemed to be struggling with how to say what she wanted to say. She sat up, tossing the nursing cushion on the floor and crossing her legs on the bed. Theo wanted to press her face between Trish’s breasts and ignore everything else in the world.
Instead she stood up and crossed the room to Sam’s portable crib. The baby was sound asleep by the time Theo lowered her onto the mattress. Dark hair and long lashes and the tiniest bottom dressed in the tiniest green onesie.
Sam Olivia Park-Crain was life.
This is mine.
“Goodnight, sweet girl,” Theo whispered, leaning over the crib to run her fingers through Sam’s dark curls, “I love you.”
When she turned back to the bed, Trish was still in the same positions, and still frowning. Theo kicked off her jeans and socks and lay down next to her wife, looking up at Trish’s perturbed face.
“It’s just…from what you told me…I don’t think he has the right to tell your story. Unless you give him permission, obviously, but he doesn’t seem to be asking for that. Not really,” Trish said.
She settled down next to Theo, propping herself up on her elbow.
“The house showed me you,” Theo whispered.
“I know. It sounds terrifying.”
“I saw so many things that don’t make sense.”
Trish took Theo’s hand and brought it to her mouth. She kissed each knuckle and held on, staring at Theo with wide, dark eyes.
“Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t really care why Shirley is upset or how honest Steve promises to be. I just want you to be okay,” Trish said.
Theo looked up from the pillows and squeezed Trish’s hand.
“I’m always okay,” she said.
“No you’re not.”
Maybe Steve would write that Theo was eccentric. That she insisted on wearing gloves. That she claimed to see ghosts or she knew how to find what did not want to be found or that she was a witch because witches sold books.
Maybe Steve would paint Theo as an angry loner, a traumatized kid that grew into a cold, unfeeling adult. But maybe that was too hard on Steve? Maybe that was really how Theo saw herself.
“I wish I wasn’t so mad at them,” Theo said, turning so she could reach Trish’s body with her free hand. She dragged her fingers along Trish’s ribcage, scratching lightly with short nails against the patterns and ink and that made Trish’s body a story to read and memorize.
“It’s just because you love them so much,” Trish whispered.
Theo let the idea take hold. She remembered seeing Luke on the floor, dead, foaming at the mouth. She remembered the idea of Luke is dead settling into her mind and how strongly she pushed it away. She remembered the way a little voice inside begged Steve fix it Steve fix it Steve fix it. And she remembered Shirley beside her.
Love was an evil. A curse. Love was a miracle.
And then there was Nellie. Tiny Nellie. Lost in a sea of her mother’s spattered brain.
Theo closed her eyes and released a shaky breath. She remembered the nothing after touching Nellie’s corpse. The dark, bleak, nothing. Sometimes in her dreams, she found herself trapped in the nothing with Nellie. Nellie who was dead and cold. Nellie who was dead and cold and alive in the house.
You can see her anytime you want. You know what you have to do.
There was a part of Theo that knew how easily it would be to roll away from Trish. To open the door and walk down the stairs and out into the night. She could see Nellie again. And her mom. And her dad too. All she had to do was move. All she had to do was turn her back on everything that she loved.
Sometimes the voice that called to her was Olivia’s. Sometimes it was Nellie’s. Tonight the house was silent. The voice was her own.
Theo forced her eyes open, forced herself to take in the warm light of the room and Trish’s body beside her. She watched her hand slide over Trish’s stomach, her thumb brushed over the new stretch marks left by Sam. She focused, really focused, pushing away the whispers until she felt beyond herself, outside of herself, until she could only feel Trish.
There was worry. And contentment. And with each tickle of Theo’s fingers, a growing arousal that was quickly making itself known.
Whenever Theo buried herself too deeply within, whenever she projected herself away to run from her own ghosts, Trish was there to anchor Theo. The feel of Trish was as addictive to Theo as heroine was to Luke. Except heroine tried to kill Luke. And Trish brought Theo back from the dead.
“Take off your jeans,” Theo whispered, replacing her fingertips with her lips against Trish’s side.
“Is Sam asleep?” Trish asked, already wiggling out of her pants and underwear. She pulled the comforter over them as Theo discarded her own sweater and bra.
“Yeah. Can I go down on you?”
Trish answered with a hand on top of Theo’s head and a soft push. Beneath the blanket the world was dark, but Theo knew her path by heart. She descended, her nose brushing down Trish’s stomach, her mouth watering at the scent of her wife so strong and so perfect.
Feeling Trish, knowing it was her own touch that set Trish ablaze, knowing that it was her own tongue that made Trish feel good, that made her feel loved and cherished and desirable and wanted and needed and beautiful helped Theo eviscerate the cold, icy grip that would grasp at her until she died.
As Trish spread her legs, as Theo settled between them, one thought urged her forward.
This is mine.
~*~
Theo vaguely knew that she should find some pyjamas. They were still hidden under the blankets, but Shirley could burst in any moment, demanding an audience to discuss Steve again. That would mean moving and it would mean leaving Trish’s body, so Theo decided to take the risk, at least for a few more moments.
She lay with her head on Trish’s chest, listening to her wife’s heartbeat, tracing the flowers that dotted Trish’s left arm. It made her happy to feel Trish’s pleasure and satisfaction. It made her even more happy to taste Trish on her lips.
“We can use the money from Steve’s book for Sam’s college fund,” Theo said, her words cascading across Trish’s skin.
Trish’s hand stilled in Theo’s hair.
“True,” she said.
“And I can take you on a vacation next year. Somewhere you can wear those skimpy bikinis you like.”
“Pretty sure you like them too.”
“I don’t want to fight with them. It’s a waste of time,” Theo said, rubbing her cheek against Trish, greedily absorbing her wife’s warmth.
“Okay, babe, I get that.”
“The last time I saw Nellie in person we fought.”
Theo added in person because the last time she’d seen Nellie, Nellie had been not-a-person.
“She invited me to visit her…I thought she missed me,” Theo continued, “but she wanted me to see if Arthur was still there somehow. I was furious. I felt like she was using me…making me do something I don’t like doing.”
Theo was aware of the irony in her statement as she was curled around Trish, purposely touching her to try and fight away her own fears.
“She shouldn’t have done that,” Trish said, softly, kissing Theo’s forehead.
“Maybe not. I didn’t get it at the time. But I think I do now…”
“Oh?”
Theo tightened her hold on Trish, hitching one leg over Trish’s middle so she could squeeze her close. It was a death grip, a clutch made of fear and what ifs and too many tragedies.
“I love you too, Theo,” Trish said.
The sun would not rise for hours and the sky was starless and cold. But inside their little room, with the door shut, with Sam asleep and Trish awake, Theo did not fear the darkness.
There were shadows and shapes and voices that hissed lies.
But there were also twinkly lights and fresh coffee in the morning and the perfect curves of her daughter’s finger nails.
This is mine, Theo thought.
This is mine, Trish felt.
And Theo felt it too.