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Kat always liked the holidays. It was full of cheer and presents in addition to being one of the only times that her family got all in one place at one time.
Most of her family, anyways. Paw and Meemaw were staying home this Christmas because Paw came down with something and they didn’t want to risk getting anyone else sick.
“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll have our own reunion in a couple of days when Roland is feeling better. We won’t forget your and Al’s presents!”
It wasn’t the presents that she was upset about, more that Flora would surely have taken off again in a few days and they wouldn’t get to all see each other. But she just cheerfully wished her grandparents well and let them off the phone.
There was another presence that was felt in its absence. An elephant in the room that everyone avoided. An empty chair where presents resided but no person sat to open them.
They didn’t mention Papa at all, so Katrielle tried not to either.
Besides, the holidays were meant to be cheerful! And she was spending time with her Uncle Desmond, which was a gift in and of itself. Even if he weren’t Kat’s only real uncle, he’d still be her favorite.
“Mr. Raymond, are we there yet?”
“Not yet, my dear.”
She sighs and pouts and takes a lap around the airship. Kat liked the Bostonius a lot. It was a pretty red airship, and the interior was sleek and elegant. Kat liked the purple couches and marble counters and all of Uncle Des’ porcelain plates with gold accents. She liked imagining what Uncle Luke said about living here for months in the height of its extravagance. Uncle Luke didn’t like talking about that adventure so much, so Katrielle eventually got the hint to stop asking.
She makes her way back up to the upper level, “Are we th-” Kat squeaks as someone behind her places a hand over her mouth. Knowing exactly who it is, she wastes no time in licking it.
“Kat!” Al lets her go, and she spins around to see him furiously wiping his hand on his slacks, “That was disgusting!”
She sticks her tongue out. “You shouldn’t put your hand over people’s mouths, it’s not gentlemanly.”
“Maybe I don’t care about being a gentleman. Besides, Dad isn’t here so he can suck it about gentleman rules.”
“That’s a bad word! You can’t say that!” Katrielle points at him, and her brother smacks away her hand. “Hey!”
“Oh yeah? Which word was bad?”
Technically none of the words were bad, but Al was just being a smart alec. “You know! Stop being a potty mouth!”
“Stop harassing Raymond, then we’ll talk.”
The older gentleman in question coughs to interrupt their bickering. “Miss Katrielle, we’ll be arriving in Paris shortly. It should be no more than ten minutes, if you’d like to get dressed up.”
How on earth he knew about Katrielle wanting to get dolled up before Flora arrived when he wasn’t in the room was beyond her, but before she can ask, Al interrupts. “There, now you can quit asking.”
Before he can threaten to throw the girl over his shoulder, Kat huffs and walks away of her own volition.
With Flora’s arrival they’d all be together. Kat hasn’t seen her big sister since the summer, since that’s the last time she was in London. It’s a special occasion, so the girl always tries to look her best. She can count on Flora all but pinching her cheeks and telling her how much she’s grown.
Katrielle always relishes in the affection. Al’s not exactly cuddly.
She misses when Flora still lived with them. It’s for the best that she’s gone and travelling, but Kat misses the days when she was young and her big sister would take her around London.
The girl ruminates on the matter as she gets into her new dress and petticoat. She didn’t really understand why Flora and Al didn’t get along with Papa as well as she did.
Maybe it was that she was taken in when she was very young, but her siblings had come under Papa’s care when they were older. Maybe it was that they didn’t like being kept and coddled like Kat did.
She liked staying right at his side, following him stride by stride. Flora and Al didn’t.
Al didn’t like following anyone. Back when she was younger and her big brother was still in secondary school, she remembers that he fought a lot. He’d come home with bruised knuckles or way later than he should have because of detention. He skipped school and pushed back and ran away from their home.
Kat didn’t love him any less for it, and neither did Papa. Papa would sigh and patch him up and tell Al that next time, he should use his words before his fists, and that it would get him further.
Kat’s papa never yelled. He didn’t raise his voice to be heard, he didn’t punish his children in the way that Katrielle had heard of other parents doing. Bad actions earned a soft lecture at the most, and for that, the girl is very grateful.
Al always seemed upset by it. She never understood it, and he didn’t explain. She couldn’t ask, because the one rule he implemented when she moved in with him was that Kat couldn’t talk about him when they were in the apartment together. There were ways around it, of course, like Kat talking about their papa when they were outside or at family gatherings or on the way to school, but he always got moody about it.
It didn’t stop Kat from talking about him with others. Everyone else she knew liked to talk about Professor Layton with her.
Almost everyone, that is.
Flora left when Katrielle was 6. She sat Kat down, smoothed down her hair, and told her that in a month, she’d be leaving and not coming back.
“Why?” She had asked, and her big sister looked away and explained that ordinarily, children move out of their parents’ flat at 18 to live independently, and Flora was well overdue to leave.
“Why?”
It was a long time coming.
“Why?”
Flora wanted to explore and see the world, and her guardian wanted the opposite for her.
“Why?”
Kat’s big sister didn’t have an answer to that one.
For a while afterward, Kat knew, Flora lived with Uncle Desmond and flew all over the world in his airship. It seemed nonsensical, to move from living under one’s roof to living under another’s. Eventually, Flora stopped that and travelled on her own.
She visited every few months to stay the night or have some tea with Papa. She ruffled Al’s hair and cooed over Kat and then she’d be gone with the breeze.
After papa disappeared, Flora came back. She moved back in and commandeered the Layton household in his absence.
Kat did miss living with her big sister, but she thinks she preferred it more when she was little, when she didn’t understand the complexities of everything. When she didn’t think about money or groceries or chores or how to get Alfendi and Flora to stop fighting.
Flora paid for everything. Even after Alfendi got his own job at Scotland Yard and moved out, and even after Kat moved in with him and Flora left again, she paid a lot to keep them all comfortable. She didn’t like to talk much about where the money came from, citing her father’s inheritance. Kat didn’t pry.
She learned not to pry when she was very little, because everyone around her seemed to have things to hide. Papa didn’t give all the details of his adventures, Al and Flora didn’t like to talk about where they were before the professor took them in, and Uncle Desmond doesn’t talk about why he’s a Sycamore and not a Layton if he and Papa are brothers. No one likes to tell her much of anything, and Katrielle can’t tell if it’s because she’s ‘too young’ or if it’s all just too touchy.
The girl wonders sometimes if she’ll have her own secrets by the time Papa comes back.
Katrielle hums in frustration, both at her own thoughts and with the bow that she’s trying to get in her hair.
“Uncle Desmond!” Biting the bullet, she leaves the bedroom to track the man down so he can help. Al isn’t good at dealing with Kat’s curls, but she knows Uncle Desmond can braid hair.
“Kitchen!”
She follows the voice, making note of the shift in the airship. They must be descending now, which means it’s almost time for Flora to arrive.
“Uncle Desmond!” She calls again as she enters the kitchen. He’s watching his hands in the sink, evidently done with whatever he’d been cooking before. Something’s in the oven.
A puzzle!
If he was washing his hands, he probably got them dirty at some point, so he was working with his hands or it’s a messy recipe. He’s wearing an apron, which accentuates that he’d considered the possibility of his clothes getting dirty. There’s flour scattered about the front of his apron, which means it was something baked, and the apples are gone from the fruit basket.
The logical conclusion is that he’d been baking apple pie.
“What can I help you with?”
“Can you put the bow in my hair? It doesn’t look right when I do it.” She holds out the bow and he takes it.
“Of course, do you want it on the side or the back?”
“Mmmm… Well I wanted it on the back but I don’t want to copy you.” Uncle Desmond had his hair half-up, tied with a ribbon in the back. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, which is silly if you’re supposed to be reading instructions for baking something.
“It wouldn’t be copying, dear, it would be matching.”
“Hmmmmm. Then yeah, I want it in the back.”
Right as he’s finished putting up her hair and fiddling with her bangs to get them to stay down, the Bostonius comes to a stop.
The excitement she’s been feeling wanes a bit as the Bostonius shudders, lacing itself with anxiety. She hasn’t seen her big sister since the summer, and it’s been nearly half a year of only scattered letters from wherever Flora’s landed.
What if she’s changed? What if Kat has changed?
“Katrielle?”
“Mhm?”
“Is something wrong?”
“No…”
But as the door clicks out in the other room and she hears Flora’s cheery greeting, she clings to Uncle Desmond’s arm. He must sense something is off, because he holds onto her hand as they exit the kitchen.
“Hi Flora…”
“Kitty-Kat!” As expected, Flora drops her bags and all but rushes over to pull Kat into a hug which she eagerly returns.
“Flora!”
Why on earth had she thought Flora would act any differently towards her?
The woman twirls her around before setting her back on the ground, “How’ve you been?”
“I’m okay, how are you?”
“Just perfect.”
“Hey, Flor.”
Flora turns her head to their brother and offers a wave. It’s the extent of the conversation between the two because Al returns to reading whatever murder mystery he’s on at the moment. Kat’s older sister offers Uncle Desmond a hug as well, who accepts it with some measure of stiffness.
“And you?”
“I’m doing well, dear. How was Paris?”
Flora tunes out as the adults start talking about Flora’s visit to France. While Kat does want to listen to her sister, she doesn’t currently have much interest in foreign culture.
“Hey, Al.” She plops down on the magenta cushion next to her brother. “Al. Alfendi.”
“What?”
“Allllllll…” She pokes his cheek, and he smacks her hand away.
“Go bug Flora, I’m reading.”
“She’s talking to Uncle Desmond, and I’m bored. Play a game with me or something.”
“What sort of game?” Completely uninterested, Kat’s brother flips to the next page.
Well, he always likes guessing games. “What do you think we’re getting as gifts?”
“Easy. He’s definitely asked Flora what we want because he’s not confident in his ability to judge.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Ah- You didn’t let me finish, Kat. She doesn’t know what to get us either, so she’ll go based on what we wanted last year. I’ll get crossword puzzles.”
“And me?” She leans in, and Alfendi smirks.
“I’m not telling. I won’t ruin the surprise for you, but I do think it’s something you’ll enjoy.”
“That’s not fair!” Kat shoves his shoulder, and he shoves her right back. “What about Papa?”
His expression sours a bit. “What about him?”
“What did Uncle Desmond get for him?” She points to the stack of boxes on one end of the couch, and he snorts.
“What, you can’t puzzle that out?”
“What? How am I supposed to guess?”
“Kat.” He flicks her forehead. “The presents are empty cardboard wrapped up. There’s no presents for Hershel.”
“What?”
It seems for a moment that the world stopped turning. Why wouldn’t he get a gift for Papa? Kat got one with some spare change, and she was planning to put it with the two from years prior. Papa would surely appreciate it once he got back.
“Why would they get a gift for a man who isn’t even here?”
Kat feels her eyes start to sting, “Why wouldn’t Uncle Desmond get a gift for him? He’ll have it eventually.” It doesn’t make sense.
“Kat.” His voice gets more serious, and all the playful energy is gone.
“What?”
“We’re not going to waste the money on a man who’s not going to show u-”
“He will, though! He’s got to! What if he comes home and there’s no gifts for him?”
“Then we can deal, but Kat-”
The girl shoves her hands over her ears. “No!”
“-you’ve got to accept that he’s-”
“No no no!”
She feels him grab her hands to take them away, and his voice is angry when he shouts, “He’s not coming home, Kat! Accept it! He left us!”
Alfendi hasn’t shouted at her in a very long while. And even before that, he was always more willing to fight with others than with her. Al isn’t ever really angry with her, but his eyes are gleaming red in the light and his grip is too tight on her hands and he’s mad. Very mad.
Katrielle lets out a sob, and then another. Her ears ring as she pushes herself away from him and off the couch. Turning, she spies Uncle Desmond and Flora in her periphery.
Neither got her Papa presents. They all thought he wasn’t coming back.
Emotions bubble up in her chest, and she scrubs at her face, unable to stop crying but wanting to anyways.
“Kat?”
She sniffles, locking her gaze on the professor’s brother. “Did you?”
“Pardon?”
She points at the stack of boxes again. “Did you buy him anything, or are those empty?”
His brow furrows, and he hesitates to respond. It’s all she needs to storm over and knock the boxes over.
The stack falls easily, truly indicative that there wasn’t anything in them. Empty cardboard in festive wrapping. A lie.
“Kat-”
Whatever it was that she was feeling has morphed into rage, and she kicks at the boxes within reach, then grabs her own gift where it sits separately on the couch.
“Kitty…” Katrielle holds the shoddily wrapped gift in her hand, looking to her big sister. Flora is approaching like Kat is a wild animal. “Let’s just sit down, alright? We can all talk for a second.”
“Did you get Papa a gift?” Kat demands, the box trembling in her hands.
“I’m… Kat, sweetpea, just-”
“You didn’t, did you? None of you? Really, none of you got him anything?” And before any of them can answer, Kat throws her gift to the floor. What does it matter, if none of them care enough anyway? It’s not like Papa is going to see it.
The mug inside shatters with a sharp crash, and Kat comes back to herself a bit in horror.
This was very unladylike. Papa wouldn’t be proud of the fit she just threw, and he probably wouldn’t mind even if he showed up today.
Alfendi gets to his feet, and Kat runs.
Past Al, past Uncle Desmond and Flora and she can’t see their expressions beyond the tears in her eyes. She turns the corner and sprints to one of the spare rooms, slamming the door and sliding to a sit behind it.
Only then does she really break, letting out sobs with her whole chest. All that Kat did today was make a big fool of herself and be unkind. She wasn’t a baby anymore, so there wasn’t a reason to act so childish. She shouldn’t cry just because her dad isn’t here.
She shouldn’t cry because Al doesn’t think he’s coming back. Or because no one seems to hold the same hope she has.
The little flame in her heart flickers with doubt as the girl pushes her face into her knees. Papa wouldn’t leave her. He took her in after her mama passed, and raised her for 11 whole years before the adventure he went missing on. He wouldn’t leave her.
Almost everyone she knows liked him. They all would tell her about how her papa was kind and helpful and loyal and all of the good things she remembered of him.
Was it Katrielle? Had she done something wrong, so wrong that he didn’t want to see her or anyone again? Kat’s always been too loud and noisy and inattentive, everyone told her so. It was phrased more kindly as ‘bold’ and ‘enthusiastic’ and ‘easily distracted,’ but almost anyone can see what they really want to say to her.
Was Flora burdened? Alfendi? Did they hate having to take care of her?
There’s a knock at the door, and she huddles further in the safety of her balled-up position on the floor. “Katrielle?”
She tries to not sound like she’d been crying so hard, but even to herself, Kat’s voice sounds strained. “Yeah?”
Al sighs, “Flora’s making me apologize for what I said. So I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to say it when you don’t mean it.” Katrielle scrubs at her face again.
Another sigh. “Kat, open the door. We’ve got to talk.”
The girl pauses, then gets to her feet and cracks the door open to peer at her big brother.
“C’mon.”
“...M’kay.”
She steps back from the door and sits on the bed. Al sits beside her.
“It’s fine, Al. You don’t have to say sorry.”
“I’m not saying that I don’t believe what I said, but I’m sorry to have said it that way. I was being harsh.”
Kat drops her head onto his shoulder, and his arm wraps around her side. Alfendi isn’t one for hugs and things often, so she takes what she can get.
“It’s okay…”
“Look at me when you say it, and maybe I’ll believe you.”
The girl responds by burying her face in his shoulder harder, so they settle into silence for a second before Katrielle asks the question that had started to eat at her. “Did Papa leave because of me?”
“Oh. Oh, Kat not at all. Is that what you thought?” Al pulls away to look her in the eye, and Kat’s eyes burn again. “That’s not it at all.”
“‘M sorry. I’m sorry, Al. I-” She scrubs at her face, frustrated. Kat isn’t a baby. “I’m sorry.”
“Katrielle Layton, look at me.” She does. “Hershel leaving is not your fault. If anything, he would have left because I’m an asshole.”
“Language,” she sniffles, “and he wouldn’t leave because of you.”
“You’re a million times better than me, Kat. And if he didn’t leave because of me, then he didn’t leave because of you.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Are you ready to get back out there? It’s lonely without you.”
Al must feel really bad. He’s not usually so gentle with her. Or maybe Flora just really yelled at him.
“Are they mad at me for what I did?”
“Not at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as shit.” Her big brother squeezes her shoulder and stands. She follows him and grabs onto his hand.
“Language.”
His tone is dry but Al smiles as he quips, “you sound more and more like him everyday.”