She sits for a moment with her eyes trained on her hands while her fingers twist with each other on her lap. Her hair is frizzy from the humidity, and despite having it pulled back, there are tiny tendrils sticking up forming an angelic halo around her face. After a few moments, she finally speaks. "So, what do you want in return?"
What? I'm fully aware she has no money, so why would she think I would want her to pay-
I'm not even finished with my own thought when I realize she's not talking about monetary payment. Nothing is ever free, and she thinks I want her in return for providing food and shelter. The thought strips me down to the core.
"No!" I shout unnecessarily, but I can't help it. I do not want that! She's hiding her face, but I can see her scrunching her eyes closed. I take a breath to calm down and explain myself.
"No," I start again, much calmer than before. "I don't want anything from you, Emily. I want to help you. I know how..." I stop and take a deep breath. I need her to understand where I'm coming from. "I know how hard this situation can be."
She flinches and snaps her head up to look me in the eye. "You don't want...you know, then?" She gestures between us to further her point.
Lie. "No. The last thing I want is for you to be taken advantage of." While the thought of being with her physically is an attractive offer, I would never want it under that set of circumstances. I know how easy it is to become a target when you're young and in need.
"But, why? Everyone wants something, Ethan. There has to be something you want from me. I mean, it's okay if you want... you know..." Her cheeks flame red as she says this.
God, she's so naive she can't even say the word "sex." It only solidifies my decision that I'm doing the right thing, but she's right. People always want something in return, so I will have to give her a reason why I don't want anything from her. I have to be honest with her and let her know that I'm all too familiar with her situation.
Vacant Chapter 6 Surprises
After four months, I continue to be astonished by what Emily can do with a dented, often label-less, can. She says it's all the Julia Child reruns on PBS, but I don't care who's to credit. Dinner is on the table every night with mismatched plates and silverware, and our economy paper towels are always folded into decorative shapes. It hasn't escaped my notice at how much I enjoy seeing our laundry mingled together, either. The bottom line for me is that she makes even this place seem like home.
After Emily agreed to move in with me - which was no small feat - it took a month until she stopped knocking, then cracking the door and yelling, "Ethan?" before she would enter through the front door. It was as if she thought I would get mad if she didn't practice her self- imposed ritual. While her discomfort with calling this her home still lingers, it's just the tip of the iceberg concerning our... issues.
Initially, she'd been particularly insistent about getting a job and wanting to help financially. I hadn't argued, thinking she was nearly done, if not completely finished, with school. I hadn't bother to ask what her status was, figuring she was old enough to make that decision herself. So, it was with eagerness that I helped her look for a job.
One roadblock was her lack of identification. Employers want an ID, but of course, Emily didn't have any. We spent an entire day at City Hall getting the required documentation and social security card, so we could then go to the DMV. That was the day I found out she was barely old enough for a driver's permit - let alone a driver's license. Emily insisted she was nearly eighteen when we met, but I found out she wasn't even close. Shock didn't even begin to explain what I felt at the revelation of her real age. She hadn't lied about when her birthday was; it was a month after she moved in, as she'd first said. However, she was turning sixteen, not eighteen. While I was monumentally upset by her deception, I got it. She was living with the fear of being herded into a state system that could feel like you were being fed to the wolves. I couldn't really blame her.
After I got over my initial anger about her lie and the additional guilt of some of the inappropriate things I may have fantasized about her, I realized Emily missed the milestone of sweet sixteen. I remembered a co-worker talking about her sister's sixteenth birthday and the excitement that went along with the momentous occasion. Emily insisted she didn't want anything special and maintained that by finding me, she'd already received more than she ever hoped for after her mother's passing. The celebratory sad-assed cookie I had on my twenty-first birthday came to mind. I instantly knew it wasn't good enough for Emily, so I went into work and ordered the most extravagant and girly cake our bakery had - regardless of the fact it was almost forty bucks, my usual weekly food budget. Her reaction to the cake was like a kick to the stomach. When I brought it home, Emily cried, explaining that even her mother had never gotten her a cake since cake wasn't something you buy on a strict budget.
That was the moment I decided Emily would never go without again. Knowing that cake was so special made it all the more enjoyable when I ate it every meal the week that followed.
"Ethan, go wash your hands please. Dinner is ready."
It never fails. The girl can literally watch me walk from the bathroom, knowing I've just scrubbed up, but she will still tell me to wash again, and I will. I know that she's tied to the routine, not really the cleanliness factor. Many who have been in a homeless situation will cling to routines for the comfort and solace they bring.
We sit and eat in silence for the first few minutes of the meal. It's always balanced, particularly since she's taking a health class this semester and preaches the benefits of healthy eating habits and exercise. Sometimes it makes me laugh because she sounds just like one of those infomercials she occasionally watches in the middle of the night after she's had a bad dream. There are times I think it's more than just nightmares, though, when she wakes at night. She carries a lot of guilt around with her given our situation. Emily feels like she should contribute to the household with money. I feel like she needs to be in school, getting an education. Even though legally she could drop out, I'm constantly reiterating that school is her job, and there will be plenty of time for her to contribute in the future when she's a full-fledged taxpayer.
"Hey, Ethan?" Emily asks cautiously, while pushing her cube steak around on the plate. I'm a bit nervous since she says it with hesitance. She hardly asks for anything, and when she does, she makes it seem like she's about to ask for a million dollars, but it's usually something small and relatively insignificant. This time, though, the accompanying look on her face indicates this isn't simple. I put my fork down and look up, giving her my full attention.
"So, Christmas is coming."
I inwardly groan, not because she's brought it up, but because I participate in as little of the Holiday Cheer as possible. It's been awhile since I've celebrated the birth of Christ, mainly because I don't believe in God. Realistically, I see the holiday as an opportunity to earn extra money as I work all the shifts so everyone else can spend time with their families. I try to dislodge my anxiety about the topic but it doesn't work. The holidays are about commercialism and consumerism. Plus, I can't afford to buy gifts.
"Yeah, I usually work Christmas. I get double time." My dinner still sits heavy in the pit of my stomach. I know I should give her a special day.
"Oh."
Now I feel like a jerk who's robbed her of the magic of Christmas. "Like all day or just part?"
"The store is open from seven until two, then closing early." I know why she's asking, but it doesn't keep me from playing stupid. "Why? What's up?"
Emily finally stops pushing her battered piece of meat around on the plate and looks up. "I was thinking...and you don't have to...it's just something that...I mean, you can, but if it makes you uncomfortable..." I finally stop her rambling by touching her hand. My hope is that she will refocus her thoughts with my unexpected gesture.
I'm successful. Emily sits up a little straighter, squares her shoulders, and wipes her mouth with her paper towel-slash-napkin.
"I want to spend Christmas at the shelter. You know...it's the last place I was with my mom."
Vacant Chapter 7 Tradition
For the second time since she came into my life, Emily and I walk away from the Gale Street Shelter. After making the trip with her last year, which was her first Christmas without her mom, I know how important "giving back" really is especially where Emily is concerned. I can't help but glance over at her as we make the journey home. This girl - woman - has been part of my life for 487 days, give or take a few hours. As I look back now, I realize I'm keeping track because the day I met Emily was the day I began to live, a rebirth in the form of a brunette angel who's never asked for anything, yet I can't help giving her everything I can.
The past year has been filled with much patience and restraint on my part. As I realize Emily is still a child in the eyes of the law, I struggle to keep my mind on a virtuous path. Sometimes I swear she's torturing me. This morning she decided to get a drink of orange juice after taking a shower but before getting dressed. She says she likes the taste of orange juice while the mint of the toothpaste lingers. I walked out of the bedroom, and there's Emily... bending over... reaching for juice...in a towel. And because I'm frugal, our towels are cheap and on the small side.
I think she knows she's torturing me when she stands there, flexing her leg. I leave the house without my lunch or coat in haste to escape. I don't want to continue down this path with my thoughts. I've made a vow to myself that my relationship with Emily will remain chaste, but it doesn't mean I don't have to redirect my thoughts on a consistent basis.
I'm only human.
On my way to work I make a mental note to save some money so I can buy her a robe... with full coverage.
The temperature has dropped since our arrival at the shelter this morning, so we walk quickly. This is our Christmas tradition now. Emily asked that we visit last year as a way to remember her mother. Now, I see how lucky we truly are with what we have. There are so many who have nothing. Our home may lack many of the modern conveniences and technological advances of most, but we are healthy, bellies full, and we have a roof over our heads. Helping to serve dinner and visit with the shelter patrons is a way for Emily and me to pay it forward.
We don't exchange expensive gifts. Instead, I always get her a new kitchen gadget from the Dollar Store, and she always bakes me butterscotch cookies. It's not much, but it's meaningful and the only thing that counts to us.
As my arm swings with the rhythm of my feet, I brush Emily's fingers with my own. It's an innocent accident, though the sudden warmth in my chest is anything but. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to keep up this ruse, playing her brotherly protector. While Emily has never spoken about boys in her class or voiced interests of the romantic sort, I know it's inevitable. She has blossomed into a beautiful creature who has no idea of the devastation her beauty wreaks upon me and, surely, the boys around her. Her smile is infectious, and it's only a matter of time before a suitor comes knocking at our door. I kind of feel sorry for the poor boy, as my first time meeting him will most likely be ugly. I'm a fierce guardian where Emily is concerned, not just because it's my duty to protect her but because seeing Emily with another guy will end me.
I want to reach out and take her hand in mine as we walk, but I don't. I have calculated the difference in our ages. Five years doesn't seem all that much when she is twenty and I'm twenty-five. However, she is seventeen and still a minor, which is the only important difference, no matter how hard my libido begs to differ. I have to prepare for her to have romantic feelings for someone her own age, not a twenty-two year-old guy who has to act like her older brother.
Sisters rarely hold hands with their brothers.
"Why don't you go out on dates?" Emily suddenly asks in the middle of New Year's Day dinner. She insists on serving black-eyed peas because they are lucky if you eat them on the first day of the year. They taste like shit, but as usual, I humor her by eating them.
"Huh?" I stall. She's familiar with my deliberate stall tactic and narrows her eyes at me.
"I've never seen you with a woman." She pauses, like she's unsure how to broach the next part. "I mean, you're a good looking guy. There have to be opportunities for you to go out..." She stops and takes a deep breath as if preparing herself for my answer.
"Uhhh..."
Yep.
"Never mind, Ethan. I can tell it's not a topic you want to talk about."
With that, she leaves the table and her half-eaten plate and heads for the bedroom, one of her only options for privacy. The door closes and I'm left feeling more confused than ever. I'm learning that girls are confusing, especially where Emily is concerned.
Vacant Chapter 8 Celebrate
"Happy anniversary!" Emily yells at me as I exit the bathroom having just completed my morning ritual. She'd be disgusted if she knew everything it entailed, not to mention the full coverage robe I was supposed to buy, which means Emily still walks around in tiny towels. Of course, I spend extra time in the shower stroking out my morning wood so that I'm able to have some semblance of decency the rest of the day. Walking around with an Emily induced boner would certainly make our situation uncomfortable.
While the topic of dating and relationships hasn't been broached since January, that doesn't mean it has gone away. Instead, it's been the elephant in the room for eight long months.
"Is there an anniversary song?" Emily asks jokingly. "There's one for birthdays." She starts singing Happy Birthday, replacing "birthday" with "anniversary."
