It was 6 o clock before the apartment was quiet again. Emily stayed long after the few who had come left, dutifully clearing away the cups and dishes. He stood, leaning on the kitchenette doorframe, and watched her quietly. She was an efficient, neat woman, a woman without whom he doubted his mother would have lasted as long as she did. Emily glanced up at him, sensing his stare, and smiled nervously.
"Today wasn't so bad, was it?"
She said, looking back down at the soapy water.
"Could have been worse,"
He wasn't sure if that was a lie or not. Marie had not been part of today. She had not been part of the plan. He hoped that their brief exchange would have been enough to convince her not to try again. But his sister had always been stubborn, and he feared not.
"Well, I don't think you were supposed to enjoy it,"
Emily joked, seemingly uneasy. His apathy bothered her, he knew that. His lack of love for his mother was something she found impossible to comprehend. Emily had a close family – three teenage girls – and couldn't understand the coldness that had always existed between mother and son. But when you have a family, you wonder how anyone can live without what you have. He had never known a family, and he didn't know what he was living without. He couldn't ever know if what Emily had was worth having. That just wasn't his life. He had come to realise that a very long time ago.
"All done,"
She said with a flourish, placing the last dish upside down on the drainer. He liked how practical she was, how she could break through tense silences with simple words, how she shrugged off the way she felt about their screwed-up family to help. Emily didn't ask for anything from people – anything she gave was unconditional. She did nothing for self-gratification. That was probably an aid in her friendship with his mother, one of the most self-absorbed, cold people he had the bad fortune to meet.
"Thank you,"
Emily shuffled nervously, her eyes focussed on the worn lino. He could see she'd turned an interesting shade of pink. It was endearing. Emily was truly completely selfless.
"What are you doing tonight?"
The brisk, practical tone returned, as she dodged around him and collected her coat.
"I've got to work,"
He said, simultaneously reaching for the keys on the counter.
"Oh,"
"Speaking of work. I'm going to be pretty busy in the next week. You think you could keep the keys to this place…It's going on the market pretty soon, and I might not always be available,"
Emily caught the haphazardly tossed keys in one hand.
"Nice catch,"
"Dad didn't have any boys…"
She said, as if that explained everything. He wouldn't return, Emily knew that as well as he did. Emily would probably sell it better than he ever could. She could probably make it seem like a nice property, though it was in reality in a terrible state of decorative repair, in need of rewiring and shoebox sized. He felt no nostalgia for the place. They left the apartment in silence, locking the door seemed like an almost symbolic gesture. Emily crossed the landing to her apartment, and he made his way from the building slowly.
"Come by, if you're ever in the neighbourhood,"
Emily called down the stairs after him. He nodded, but knew he never would. He stepped out into the Chicago night and sighed. Alone, at last.
"Today wasn't so bad, was it?"
She said, looking back down at the soapy water.
"Could have been worse,"
He wasn't sure if that was a lie or not. Marie had not been part of today. She had not been part of the plan. He hoped that their brief exchange would have been enough to convince her not to try again. But his sister had always been stubborn, and he feared not.
"Well, I don't think you were supposed to enjoy it,"
Emily joked, seemingly uneasy. His apathy bothered her, he knew that. His lack of love for his mother was something she found impossible to comprehend. Emily had a close family – three teenage girls – and couldn't understand the coldness that had always existed between mother and son. But when you have a family, you wonder how anyone can live without what you have. He had never known a family, and he didn't know what he was living without. He couldn't ever know if what Emily had was worth having. That just wasn't his life. He had come to realise that a very long time ago.
"All done,"
She said with a flourish, placing the last dish upside down on the drainer. He liked how practical she was, how she could break through tense silences with simple words, how she shrugged off the way she felt about their screwed-up family to help. Emily didn't ask for anything from people – anything she gave was unconditional. She did nothing for self-gratification. That was probably an aid in her friendship with his mother, one of the most self-absorbed, cold people he had the bad fortune to meet.
"Thank you,"
Emily shuffled nervously, her eyes focussed on the worn lino. He could see she'd turned an interesting shade of pink. It was endearing. Emily was truly completely selfless.
"What are you doing tonight?"
The brisk, practical tone returned, as she dodged around him and collected her coat.
"I've got to work,"
He said, simultaneously reaching for the keys on the counter.
"Oh,"
"Speaking of work. I'm going to be pretty busy in the next week. You think you could keep the keys to this place…It's going on the market pretty soon, and I might not always be available,"
Emily caught the haphazardly tossed keys in one hand.
"Nice catch,"
"Dad didn't have any boys…"
She said, as if that explained everything. He wouldn't return, Emily knew that as well as he did. Emily would probably sell it better than he ever could. She could probably make it seem like a nice property, though it was in reality in a terrible state of decorative repair, in need of rewiring and shoebox sized. He felt no nostalgia for the place. They left the apartment in silence, locking the door seemed like an almost symbolic gesture. Emily crossed the landing to her apartment, and he made his way from the building slowly.
"Come by, if you're ever in the neighbourhood,"
Emily called down the stairs after him. He nodded, but knew he never would. He stepped out into the Chicago night and sighed. Alone, at last.
