Emily stomped her feet as she entered the little community hall to remove the snow caked to the bottom of her boots. She did her best to maintain her balance while the little girl balanced on her hip began squirming in a desperate attempt to get away from her mother.
"Non, Gigi!" Emily scolded gently. "Stop squirming or you're going to fall on your noodle."
The threat of head trauma failed to convince the child, though, and eventually Emily conceded defeat and set her down, knowing she would inevitably run off and begin creating chaos whether she liked it or not.
By the time she'd removed her boots, there was a trail of winter clothes leading into the playroom as her daughter had divested herself of hat and mittens on her way to the toys. She just shook her head and sighed, but she did so fondly as she followed after her, picking up the discarded clothes as she went.
When she emerged into the playroom, it was to find that her daughter already gotten into the markers and, in the process of colouring had managed to get purple smears across her face. She couldn't help but laugh to herself...because what other choice did she have?
She watched for a few moments as her daughter drew deliberate circles – which, she guessed, were supposed to be snowflakes – across the paper in front of her, then moved to the table set up in the corner with coffee and snacks. As she poured herself a cup of the coffee, a young man – likely not much older than her – offered her a smile. "Nice weather, hmm?" he said as he took the coffee pot.
She nodded, offered a smile that was really more of a grimace, then returned to her daughter's side, kneeling on the floor next to her. She watched (while trying to seem like she wasn't watching) the young man as he helped the little boy with him do a puzzle. It wasn't until she realized that her daughter had stopped colouring and was now waddling across the room with her picture, that she broke from her trance...it was too late to stop what was about to happen, though.
"'ook!" the girl demanded, thrusting her drawing at the young man.
He took the paper, turning it first one way, then the other as he tried to make heads or tails of it. Then, with a bright smile, he praised, "What a masterpiece! You're an artist in the making, baby girl!"
The girl smiled brilliantly as if she'd suspected as much.
"Que dis-tu quand quelqu'un te complimente, Gigi?" Emily gently reminded the girl.
"Fank you," she said, suddenly seeming bashful.
"You're very welcome," the young man said, offering Emily a conspiratorial wink as he did so. Once the child had toddled off, he added, "I have no idea what you said, but it sounded really sexy..." He waggled his brows in emphasis.
Emily couldn't help but smile to herself at the compliment, though she bit down on her bottom lip to try to disguise it. She deliberately avoided translating for him, though, so as not to let the aura of mystery disappear.
"I'm Derek, by the way," the young man introduced himself. "And that's my son, Hank," he added, "Doing his best to take the blue marker from your niece."
She gave a snort of what might've been laughter. "My niece..." she repeated on a scoff.
Understanding then, what the so-called joke was, Derek said, "Aren't you a little young to be her mother?"
"How old are you?" she shot back, "Eighteen?"
"Seventeen, actually," he corrected. "But, yeah, you're right. It's just..." Before he could finish his sentence, though, both kids started wailing as the argument over the blue marker erupted into chaos.
Emily gently prised the marker from her daughter's hand and settled her in her lap, redirecting her attention away from the contentious crayon with a Tupperware container full of Goldfish crackers.
"What's her name?" Derek asked, watching their interaction with a small smile.
"Gretta," she said, smoothing the child's messy hair off her forehead. "And to answer your next question, I'm Emily."
"Gretta," he repeated, "That's not a very common name..."
With a soft smile as she dropped a kiss on the child's head, she said, "She arrived four full weeks early, putting her birth on Boxing Day. I was caught a little off-guard when it came to choosing a name, thinking I had more time... As I held her, I watched the snow fall outside the window and it made me think of The Dead and the symbolism of the snow and..." She trailed off, shook her head. "That is to say, one of the characters is named Gretta. So, she's Gretta Nichelle Prentiss."
"Cute," he said with a smile at her awkward nerdiness. "What if she'd been a boy?"
"Oh, in that case, I was leaning towards Werner..."
He barked out a laugh. "Werner?" he repeated, "As in Slaughterhouse Five's Werner Gluck?"
Her cheeks flushed a soft pink as she said, "What can I say? I'm a nerd..." A beat. "Wait... Are you also a Vonnegut fan?"
"Absolutely!" he declared. "I read them all when I was twelve and I've been a fan ever since."
For a moment, she smiled softly, then worked up the courage to ask, "What about you? Hank isn't a very common name either. Did you choose it? Or your girlfriend?"
His smile faded briefly as he watched his son with something like sadness in his gaze. "She... She did the bare minimum," he said quietly, "She gave birth to him, but that's it. She left afterwards to study medicine in Canada. I named him after my father..."
Emily reached over to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile. "And you take care of him on your own?"
He nodded. "My mother and sisters help a lot, but he's my son and he's my responsibility." He shrugged. "What about you? Is your boyfriend much help? Or your mother?"
She couldn't help the laughter that erupted past her lips at the question. "Sorry..." she said between laughs, "That was just too funny..." At his dubious look, she realized it was kind of an inappropriate reaction. She cleared her throat as the laughter died down. "When I got pregnant, I was living in Italy because of my mother's job," she explained, "The guy who got me pregnant told me in no uncertain terms that he didn't want a child ruining his life. And when I told my mother, she simply kicked me out of the house."
"Oh..." He blinked in dumbfounded silence for a moment. "So, what did you do?"
"My aunt and uncle on my father's side heard about my situation and offered to let me stay with them. They're very generous, but I try not to burden them unduly... I'm doing my best to save up so I can get my own apartment," she explained.
"You're a very good mother," Derek declared out of the blue.
She raised a brow. "Thanks, but...why?"
"I guess I know what it's like," he said by way of explanation, "All the insecurities, constantly questioning yourself...knowing you're your child's whole world and still wondering 'am I enough?'" A beat. "Like moments like this where I realize my son got blue marker all over your daughter's shirt..."
For a few moments, she smiled softly, appreciating finally being understood by someone. Then, she interrupted the moment to demand, "Give me your phone."
He raised a brow as he passed the requested object to her. "What do you need it for?"
She typed for a moment, then shot him a mischievous smirk. "Dry cleaning bill..." she teased. Then, laughing, she said, "Just kidding. I thought maybe, one day, you might want to get a coffee or something. And not this burnt swill," she added, gesturing to the forgotten cups of coffee they'd poured themselves earlier.
He joined in the laughter. "I'll buy," he said, "In apology for the marker."