Zoe isn't sure what to think about Emma's newest friend.

Oh, it's not that the girl has done anything wrong. In what sparse interactions they've had when she was picking Emma up from kindergarten, Taylor has been nothing but respectful. Neither is it the fact she feels vaguely ill at ease in the girl's company. It's a vice to judge people by their appearances, and doubly so by their deformities, even if Zoe simply can't help the unease crawling in her gut whenever looking at the girl. She supposes some would call her a pretty child for her ethereal visage, but for her part, she would place her squarely among the uncanny. Why, her first thought upon seeing the kid was whether or not she might be a parahuman, the second she reminded herself the girl is five.

In truth, it's nothing about Taylor Hebert herself which is the source of her conflicted thoughts.

It's Emma.

Her daughter had latched onto things and people before, yes, but never quite so earnestly. When it was herself and Alan, followed by Anne, it was only to be expected. After all, being the people she spent all her time with, it followed they were her favourite people in the world, which manifested through things like her utter refusal to sleep alone in her bed, or following Anne wherever she could, throwing terrible tantrums whenever she couldn't. That said, her moods, much like dry haystacks, burn bright and brief, and Emma has proven herself easy enough to distract besides. Far more so than Anne who had sulked for the rest of the day at that age, determined to ignore her parents' attempts at cheering her up.

Emma's newest fascination with Taylor, however, appears to be one not so easily forgotten. Normally, putting on the Teletubbies is enough for Emma to forget about whatever issue there may be, and for some time after. Normally, it's enough to bake her something sweet to send all her worries into oblivion. Normally, playing with her would take her mind off anything and everything for at least as long as the playing would last. Normally, Emma won't go to sleep without story-time.

Now she can't sit for a minute while watching cartoons, obviously bothered. Now, though she still scarfs down her cake, she's preoccupied mostly with her own restless energy rather than running to and fro between her room and the kitchen to check on the oven, and then go right back to not knowing what to do with herself. Now, it's obvious her thoughts are far away rather than on whatever Zoe thinks up to have the dolls say when they play. Now, when asked why she's in her pajamas before the evening cartoon and bath she replied with the earnest logic of a five year old:

"Because then I can meet Taylor faster."

Which is not how time works, but Emma's vocabulary is a secondary concern here to the fact that it's been a week of Taylor this and Taylor that.

"Do you think it's normal?" she asks Alan after Emma falls fast asleep at the end of the week, already dreading the coming day when their girl would not be meeting her new friend at all.

"Children fixate on things. It'll pass. Remember the fuss Anne threw up about a dog?"

Zoe remembers only too well. One day, Anne got it into her head that she wanted a dog. Wanted it like nobody ever wanted anything before, obviously, and that she would take care of it and feed it and pet it and what have you. Zoe blames that weird cartoon about some pink dog that her elder daughter watched religiously at the time. Having a dog was all she'd talked about. It was exhausting to refuse the requests, and to see Anne genuinely crestfallen over the refusal, but both herself and Alan maintain a child's whim isn't enough to get a time-intensive pet like that. They proposed getting a hamster instead, but Anne was adamant it was a dog she wanted. She changed her opinion quickly enough once they got their neighbours to let Anne walk theirs. It wasn't even every day, just now and then, and still it took… oh, maybe a month before she got bored of it, she can't remember exactly.

It doesn't quite feel right to compare the two, given Emma's obsession is about a person, but Zoe supposes the same solution does apply. It's not like they can do anything else but wait it out, anyway.

Predictably enough, when she comes back from work on Saturday, she finds the house in disarray left in the wake of a whole day of Emma trying to find something to do that would occupy her attention, and to find Anne ran rugged after keeping watch over her sister, as is her duty on Saturdays. Dolls, blocks, mascots, pillow fort, evidence of something having happened in the kitchen, rearranged furniture and scattered legos creating safety hazards all around the house. All that in addition to having spent three hours out, according to Anne.

Luckily for Zoe and Alan both, their elder child isn't the only one wrung out by hours upon hours of activity, and both the sisters spend most of the afternoon asleep on the couch, which means they then have to deal with their youngest being overactive in the evening, but at least it gives them enough time to rest themselves before having to grapple with that.

The following day, Anne goes to a friend's house soon after breakfast, which is a good bit earlier than usual, leaving her parents alone in their struggle to contain Emma. A struggle which Zoe figures will be easier if she takes her little girl outdoors first so that she may let at least some of her excessive energy out.

And so it is that the mother and daughter find themselves on a stroll to the neighbourhood playground, having left Alan to mop up the paint Emma spilled across the living room in not even twenty minutes they'd left her unattended while they were both busy with Sunday chores.

Normally, Emma would be skipping by her side, joyous at the prospect of going to her favourite place in the neighbourhood to play with other kids. Today she seems mostly frustrated at the prospect, and Zoe has a pretty good guess as to why, given she's not going to play with the one girl she actually wants to play with.

Or so it seems until they arrive at their destination to find the unmistakable young albino roosting atop the playground tower rooftop, much like a beacon crowning a lighthouse.

Zoe frowns. She wasn't aware the Heberts live close-by. Neither was Emma, who would've surely been asking the whole week to go visit her new friend if she knew. Who will now be asking to go visit her friend whenever possible - she notes with alarm as her daughter's expression changes to that of delight upon spotting her friend.

Taylor waves back at them, right before taking a week off Zoe's life by jumping down the ten feet tall tower. Thankfully, the girl sticks the landing without hurting herself, as is apparent when she takes off in their direction a second after.

"Emma?" Zoe addresses her daughter, her hand pressing against her still wild heart.

"Yes, Mom?"

"Please be careful when you play. No jumping from the tower, alright?" She remembers only too well the trouble Anne got into because of her friends. It's one thing to kiss a few bee stings better, and another to have to take her daughter to the ER with broken legs.

Emma doesn't answer, isn't given a chance when a hurricane of a girl throws herself at her in for a hug, all smiles and cheer, receiving her own share in return.

"Hi Emma! Hi Miss Barnes." The kid demonstrates just enough manners before seemingly forgetting about the adult's existence when she grasps Emma's hand to lead her to whatever game she's got on her mind. It quite suddenly occurs to Zoe that Emma might not have been the only one to be missing her friend, and briefly wonders how Taylor's own parents have been handling the last week. Speaking of:

"Taylor, where are your parents sitting?" She hasn't noticed any of the adults around paying the three of them any particular attention, as they certainly should be after the jump their daughter just pulled off.

"Daddy's not here, he has work." On Sunday? Is Zoe's initial thought, followed by the next few less charitable ones aimed at herself. Not everyone is so lucky to have Sundays off.

And your mother? She does not say - thank God - having bitten herself on the cheek right as the words were about to slip out.

"Your babysitter, then?"

"I don't have a babysitter?" The look of pure confusion on Taylor's face pulls at a faint thread of worry in Zoe's mind.

"Taylor, does your daddy know you're here?"

The fish-out-of-water look the girl gives her is one Zoe is intimately familiar with from the many times she's seen the cogs turn on her own girls' faces as they tried, and failed, to come up with lies they weren't expecting to have to give. What she's not familiar with is the far-off, almost blank look passing over her face immediately after.

The woman sighs, giving Emma an apologetic look which goes entirely unnoticed with her focus squarely on her friend. So much for having them play together. It would be one thing to have the girl out by herself - Zoe would still disagree with such a laissez faire approach towards one's own child, but then, Taylor isn't her own. Still, as it stands, she can't in good conscience let the little albino play with her daughter. Nor can she as an adult and fellow parent just let the matter be. She certainly hopes that if it were Emma sneaking out of the house, someone would take it upon themselves to bring her child back home. Or even call the police if it absolutely couldn't be avoided. Better that than letting Emma wander about on her own.

"Taylor, could you show us to your house?"

Both the girls glance at each other, before the albino speaks up, her face scrunched up in confusion.

"But we didn't even play yet?"

"I'm sure you can play at your house, right? Your daddy is going to worry if he comes home and you're not there."

Again, her blue eyes gain the far-off look for a short moment before her expression crumbles and her gaze turns downwards. Shit, is she gonna cry?

"There now, don't worry." She crouches in front of the girl with her best smile, a slight panic building up in her chest. Why is she crying? The hell is she supposed to do? She doesn't know her. Emma would freak out if a stranger tried giving her a hug, she still sometimes refuses to come out of her room when they have guests she doesn't know (or remember) at home. "We'll be back before your daddy even notices you were gone." And then she'll find his phone number and tell him what happened. But the girl doesn't need to know that.

Taylor sniffs the beginnings of a snot back up.

"Okay," she mumbles at length, before her pink eyes meet Zoe's own with a new focus to them. "Thanks, Miss Barnes. Um. Do you have change for tickets?"

It's Zoe's turn to frown in confusion.

"Tickets?"

"For the bus." Taylor specifies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"...Taylor, where do you live, exactly?"