The cult of Isis expanded due to the influence of witchcraft activity spanning across the Roman Empire in the fourth century BC.
"You have got to be kidding me," Myka mumbled. "How did you ever get into college?"
After a sigh that rivaled all the others that day, she threw the paper into a mounting pile at her side. That stack in particular was reserved for the 'extra ridiculous' midterm reports, followed beside it with 'ridiculous,' 'adequate,' and 'deserves my undivided attention.' So far only two of the 23 papers had made it to that last pile.
Myka took a liberal sip of her coffee and plopped it down on her desk so it made a frustrated thump. In the midst of her small cubbyhole office she sat and grumbled like the aged and feeble professor she was not. If only she had an adequate window capable of letting in natural light. Then there would be foundation for the raging migraine setting in.
She squinted in the dull light of the room, books piled to the ceiling and attracting more dust than she'd care to admit. Maps of Egypt, several staging the rise of the Roman Empire, plastered the wall and covered up the rotting cracks her predecessor neglected. The monumental storage of books only left room for a single little desk in a dark little corner. There was one satisfactory chair with arms for the professor and another plain, orange, armless one for the visitor (however infrequent they were).
Another sigh gave way. Fingers ventured up to her temples, kneading at the pulsating anxiety. The discomfort eased somewhat, despite the past few weeks of the same distress.
Myka had learned much about Emily since the reveal of a daughter. Residing in London for the better part of her childhood and early adulthood, Emily lived on the welfare of her family. Like Myka, she imagined at a young age every Seven Wonder from her bedroom window. Unlike Myka, Emily was no stranger to travel. Nothing was impossible, no feat too great, no adventure out of reach. She had the opportunity to view the pyramids and witness their tips piercing the sky. She gasped before the paintings of Van Gogh in Amsterdam, struck awesome on the steps of Parthenon and bewildered in the shadows of the Coliseum's winding ruins. But witnessing history in both its ruin and its renovated state was not enough. Seeing foreign lands did not quench Emily's creativity. The nations and their people seemed to dull the senses and further rouse her hunger for adventure. Her travels around Europe and her interaction with its citizens were not enough, so she spawned worlds and characters of her own. And these worlds did not have a history of ruin or renovation. Its people were more than artless cutouts of a tedious mind. Emily's imagination was limitless, and so were her stories.
Her family was not accepting of her constant travels and fantastical sagas. For a soon-to-be woman there was no time for these 'frivolous activities' as her mother termed them. She was the burden to her family (her Casanova brother taking on the more honorable title of 'pride and joy') and, therefore, prepared to be married off to the first bachelor of heavy pocket. Emily had avoided her womanly duties for a time. She attended school (all the while taking daily jaunts to Paris), earned her physics degree, and began her career as a high school teacher.
At one time the dreamer and aspiring writer became engaged to a lawyer of a wealthy English family. Her parents, of upper middle class standing, encouraged such an opportunity. Encouraged was putting it lightly. The fuss of marriage would not have been born if a child hadn't been thrown into the mix. Emily became pregnant in her late 20s and reluctantly beholden to the lawyer father. They shared an affection for one another, but not at the expense of long-term commitment.
Emily's family was not accepting of her getting pregnant out of wedlock and 'proposed a solution.' Either she married the esteemed lawyer before the child's birth (so as to spare their family's honor), or be forthwith banished from their household and the bit wealth it afforded. Independent mind that she was, Emily chose exile without as much as a thought. And so she and her newborn daughter moved to America to start over.
Since settling in the States Emily hadn't the time to travel and write as she had a daughter to provide for. Because she turned her back on all family entitlements it was also a new experience to live on her own means. Everything was a new experience, a fresh opportunity that afforded benefits and challenges alike. Without a heavy bank account, parental guidance, or the support of a husband, Emily raised a child all on her own and managed to carry on a full-time job. She was no stranger to the world and its cultures, and somewhere between school, travel, and a job she managed to create a family of her own. In a way, Emily was the person Myka had always dreamed of becoming – free and unattached, worldly and unafraid.
But here Myka Bering was, sitting in a dusty, cramped office and grading the work of apathetic students. She hated her job, couldn't find the time to travel, and had no family of her own to speak of. It would be depressing if it weren't for her collection of books and her friendship with Emily
"Upon this site she will build her library!"
Myka's head lifted to the familiar voice trailing in. She smiled as a head full of red hair came into view followed by a theatrical wave of hand.
"And the pitiless children shall not prevail against it," the woman finished as deep as her bow.
Well, it wasn't entirely true that Myka didn't have a family of her own. There was always Claudia Donovan.
"Hey, Claud."
Claudia may be 22 and a student at the university, but she had a tenacity and focus her peers lacked. Computers were a strong suit of hers and a hobby she had exercised since she could put fingers to keyboard. She knew the ins-and-outs of hacking and could build any program and protect it with state-of-the-art security software (when affordable). Her chops were so legendary it was whispered about campus that Claudia, nicknamed "Knock Knock," Donovan could even hack into the NSA itself.
A friendly, caffeine addicted brainiac with a troubled past, Claudia was a mystery wrapped in a firewall and locked tight enough that Houdini himself couldn't break in. She never elaborated on her childhood, but from what Myka gathered from short, mumbled admissions she was a foster kid who later had a complicated relationship with the authorities. What she lacked in discipline she made up for in intellect. She was highly intelligent and had the grades to prove it (when she wasn't playing hooky in order to wait in line for some highly anticipated computer software or hardware).
Her job working as a campus technician called her to solve student and staff computer issues, which explained her constant visits to Myka (one of many technologically challenged professors). Though a computer science major, Claudia was interested enough in history that her off time was spent hanging out in Myka's office.
On that day Claudia sauntered in with an air of sophistication not known to many of her age.
"You know," she said casually, "this place is actually starting to resemble Egypt," her finger swiped at one of the shelves and came away with an inch of dust, "with all its hidden treasures." She cringed at the sea of dust coated books, the things she would prefer to page through electronically.
"I clean," Myka pouted, "…sometimes," she finished weakly.
"It shows."
"So what brings you around? As far as I know I haven't sent a request for tech support."
"Myka, when are you going to realize that you will always be in need of my services?" Claudia jutted her chin in the direction of a laptop, sitting forlorn atop a stack of books on gladiators. "That poor thing has so passed its expiration date that it could belong in the period it lives with over there. What is it? Circa… Gluteus Maximus BC?"
"You watch way too many Russell Crowe movies, Claud."
"… But even I, the Empress Claudias, can keep it purring just by the stroke of my savvy little fingers."
Myka chuckled as the young woman fluttered her eyes and wiggled her fingers in perfect 'jazz hands' fashion.
"Go ahead and keep up the sass. You'll find yourself in detention."
Claudia's hand slapped over her mouth in fake horror. "You would never!"
"Try me." Myka narrowed her eyes coldly in the manner she had learned from the master of mock intimidation, Emily Lake.
"Ha, I would never. So skipping over my usual smart ass salutations I'll get right to the point: spill."
"What?"
Making a show of friendly superiority, she plopped herself in the visitor chair and used Myka's desk to prop up her sneakers, crossed at the ankles. "Spill the beans," she explained. "What's the buzz? The scandal? The scuttlebutt?"
"If we're talking campus gossip then I can't divulge such information. You know how I like to keep myself out of the papers and far from the water cooler talk."
"So that leaves…?"
Myka should have foreseen the line of questioning. Claudia was like a sister to her, and, because of their close relationship which was based on a trust not easily surrendered, a confidante in matters of her personal life. Because of that connection, the tech wiz could detect her anxiety from a mile away.
"Emily Lake," responded Myka finally.
Claudia clapped happily, and leaned over the desk like she was about to dine on the juiciest gossip since Ted Willard got suspended for plagiarizing the entire work of Fifty Shades of Grey (what a noob).
"So how is the lovely lady paramour?"
"We're not –"
"Dating, I know. You remind me five times a day."
"It's strictly platonic," Myka insisted.
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
"We meet for lunch once a week and occasionally attend the theater. Also, we sometimes have dinner so Christina doesn't feel left out."
"I retract my earlier statement. You two have flown right past dating and are already on to marriage with children."
"Claudia," groaned Myka, chin raised to the ceiling as she felt her migraine returning.
"Alright, alright! Just tell me you aren't worked up over the kid again, Myka, because you don't deserve to deal with annoying brood on and off the job."
"She's not annoying," the professor defended. Her eyes diverted then in a show of discourage. "She's just hard to please."
Christina was a rambunctious yet darling eight-year-old. Very much Emily's daughter in appearance and temperament, the only difference being her indifference to literature; she remained partial to dolls and dress up. She was a mama's girl, always at Emily's heels and hanging on her every word. She rarely inquired about the absent father she didn't remember. Emily was honest with Christina about how her parents fell out of love (or rather, possessed strict affection but nothing more). All Christina knew was her parents got a divorce and her father was too busy with work to see her.
Christina's existence brought out old insecurities in Myka. Relationships never came easy to the professor and adding a child into the mix was going a bit too fast for Myka's comfort. Her friendship with Emily was solid, but it was just that: friendship. Myka had not anticipated the next level, yet when Emily made a formal production out of having her and Christina meet did Emily mean for something more to develop? Did the idea of having Christina spend time with them mean she wanted more than friendship? They had decided together on the girl's inclusion into their jaunts, but who was to say it wasn't Emily'3s plan all along?
It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Emily's candor. Bringing Christina into things drew Emily into a new light and was instrumental in pulling back the curtain to the woman's past. In so doing, she granted Myka further into her good, trusting graces. Christina was not as gracious.
The couple of times the three girls went out for lunch and the occasional dinner Myka had gone above and beyond to get to know the girl, but was always met with a stiff upper lip. It was no secret that Myka was not acquainted with children. They made her uncomfortable, always forcing her to dumb down her vocabulary and treat them like little versions of themselves. Christina was not like that, of course. She was above and beyond intelligent for her age and highly proper. The adult-like manner in which the girl carried herself threw Myka off just as well.
"I'm starting to think she resents my relationship with her mother. When we're all together Emily and I make sure she doesn't feel left out, but sometimes it's like it's too much for her. She's always undermining our dynamic and pitting us against one another. Did you know she still brings up the whole high school teachers are more superior to professors line?"
Claudia shook her head more to hide the smirk.
"I mean, I try, Claudia. I really do, but it's like talking to a brick wall. She's so stubborn and so much like Emily. I don't know why, but I really want Christina to like me."
"You want her blessing." Claudia spotted the deep frown in Myka's expression and explained, "You want her to accept you and Emily as friends. Close friends," she added with a sly grin.
Myka shrugged. "Well, sure."
"Have you spoken to Emily about this?"
"No, of course not. It would be overstepping on my part. I'm only Christina's mother's friend; not, as you so often misinterpret, her stepmother. And if I want to get in Christina's good graces I can't be a tattletale."
"Myka, this isn't high school. If you and the kid have a problem Emily should know. She cares about you, you know." The sincerity in her eyes bore into Myka's. "If there's a cramp in your relationship with her daughter she would find a solution."
"I don't want her to think I'm complaining or that I don't care enough to win Christina over. I'm just not well versed in the world of children…"
"Even you were a child at one time," Claudia pointed out. "Use your experience."
"Yeah, but kids these days are different. They'd rather play video games than play chess in the park."
"This is an eight-year-old girl we're talking about. Does the daughter of Emily Lake play Rock'em Sock'em Robots followed by Grand Theft Auto in the evening till she needs a new shipment of Red Bull?"
Myka let out a chuckle, replying, "At the expense of disappointing your sentimental nature towards Rock'em Sock'em, I will say no."
"So play towards her strengths!" Claudia offered exuberantly. "Take her to an opera or buy her one of those Build-a-Dolls or whatever. Make an impression that she won't have any opportunity to discredit. Be yourself. How can anyone not like that? God, you're so sweet and brainy I want to hug you right now."
"Easy, there, Claud."
"What," she said, a brow rising wickedly. She folded her arms and leaned back into her chair. "Are you afraid someone's going to get jealous? Myka, Myka, Myka… I know you have eyes for another. You can't deny it. It's all over your petrified face."
The professor's face scrunched hesitantly. "My face is not petrified."
"It was when I mentioned 'jealous' and 'you know who' in the same sentence. Oh, my friend, you've got it bad for that one. Which reminds me… when am I going to meet this woman?"
"If you keep acting like presumptuous Frank from down the street then you'll see her when hell freezes over."
"When do you see her again?"
"Tonight. I'm hosting dinner at my place."
"The rugrat, too?"
"Yep."
Claudia's lips formed a line and she nodded firmly. "Good luck with that."
Myka could feel the sympathy in the bid.
Emily always felt a tension seizing her before she was to meet Myka. It ran up her spine, creeped through the muscles of her arms, and extended all the way to her fingertips. She first sensed the effects when they met. Her heart beat so fast, her skin tingling to the air, and millions of hairs stood on end in the presence of this bookish wonder. She couldn't explain why this happened weeks later after having become familiar with Myka more than any other person she'd called 'friend.' It wasn't fear – that she understood more than anything. The minutes, the seconds leading up to Myka's dazzling face and smile that lit up her world… just the anticipation of the woman brought on a giddy nervousness.
"Mummy, you're fidgeting."
Startled out of her trance, Emily ripped her stare from the door she had just knocked to the girl beside her. "What?"
Christina gestured to the fingers drumming against pleated black slacks. "You always told me fidgeting was a sign of weakness."
"Christina, not everything I say can be taken as gospel."
"So I can have chocolate tonight after 7?" the girl asked, popping up on her heels.
"No. Did you remember to pack your inhaler?"
Silence.
"Christina?"
She winced slightly, staring up at her mother. "I may have misplaced it in transit?"
"How many times have I told you to double check your carry on before you leave the house? This happens every time! Do you know how dangerous it would be if you were to have an asthma attack without it?"
"So does that mean we can go home?"
Emily caught on to the hopeful tone. It was not the first time the child attempted to use her charms to escape a get together with Myka. She scolded with a severe brow, "No. As your dutiful and loving mother I always carry a spare inhaler. We are staying, and do purge the sulking. Myka was kind enough to invite us for dinner and I would hope any daughter of mine would say their 'pleases' and 'thank yous' no matter what grudge you have against her." She inclined her head and set her jaw so as to make sure there was no room for disagreement. "Is that clear?"
"Yes."
As if the timing couldn't get any more perfect, the lock clicked and the two guests set their eyes upon the tall brunette. Myka was casually dressed in dark jeans and a white long sleeve blouse similar to the blue one of Emily's. Christina rolled her eyes at the adults' impeccable tendency to dress alike.
"You guys made it."
"Yes, we did," Emily replied smiling. The tingling spread across her skin and warmed to the sight of Myka's smile and dazzling face (just as dazzling as remembered and, perhaps, dreamed of). "You would have been kept longer if I hadn't remembered Christina's inhaler as she often misplaces it."
"Mooom," the girl griped.
Emily rolled her eyes to the 'mom' title only uttered under extremely necessary circumstances (like when mother embarrassed child).
Myka smiled to the flawlessly dressed eight-year-old in a purple skirt and cream sweater. "I lose my things all the time. And it always happens to be the important stuff like my car keys or god forbid a student's paper."
Keeping her promise to be on her best behavior, Christina hid her sneer instead of displaying it outright. She walked past Myka into the apartment without a word.
Myka's eyes stayed fused to the spot Christina had vacated in an odd sort of haze. What was with this girl? she asked herself. In an effort to turn a tense, embarrassing situation into a funny joke or maybe even something they could relate to all she had managed to do was further alienate Christina from her. Myka was even acting like her usual self, just as Claudia advised.
The squeeze on her arm shook her from the frozen state. Emily gave her a reassuring smile and followed her daughter. Myka touched where the hand had left and felt a little better.
It was not hard to deduce the main attraction. In the corner of Myka's modestly decorated one bedroom apartment was a round, dining table encircled by three chairs. Dishware and silverware stood out in their proper setting atop the burgundy tablecloth. Even from afar Emily could discern its soft texture and easy weave stitches. At the table's center was their dinner: meatloaf, steaming fresh from the oven and giving off such a mouth-watering smell Emily's taste buds tingled in anticipation. Accompanying the centerpiece were green beans sautéed in garlic and cranberries, a waiting bowl of mashed potatoes, and a basket of warm rolls.
It looked as any table of Myka Bering's should: simple yet elegant, quaint but modern. It made a certain statement. Myka wanted the company as the three chairs emphasized, and everything from the plain dishes to the gorgeous tablecloth was presented with a delicate touch, with care.
"You did not have to go to all this trouble," Emily conceded, fingers running along the wine-red tablecloth. "Take-out would have been perfectly satisfactory."
"Nonsense. I want to show you what a real American dinner is like." Myka tipped her head in Christina's direction. "Both of you."
Unaffected by the grand gesture, Christina plopped herself down in a random seat and supplied a, "Thank you, Myka."
The hostess smiled brightly. "You're very welcome."
Maybe she was getting through that stubborn wall after all. She glanced over at Emily in time to catch the wink sent in her direction. The day before, Myka had drilled her on Christina's favorite meals and musical pieces, hence the meatloaf and echo of Aïda drifting from the stereo. Giuseppe Verdi's four act opera was actually a favorite of Myka's and she was, therefore, thrilled at the prospect that she and Christina might finally come to an understanding.
Dinner advanced without a hitch. Everything was as delicious as it smelled; the beans perfectly seasoned and cooked to a tender finish without sacrificing that bite. The dwindling bowl of mashed potatoes was buttery and indicative of second helpings. Even the meatloaf, which the Englishwoman described as a hodgepodge of ground meat and whatever else Americans had lying around, tasted divine. Emily normally frowned upon such an aesthetically complex dish, but conceded occasionally to her daughter's request. However, as Emily held back a moan around her delicate bit of meat she realized her own attempts at the dish were vastly inferior to this.
Emily congratulated their hostess on her superb cooking and was not shy to admit to herself that it was definitely one of Myka's attractive qualities.
"Thanks," Myka replied, flushed from neck to forehead. "I'm just glad I have such lovely company to share it with."
"It's very tasty, Myka." Christina folded her hands on the table, trying her all to look the opposite of appreciative. Despite her tendency to insult the professor, her stomach was full and so very agreeable to Myka's cooking skills. That did not mean the woman deserved a Nobel Prize for best tasting meatloaf. There was still dessert to critique. "Thank you for your efforts."
Emily's heart soared at Myka's perseverance in the battle to win her daughter's affections. Christina was never one to warm up to any of Emily's romantic acquaintances much less her friends. Since settling in America there have been few suitors who caught the eyes of the Englishwoman. Those that managed that feat got a swift stiff arm from little Christina who wanted her mother all to herself. Emily couldn't complain; after the 12 month hump of raising a toddler on her own she had come to adore her limited family of two. She surrounded herself with few friends and even fewer of those had her complete trust. Myka was different. She was neither a friend nor a suitor. She was a make all her own with her quirks and kindhearted nature. Emily admired Myka's fervor and passion for her career and how she pushed herself and other women to strive for better than what they were given.
One thing was for sure, the professor did not back down. Myka's persistence warmed Emily's heart, making her feel for the first time as if someone was protecting her and Christina's well-being. For the first time, someone cared about their happiness and made gestures that put the widest of smiles on their faces – well, Emily's at least.
In her constant beholding of Myka (for she had her undivided attention the whole night), green eyes finally fell on her. In the background, Aïda competed with Christina's tale of her school day while the two women shared a quiet stare. Emily couldn't help feeling how right this felt, and as a result did not want it to end. So they traced their expressions with attentive eyes, memorized the laugh lines and the frown lines and taking in the warmth and light their smiles gave one another. No expectations, just pure bliss and long sought peace.
Breaking the connection with a sip from her wine, Emily puffed up some courage and started what was hoped to be a successful plan of attack.
"Christina," she spoke, "do you remember our annual trips to the opera? We would attend one of the year's most talked about performance and then follow it with an elegant – and might I add expensive – dinner out?"
With lemon meringue pie under strict review Christina placed down her fork quickly and straightened in her chair. Her eyes widened with an enthusiasm not seen that night. "Of course! We saw Tosca last year and it was amazing! You even managed to acquire reservations at The Waterfront."
Myka's brows rose sky high at the mention of one of Chicago's most highly sought after restaurants.
"Yes, and I was not willing to let you leave without their complimentary tiramisu."
Leaning over the table, Myka gasped to Emily, jaw open, "They hand out free tiramisu?"
"The best I've ever had," Emily responded with a wink and smiled over at Christina. "You couldn't stop talking about it for weeks. I had to peel you off the walls, you were so ecstatic about going back a second time."
"Can we go? The opera as well?"
"I think I can make room in my schedule for dinner and a show," Emily replied, fainting contemplation.
Christina let out a squeal of joy that had the other two women wincing.
"I've never seen anyone so overjoyed by opera and tiramisu."
"You have no idea," Emily told Myka, chuckling. "You should see her after she has had her precious tiramisu. In fact…" she turned to her daughter with an eager mien, "I think Myka should join us this time. She can see you in all your sugar high glory."
The girl's exuberance fell. Her entire body seemed to sag in the chair, face falling to an all new low. "What?" she asked with a frown, not sure if she heard correctly.
"I'm saying we should invite Myka to our little outing. She likes opera just as you do and from this lovely dinner she's cooked us I would think our hostess is much obliged towards Italian desserts. What do you say?" Cheeks sore from how much she was smiling, Emily directed the question to Myka as well.
Myka opened her mouth to respond, her lips turning up into a grin, but was interrupted.
"No." Christina had a fixed stare on her empty dinner plate.
Emily frowned, "What did you say?"
"No!" she shouted. It was so direct and firm that Emily visibly reeled back in her chair. "Why does she have to come? This is our tradition!"
"Christina, that is enough. I did not raise a spoiled child and I should think not one who would behave in this manner towards our hostess." Emily took a breath. She had had it with her daughter's insolence. Myka didn't deserve it after all she was doing to make Christina happy. Maybe Emily had been too easy on the girl, because now it would seem her stubbornness needed a firmer lesson in manners. Red and fuming, Emily continued. "Myka has welcomed us into her home, yet you throw that kindness in her face. All she's ever done is make you feel like the bright girl you are. Do other adults treat you as such?"
Christina glared under her lashes. The logic of her mother's argument weighed heavy on her dropping shoulders. She made a good point. Grownups usually laughed off her established ways and encouraged her to do something absurd like watching television. "No," Christina conceded.
"It is not that I do not enjoy our time together," Emily said, laying a gentle hand over her daughter's fist, "just the two of us. I feel so lucky to have a daughter that actually jumps at the chance to spend time with me. Do you know how rare that is at your age? Many children would rather stomp off with their school friends." Emily smiled to the rolling eyes. Christina had friends, but it was no secret to either of them how much she would rather spend her day with Mummy. "Myka is not your enemy, she is your friend. More importantly, she is mine as well." She looked over at the woman who was sitting silent, but attentive. Emily smiled and Myka returned it. "I think we would all have a grand time together at the opera. And I'm sure you could find it in your heart to share your tiramisu with Myka."
"But I don't want to share my tiramisu," Christina replied. She looked down in her lap sadly. "I don't want to share anything."
"Do not act as if it is the end of the world, Christina. If I wish to invite her you will accept my decision and that is final."
The chair flew back without warning. A very stubborn, blazing eyed child stood in its place. "She always ruins everything!" She raced off in the direction of the bathroom.
"Christina…?" Myka started after the girl but was halted by the other woman's shake of the head.
"Don't, Myka."
The door slammed. Silence followed.
Myka returned to her chair, placing her napkin back on her lap as there was still dessert to finish. She stared down at the limp meringue, its crowning peaks and swirls of cream, and the smooth lemon insides. Her hand slipped over her stomach, clutching at the growing anxiety (or indigestion). After the uncomfortable exchange she just heard the pie did not at all look appetizing. This was what she was afraid of: silence and disappointment. But mostly the inescapable silence.
"I really didn't mean to upset her…"
"You think this is your fault?" Emily gaped across the table. When Myka bit her lip and shrugged she let out a laugh and said, "Myka, do not think anything of the sort. This is on me. She was entirely out of line. Perhaps I have spoiled her because she seems to think I am hers and nobody else's…"
Myka's head tipped, brow furrowed in thought of Emily's supposition and just how easily it was divulged.
Did Emily consider me hers? Do I think of Emily as mine?
Shaking herself of the absurdity of people as possessions, Myka tuned back into her friend's ranting.
"… always thought I should be as they were. But I didn't want that for myself, and surely not for my own daughter. I still care for my parents, but they will never have that kind of effect on Christina. I want her to grow up knowing she can do anything – that there are no impossibilities so long as she believes in herself and what is right."
"And you've taught her that. You can't believe her rebelling against you is the same thing as what you went through with your family. You left them because they gave you no choice. Christina is just mad at the world," Myka fidgeted in her chair, eyes panning down as she added, "and me. But she would never leave you and she doesn't hate you. She's just headstrong is all."
"You hold my parenting skills in too great a regard," Emily pointed out, shaking her head amusingly. She rubbed at her pulsating temples. "Why did I have to give birth to a daughter who loves me too much?"
"It's because she loves you so much that she will never leave you. That's one fear you won't have to worry about." Myka turned to the still closed door of her bathroom. "Maybe I should check on her," she suggested hesitantly.
"No. Stay with me." Emily slid her chair closer to Myka. She calmed the brunette with a steady hand on her arm. "When the child throws a tantrum it's best to let her cool off. If you want to have a civil conversation this is not the time. Trust me." Emily leaned in with the dazzling eyes she knew Myka shivered under. "And she does not hate you. She hates that the lemon meringue went untouched by her antsy fork."
"You really think she liked my cooking?"
"She practically inhaled her first serving before I even got to the mashed potatoes. If her judgment of food is anything like mine, then she adored it. And the pie? Well…" she hovered over Myka's untouched slice and licked her lips, "I haven't gotten around to that yet."
Myka's swallow was audible. "Well, this one's mine. You'll have to get your own."
"But I like this one," Emily shot back with a wide smile. "I only have eyes for yours."
Beheld and challenged by slightly darker brown eyes, Myka's lips parted to respond but nothing came to her haze-filled mind. Before thoughts were put to coherent words there was a scraping sound. Myka found Emily's fork sneaking a shovel-full of cream, crust, and lemon and disappearing between lovely pink lips. Emily half snickered at her own trickery and half moaned to the delicious flavor of the pie.
Not having tasted any herself, Myka just sat back and enjoyed her best friend's victory.
I bet it's a delicacy.