Emira’s rehearsed answer included phrases such as, to stick up for themselves, to hold their ground, and to always have their phones charged no matter what. But when Emira began to nod very slowly and say, “Ummm, so the thing is . . .” Alix couldn’t figure out how she planned on transitioning into a closing line.
“Well . . . no. I don’t really have any advice because umm . . .” Emira exhaled upward and several strands of her bangs fluttered in her breath. “I will actually not be joining the Chamberlains full-time? Or like . . . at all.”
Alix straightened her posture and inhaled through her nose. Her first thought was, Oh no. She’s confused.
With sweet and encouraging eyes, Laney said, “Can you say more on that, Emira? Is there anything you’ve gathered from this that you’ll bring into your new role?”
“Yeah, ummm.” Emira dropped her head to the side, and this was when Alix recognized the Emira who had been coming to her home for months. The bored tilt in her voice. The cool air of annoyance. Alix’s pulse began to tap her neck harder.
“So yeah, it’s been fun?” Emira said to Laney. “But this video being released has definitely put some things in perspective and . . . due to some creative differences, I will no longer be working here. But you can find me at the front desk at the Green Party Philadelphia office because . . . yeah. That, that’s where I’ll be.”
Alix’s first instinct was to laugh. She let her lips creep beautifully over her teeth and put her hand on the couch in the space between her and Emira. “No, Emira.” She grinned. “She’s talking about you being our nanny next year.”
“Mm-hmm. Yeah, I am too?” Emira lifted Briar and put her on the ground—an act with which both were so clearly familiar—and Alix froze in her seat. “Yeah, I’m not gonna do that,” Emira clarified. “I’m gonna be working full-time with the Green Party instead.”
Alix laughed again. She looked at Laney as if she were realizing in real time that an elaborate joke had been played, but Laney’s face was stretched in bewilderment as well. “I’m sorry,” Alix said, tucking her hair behind an ear. “What did you—”
“Well, the thing is . . .” Emira turned toward her. “Basically . . .” Her eyes came up to meet with Alix’s. And for a second, Emira appeared as if she’d just remembered a dream she had the night before. “I just think it would be best if we went our separate ways and . . . that those paths never like . . . came back together.”
It was as if Alix had floated out of her body and was watching herself from three feet above. The room suddenly reeked with the terror of a surprise party and the cameras seemed twice as large, sucking her into their dark round lenses. Emira had dropped the kind of punch line that evoked both petty embarrassment and screaming dread, and her inflection came as if she’d said, Sorry, this seat is taken. But the reference and the implication that yes, Emira and Kelley sat around laughing at new-money-trash Alex Murphy, that she was still a person that existed—it felt like the plot twist of a horror movie. Suddenly, the call was coming from inside the house. She was the one who had been dead the whole time. This was a dream within another dream. Out of the corner of her right twitching eye, Alix could see Tamra’s hand go up to her mouth. She covered half of her face, but Alix could hear her say, “Ohmygod.”
The cameras kept rolling.
Alix’s nervous system told her to stay as still as she could, to try to keep smiling. She knew she looked like a three-year-old who had just been tapped on the shoulder in a friendly game of freeze-tag, excited but awkwardly unsure of how long they’d have to stay frozen. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her tongue felt stupidly huge.
“Okay, yeah, so thanks!” Emira said to the floor. She stood up and scooted between Alix’s legs and the camera gear. Briar trotted after her and said, “Mira, way fo’ me!” As Emira exited the living room, she and Zara exchanged another look, but this one prompted Zara to slip her phone into the waistband of her pants. Just as Emira left from sight, Zara jumped into frame.
“Yeah, das right!” Zara said to the camera behind Laney. “Homegirl is out, okay?! She ain’t need this!” By this, Zara meant the white throw pillow Emira had been sitting against, which Zara flicked with a disinterested hand. “She wit’ the Green Party now, nigga! She got money!” Zara began to dip her head at different angles in the camera lens, shouting and clapping on every syllable of “This is what democracy looks like!” As Catherine began to clap with Zara, a privately panicked Laney said to the camera, “Alix Chamberlain’s book To Whom It May Concern will be out in May 2017. Back to you, Misty.” In the space above her crotch, Laney did a manic signal for cut.
Twenty-six
Emira said, “B, come here real quick,” but Briar was already on her heels. Zara’s voice began to echo through the first floor of the Chamberlain house as Emira took Briar’s hand, and for a moment she thought, What if I just took you and walked out the door? How far would we get? Shaunie’s apartment? Maybe Pittsburgh? Instead, Emira hoisted Briar onto the toilet in the guest bathroom and closed the door behind her. She squatted and placed her hands on Briar’s knees, but when she noticed her palms and pinkies were shaking, she placed them on the sides of the toilet.
“Hey. Look at me real quick.” Briar swung her legs aggressively on the toilet seat, and the top of her shoes almost smacked Emira’s chest. With one hand, Briar swiped at a shock of blond hair, which had fallen into her face. Emira felt her body begin to crack beneath the realization that the ponytails she gave Briar Chamberlain had always been tragically numbered. Briar looked up and pointed to Emira’s necklace. “I want dis,” she said. Emira thought, Oh fuck, this is really it.
“Hey,” Emira whispered. “You know how I said you can’t have favorites?”
Briar nodded. She agreed with this statement and waved a finger to say, “No no, that’s not nice.”
Outside, Zara could be heard shouting, “Whose streets?!” She clapped three times. “Our streets!” She clapped again.
“Okay, but guess what?” Emira smiled. “You’re my favorite. No one else. Just you.”
“Okay, Mira?” Briar’s eyebrows suddenly appeared as if she had something very important to say. “Maybe?” She pointed at Emira’s necklace again. “Maybe I keep dis for a little while.”
Emira realized that Briar probably didn’t know how to say good-bye because she’d never had to do it before. But whether she said good-bye or not, Briar was about to become a person who existed without Emira. She’d go to sleepovers with girls she met at school, and she’d have certain words that she’d always forget how to spell. She’d be a person who sometimes said things like, “Seriously?” or “That’s so funny,” and she’d ask a friend if this was her water or theirs. Briar would say good-bye in yearbook signatures and through heartbroken tears and through emails and over the phone. But she’d never say good-bye to Emira, which made it seem that Emira would never be completely free from her. For the rest of her life and for zero dollars an hour, Emira would always be Briar’s sitter.