Emira whispered, “Fuck,” and willed herself to keep walking.
“Mama? Mama, can you get mine for me?”
“Just a second, Bri,” Mrs. Chamberlain said. At the other side of the sidewalk, wearing an expensive beanie, a khaki trench coat, and booties that had tassels on the backs, Mrs. Chamberlain was squatting in front of two-year-old Catherine. “This zipper is stuck, isn’t it?” she said. Catherine yawned and licked a sucker.
Emira watched Briar come down off her tiptoes and take a look around. Behind her, two black nannies were pushing strollers with sleeping babies inside. Emira watched Briar go straight up to one, lift her hand, and pat the closest woman’s thigh. “Excuse me, nice lady?” she asked. “Can you please help me reach my pumpkin?”
The nanny seemed greatly amused, as if she hadn’t been called nice lady in years. She said, “Sure, which one is yours?” Emira wished that she’d walked up a little faster, that Briar could have called her the same name, that she could have talked to Briar without Mrs. Chamberlain, just one more time. And then she felt her heart crush even further into her stomach as Briar pointed up at a bright green pumpkin and said, “It’s dis one.”
Emira held her breath as she put her head down and walked around the nannies, Briar, Mrs. Chamberlain, and Catherine. She heard Briar tell the woman thank you, and Mrs. Chamberlain laugh and apologize for her daughter.
* * *
—
Deep into her thirties, Emira would wrestle with what to take from her time at the Chamberlain house. Some days she carried the sweet relief that Briar would learn to become a self-sufficient person. And some days, Emira would carry the dread that if Briar ever struggled to find herself, she’d probably just hire someone to do it for her.