3. Sienna #3
“Not yet.” I take a deep breath, bracing for his irritation.
If he’s always like this, then maybe it’s something I’m going to have to get used to.
“I need a few minutes. Can you please walk Mary down to her car? Just to make sure she gets there safely?” I give Damian a pleading look.
“I’ll explain everything in a minute. Just please walk her down. ”
He looks at Mary, and then lets out a sharp breath. “Fine.” He gestures to the door. “Let’s go.”
He glances back at me as she walks nervously toward him. “Fifteen minutes, Sienna,” he says, and it sounds like a threat.
As he walks out of the apartment, I look around, seeing it—seeing my home —through his eyes.
It's small—barely 700 square feet—with a cramped living room that doubles as a dining room, a tiny kitchen with outdated appliances, and two closet-sized bedrooms. The furniture is secondhand, mismatched pieces I've collected over the years. The couch has a throw blanket over it to hide the worn spots, and the coffee table is actually a trunk I found at a thrift store. The walls are thin enough that I can hear my neighbors' conversations, and there’s a box fan in the living room for when the air conditioning can’t keep up with the Miami heat.
But it's mine. Or it was, anyway. I've tried to make it homey with pictures and plants, little touches that make it feel like more than just a place to sleep. There’s a bookshelf full of books near the TV, romance and fantasy mostly, my escape from reality.
Toys are scattered across the floor—Mary must not have gotten around to cleaning up yet.
I look at them, at everything, trying to think of what to take.
Of what, out of my collection of possessions, is really meaningful.
I head to my bedroom first, pulling a duffel bag out from under my bed and then grabbing clothes on instinct, hoping that what I reach for is what I want the most. Underwear, my comfiest sleeping clothes, the one pair of nice jeans that I saved up for ages to buy, my favorite T-shirts.
In my dresser, in a small wooden box, there are two tiny mementos that I haven’t pawned over the years, no matter how poor I’ve been—my mother’s wedding set and her pearl earrings.
I look at them for a long moment, considering slipping the rings onto my finger, but I decide to wait.
I put the box into a side pocket of the duffel bag, and head to the bathroom, collecting my toiletries.
If I’m going to be staying somewhere strange, I want to have things that are familiar.
The room across the hall from mine is more difficult. I get a backpack out of the closet, leaving the duffel in the hall as I gently nudge the door open and step inside, into the warm, humid darkness of the room.
There’s a faint glow from the dinosaur nightlight next to the door, the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. In a racecar bed next to the slightly open window, lying on his side, is a three-year-old boy, sleeping soundly.
I pad quietly to the dresser on the far wall, opening the drawers as slowly as I can to avoid them squeaking.
I pull out clothes, all of his favorites, tucking them into the backpack.
I grab a few of his favorite toys that are sitting on the shelves next to his bed, the picture books he likes me to read to him at night, and then I kneel down next to the bed, gently touching his shoulder.
“Adam? Adam, honey, I need you to wake up.”
He stirs in his sleep, making a sound of protest that makes my heart ache. I gently rock him back and forth, reaching up to brush a bit of hair away from his face. “Sweetheart, I need you to wake up.”
His eyes open then, blinking awake as he looks sleepily up at me. “Mama?”
“Hi, honey. I need you to wake up, okay? We’re going on a little trip.” I reach for him, pulling him into my arms, and he immediately curls against me, arms going around my neck and his head pillowed onto my shoulder.
My chest aches, a bright, sharp pain that makes tears prick at the corners of my eyes. This is why I said yes to Damian. Why I needed to come back home. Why I rushed up here, terrified that someone else might have made it to my home before I did.
I’d do anything to keep him safe.
I hold him tight, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo and the fabric softener I use on his pajamas. He's warm and solid in my arms, and for a moment, the events of the night feel like they happened to someone else.
But they didn’t. And I know, for us both to be safe, that we need to go.
I grab the backpack, cradling Adam against my chest as I step out into the hall, and reach down for the duffel bag. As I do, the door to the apartment opens, and Damian steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“I got her safely to her car. We need to go?—”
His voice dies as he turns around to face me. He looks at Adam, cradled against my chest, and his lips press together, his eyes narrowing. “Sienna?”
I tilt my chin up, holding his gaze stubbornly. “This is why I needed to come back home.” I take a deep breath, hefting both bags over my shoulder. “This is Adam. My son.”