Page 7 of Knights Like These
My phone buzzes.
Sydney:Landed. In an Uber. ETA 40 min.
Me:Door’s open. Let yourself in.
Sydney:Can’t wait to see the frog song situation in person.
Me:She’s moved on. Now it’s a tutu and rain boots.
Sydney:Bold fashion statement. I respect it.
I put the phone down and do one more pass through the house. I wipe the bathroom counter, check that there’s toilet paper, and put out fresh towels in the guest room.
The guest room. I made the bed this morning with clean sheets, cleared out the closet, and put a lamp on the nightstand because the overhead light in there is harsh. I don’t know why I’m thinking this much about a lamp. It’s just a lamp. She’s not going to care about the lamp.
I’m standing in the guest room adjusting the angle of the lampshade when I hear a car door outside.
I walk to the front door and open it. She’s coming up the walk.
And here’s the thing about Sydney that I forget every time I go a few months without seeing her—she’s tiny. I know this intellectually. But there’s a gap between knowing someone is five-foot-two and watching her walk toward you carrying a suitcase that’s almost as tall as she is. She still looks like a ballerina all these years later. She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and sneakers, but her dancer’s background is still there in how she carries herself. She looks tired in the way people look tired after early flights and bad airport coffee.
But she also looks really good. Which is an observation I’m going to file away and never revisit.
She gets to the porch steps and looks up at me, grinning—a real one, big and warm, the smile she’s been giving me since we were kids—and I feel my whole body relax in a way it hasn’t in weeks. Months, maybe.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
She drops the suitcase and walks straight into me, wrapping her arms around my waist, her face against my chest. She barely reaches my collarbone. I wrap my arms around her and hold on. She’s warm and solid, and she still uses the same shampoo she’s used since college. For a second, I just stand there on my porch hugging her and breathing for what feels like the first time since Bree walked out.
“You look terrible,” she says into my shirt.
“Thanks.”
“Like, really bad, Arch. Have you been sleeping?”
“Enough.”
“Liar.” She pulls back and looks up at me, her hands still on my arms, her brown eyes scanning my face with an attention that makes me want to look away. “You’ve lost weight.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Hmm.” She lets go and picks up her suitcase. “Where are the tiny humans?”
Before I can answer, the front door bangs open, and Lily appears in her tutu, rain boots, and DADDY’S GIRL t-shirt, running full speed down the porch steps.
“AUNTIE SYD!”
Sydney drops the suitcase again and catches her, scooping her up like she weighs nothing, which she almost does. Lily wraps herself around Sydney like a koala and buries her face in her neck.
“I missed you,” Lily says. “I missed you so much. Daddy can’t do braids.”
“I can do braids,” I say.
Neither of them acknowledges this.
Luke appears in the doorway. He doesn’t run. He walks because Luke does everything at his own pace. He stops at the top of the steps and looks at Sydney with those big serious eyes.
