Page 139 of Bite Me

My father’s office is next to my room, and I’m shocked when I step inside to find that it’s nothing like my grandfather’s. It’s open with windows on three walls, and there’s an area on the floor that looks as if it were made for children, with little books and toys. He must have let us play in his room while he worked.

“Dacre, look!” She pulls out an old camcorder that’s sitting in a filing box. “We have to play this.”

“You’re sure this isn’t . . . weird?” Emma comes out of the master bedroom in a set of red silk pajamas. When I pulled them from my mother’s wardrobe, the memory of her wearing them in the kitchen came fully into view. “Do you think she would mind?”

I shake my head, patting the spot next to me on the bed. The linens and towels are the only things that are new in the house. That, and my brother seems to have gotten rid of a few furniture items, or maybe he took them to his own estate. But the master bedroom is largely untouched. Even Mom’s perfumes still sit on the vanity that overlooks the window.

I almost cried when I smelled her perfume. I’ve forgotten so much about her, but here in the house, it’s as if I’m finding pieces scattered everywhere, and they’re so familiar, as if they were locked in my head.

Emma jumps onto the bed next to me with the remote. “You’re sure about this?”

I have no idea what could be on it, but I need to know. This whole place is pulling out more memories than I’ve been able to muster since I was a child.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

The fuzzy screen morphs into an image of the downstairs kitchen, with its muted mint wallpaper and scalloped wooden cabinets.

“Hi, say hi to Mommy.” My dad’s voice is deep. I remember. I thought I had forgotten.

The camera moves to my mom.

She’s . . . smiling with red lipstick on. Her dark chocolate hair matches mine. I’ve never seen a picture of her smiling. All the ones I have are frowning family portraits.

“Oh hello Ms. Florence,” she says.

He teases her with the camera as her laugh trickles through the speaker. I remember that, too. Somewhere in this body, I remember all of it as if it’s been a part of me this whole time.

“She’s so beautiful,” Emma says.

Something deep in my foundation cracks and I grab her hand. It’s coming from my chest and making my entire body shake.

My brothers run past the camera with toy guns.

“Look at her.” The camera pans to Florence in my dad’s arms. “Beautiful girl takes after her mother.”

Florence must be weeks old. She’s so tiny.

“What do we have here?”

The camera moves over my mother’s shoulder to a counter full of dough and flour. My mom waves to him with a flick of flour from her fingers.

“You’ll get some. Don’t worry.”

“She makes the best cookies. Doesn’t she, Dacre?”

I can’t breathe. A little boy with brown hair and green eyes waves him off with an eye roll. She did cook . . . We cooked together.

“Dad, this is our time.”

“My apologies, son.”

“Are you okay?” Emma presses her warm hand to my cheek.

I nod as tears well in my eyes. I physically can’t look away. My mother demonstrates how to roll the dough, and I follow her instructions. I’m smiling too.

We were all happy once, here in our own little oasis. I didn’t think I had this, that I was just one of the unlucky bastards in the world who had a family that didn’t care about love and only cared about money and status.

The recording stops, and we sit in the dark with only the sound of her heartbeat next to me.