Word Count: 1246

At two years old, Lilah could not quite say Paris's name correctly.

“Pa-ree! Pa-ree!” she chirped, and it was okay. Lilah was cute and Paris liked it, because the silent 's' reminded her of how her dad had said her name.

Lilah was a happy little girl with blonde curls and gray-blue eyes—and small, soft hands that reached and grabbed and held on fondly. Cal dressed her in pink, bought shiny patent-leather shoes for her feet, and tied colorful ribbons into her hair. She liked dancing, and singing, and pushing her stuffed animals around in a miniature baby stroller, while the doll it was meant for sat in the toy-box with blocks and toy horses and princess dress-up clothes.

Paris thought her little sister looked like she could have if her parents had been less cautious when she was younger. A part of her knew she could have easily resented Lilah; after all, Lilah had come late into Paris's life, long after Paris had grown accustomed to being an only child, and Lilah had the sort of peaceful, happy childhood that Paris had always wanted for herself.

Instead, she'd learned acceptance. She spoke to Lilah in French, bought her toddler-sized tutus and ballet slippers, played dress-up in Lilah's room and read her fairytales. She grew fond of Lilah when she could have just as easily shunned her, adapted to having a baby sister like she'd wanted one all along.

She grew attached. Lilah became important to her.

And with the new memories that lurked in the depths of her consciousness, Paris became even more attentive. Protective. Lilah was small and sweet. She should never know sadness or fear. She should never have to lose her family, her childhood, the way Paris had.

“Pa-ree! Pa-ree!” Lilah crowed when Paris came into the house. She toddled over with a stuffed yellow duck tucked in one arm.

Paris lifted her up, hugged her close, and pressed a kiss to a warm, chubby cheek.

She babbled to Lilah in French and Lilah babbled back, tripping over and mispronouncing the words the way she did when she spoke English, but other than that the shift from one to the other was effortless.

“Où est Kiss?” Lilah asked.

“Kiss est à la maison,” Paris said. She should have encouraged Lilah to learn to say Chris's name correctly, but she loved the way Lilah mispronounced it.

“I wan' see Kiss,” Lilah announced.

“Do you?”

“An' pay ow-sigh.”

“Outside where?”

“Pa-ree an' Kiss house,” Lilah said.

“You want to come and play at my house?” Paris asked.

Lilah nodded enthusiastically.

“I don't know,” Paris said in a teasing voice. “I think we'll have to ask Mom what she thinks first.”

Marissa sat on the floor in the living-room with piles of files scattered around her, some on the floor by her feet and others placed haphazardly along the coffee table. She looked up with a curious, arching rise of her brow but didn't move to stand.

“Hey, Mom,” Paris greeted her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Jeez, don't sound so excited to see me,” Paris said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes and approached to settle down on one of the couches. Lilah wiggled free to scamper across the room where one of her fairytale books sat already open. She struggled to pick it up while still holding her stuffed duck in one arm.

“You don't usually drop by without letting me know first,” Marissa observed, eyeing Paris critically.

“I know, I just... you said Cal's gone until Monday, right?”

“Right.”

“So I thought I could take Lilah until Monday morning,” Paris said.

Marissa's brow raised further. “Don't you have dance?” she asked.

“I... yeah, but... I'm taking a few sicks days.”

“What's wrong, Baby?”

“Nothing,” Paris said hastily, before her mother could become overly concerned. “I just.. need a few days to figure some things out, is all.”

“And you want to take Lilah?” Marissa said. “How's that supposed to help?”

“Do we have to talk about it?” Paris asked. She shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

“Did something happen?”

“No... yes... I don't know,” Paris shook her head, unsure what to say or how much to divulge. It was easiest to talk to Chris. Rhiannon was somewhat less difficult, but they hadn't yet revealed everything about one another. With Marissa things were even more tense, because she knew nothing about the war at all.

But... that wasn't quite right, was it? For a moment Paris thought... there was something about that statement. Blurry memories rose and drifted away before she could grasp them.

So she shook them away. Her mother was a helpless bystander, just a normal woman focused on her job and raising her second kid.

“Paris...” Marissa prompted her. “You need to tell me if something's wrong.”

“There isn't anything,” Paris said, shaking her head insistently. “I just... recently I've been feeling... or... I've been thinking about... running...”

Her mother grew silent and pensive, watching Paris with a serious, speculative gaze.

“I haven't done anything!” Paris rushed to reassure her. “I swear. I told Chris, and I see my therapist again this afternoon. But I feel anxious and keyed up and I need to do something—”

“And you think taking Lilah is doing something?” Marissa said.

“Lilah helps,” Paris told her. “I feel like I don't spend enough time with her. If I'm taking some time off from dance, I figure I should still keep busy. I thought I'd take her to the pumpkin patch. Maybe do some apple-picking. Chris was talking about us spending a few days up at the cabin. I'd like to take Lilah with us, if you don't mind.”

Marissa continued to look at her as if Paris had gone off the deep end. Paris wasn't too terribly insulted. It wasn't every day she offered to take Lilah off of her mother's hands, after all.

“You're sure you want to take her?” Marissa ask.

“Yes,” Paris said.

Her mother sighed, relenting. “Fine. But call me if you need me to come take her back.”

“I will, I promise.”

“And text me every once in a while so I know you're both doing okay.”

“Okay, I will,” Paris agreed.

Lilah toddled back over then, having successfully picked up her book of fairytales at the expense of her duck. The stuffed animal sat on the floor over where the book had previously been. Lilah set the book on the couch and grabbed at Paris's legs to scramble up into her lap. Paris grabbed her beneath her arms and helped her, pulling her into another hug.

“Mom says you can come stay with me and Chris for a few days,” Paris told her.

Lilah beamed excitedly. She bounced in Paris's lap and clapped her hands.

“Let's go pack some clothes and toys, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Do you want to bring your book?”

“Yes!”

Paris rose with Lilah still in her arms and pressed another kiss to Lilah's warm cheek. She turned with Lilah to begin making her way up to Lilah's room, aware that her mother's eyes were following her all the while.

It was alright, she told herself. She'd be alright. She just needed time.

Time...

It was a funny thing.