I’m drowning in a sea of memories.

Well, not quite. That’s a bit overdramatic.

I’m in my room back in our family house – Josie’s house – in Leonidas. I’m sitting on the floor surrounded by piles and piles of my old stuff. When I ran away from home when I was 16, my sister couldn’t bring herself to throw anything away that belonged to me. She just clung to the hope that her baby brother would show up on our doorstep one day, as if nothing had happened and things would go back to the way they were. She thought I was maybe just hiding at a friend’s place; only she didn’t know anymore who my friends were, so she didn’t know who to ask.

So stubborn as my sister is, she kept everything exactly the way I left it.

Josie went through a lot during that time. At one point that summer she and her then-boyfriend, Norman, the nerdy kid, broke up. She met Troy, and I don’t know much about him. Never met the guy, and Josie doesn’t like talking about him. One night he and my Dad ended up in a drunk fight, and Troy kicked my Dad out of the house. Which sounds great on paper – if Troy had treated my sister any better than Dad.

Then Josie got pregnant. She tried to hide it from Troy because she was afraid of what he’d say. That should tell you enough, shouldn’t it? When he did find out, his reaction was exactly as she’d dreaded: He called her a whore, and well, she ended up in hospital. That’s something I found out much later, and it makes me nauseous just to think about it. Josie says she wasn’t hurt too badly, but she was worried about the baby in her belly. But nothing had happened to my princess, my little Soso.

By that time it was winter. Josie was alone in the house, not even 21, and with a baby on the way. I’d been gone for months, and Josie feared I was dead. That she lost me forever. She blamed herself for not looking after me properly, for failing me as my big sister. I put my sister through so much pain.

Josie said she spent hours in my room every day, going through my stuff. To remember me, to look for clues, maybe. She didn’t find anything. The police were no help. They basically just shrugged. Another Black, gay kid that ran away from home and never returned. What else was new?

But Josie never gave up on me. Spring came, and she found me. Even if it was only the ghost of my former self. I went back home with her. I stayed until Soso was born and then for a little while longer. Until I felt my head would explode if I spent another minute in that house with all its awful memories, until the nightmares just wouldn’t stop. They didn’t make any sense at the time, but now I know they were my suppressed memories of Remy’s death.

Over the following years, Josie still kept my room largely untouched. Just tidied up once in a while, in hopes I’d come back. And I did. Seldom at first because I was too ashamed of what I’ve become to show my face. But again, Josie’s sheer stubbornness won. I became a more and more frequent guest at my former home. I admit that my princess had a big part as well. The way her face lit up whenever she saw her “Unkie Lell” or how she threw her little arms around me. Her second Christmas when Josie asked her what she wanted Santa to bring her, and her only reply was “Unkie Lell”. Who could say no to that?

Now Josie isn’t alone in the house anymore. She has her fiance, and Soso has two brothers with a third on the way. Space is getting a little tight around here. Josie and Mal would never get rid of my stuff or tell me to do it, but there really isn’t much point in keeping it all.

So I’m sitting in my room, sorting through my childhood junk. Old comic books, clothes that haven’t fit me in years, a broken action figure, a water bottle with the Daredevil logo on it, and my high school textbooks. Tattered things, the covers barely held together by layers of tape. We could never afford new ones. There’s even the student planner from when I started as a junior. I left only a month into the new school year.

I thumb through some of the books. They feel odd between my fingers. Some of the notes I scribbled in them – with pencil, of course – make me giggle. There are quite a few question marks and WTFs in an algebra one. Numbers were never my strong suit. The history book was treated with quite a few creative drawings. I was usually bored out of my mind whenever Mr Gorski drawled on and on and on about shit-knows-what.

In one of my desk drawers I find a few loose sheets with my squiggly scrawl. Must have been an essay we had to write for Miss Allerton, our English teacher. I can see the comments in her neat handwriting in the margins, sometimes correcting my atrocious (make that non-existent) punctuation, sometimes complimenting a particular phrase with a smiling emoji. She signed it at the bottom with a ‘Well done, Wendell!’

Even after so many years, it makes me puff out my chest in pride. I always loved English Lit while PE was my favourite. My fidgety ass simply could never sit still for a long time. Unless I had a book in my hand. Comic book or old classic didn’t matter. Only that I could lose myself in another world. Fighting alongside the Avengers or Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Or following Jim Hawkins on a quest to find buried treasure. Then I’d forget everything around me and become one with the story. And once I surfaced again, I loved nothing more than to dissect every aspect of the plot into its atoms. Much to Josie’s – and later Remy’s – chagrin.

Putting my thoughts on paper for class came easy to me. The only challenge was to organise my thoughts because they just came fizzing out of me, and my fingers sometimes wouldn’t fly fast enough over the paper to keep up with my ideas.

Maybe I should start reading again, get a library card or something. Or ask Louis if I could borrow some of his books.

I find a copy of ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ tucked away in the cabinet beneath my nightstand, complete with a suspicious-looking library stamp on the first page. Oops. Guess I never returned that one. Louis’ books might be the safer option. I wonder how much I owe the school in overdue fees. Maybe there’s a way to return it anonymously? Or I could just not at all? No-one seems to have missed it in the last eight years. I feel a bit bad about that last option. It feels like stealing.

I can’t even remember getting it from the library, but it must’ve been just days before Remy’s death. So much that happened around that date is – and will always be – just a blur in my mind. Except for the day that we spent together at our Palace. For the next four years, that was the memory I held on to. Whenever I was cold or hungry or sore, whenever some random guy pounded into me, shoving my face into a concrete wall, I’d let my mind wander back to that day. The way Remy had held me gently and touched me, how he’d made sure he didn’t hurt me and that I was enjoying it as much as he did. Whenever I felt lonely and abandoned, I remembered his unwavering trust and endless patience as I clumsily did the same to him.

For the longest time I thought it was really odd and maybe slightly pervy that those were the moments that stood out the most to m. I chalked it up to being a horny teenager, what do you expect? But when I told Eli, he said I probably used it as some kind of protection. He said he’s glad I had these memories, that I knew intercourse could be different and that they probably helped me maintain a relatively positive outlook on sex. If the encounters with my clients had been my first sexual experiences, he thinks, I would’ve been even more fucked up than I am. He phrased it a bit better. Without the pun, too.

I’m still lost in thought when I hear the front door and Mal’s low rumble drift upstairs. I can’t hear Soso’s answer, but I know Mal picked her up from the school bus. It doesn’t take long for a tentative knock to sound at my door.

“Come in, princess!” I call out and watch as my bedroom door slowly opens and Soso’s head appears in the gap, her hair an explosion of curls.

“Daddy had to go back to the shop. He said you’re up here.” Soso says, still hovering inside the doorframe.

“Sure am, princess.” I grin at her and wave her to enter my room. She still hesitates, clutching her arms around her slim body and twisting her legs into a knot.

“Daddy said I need to knock before I go into your room. He said it’s only polite.”

I rearrange my face into a sombre expression. “Your daddy is right. It is polite to knock. And you did, and I said it’s okay. You can come in.” I spread my arms and flex my fingers. She finally peels herself off the doorframe and accepts my hug, burrowing herself in my lap. I kiss her forehead and get a good whiff of the unmistakable smell of playground dust, crayons, fruit juice, and strawberry bubble gum. The latter I identify as the scent of her favourite shampoo. I squeeze her tight, enjoying her weight in my arms.

“How was school?”

“Mhmm, good,” comes her muffled reply, her face hidden in my chest. I frown at her short answer and start rubbing a hand down her back. I remember her being strangely subdued all summer, but I’ve been too caught up in my own shit to think too deeply about it. I just put it down to everything that went down with her mom and her health issues. But that’ll be over soon.

“You looking forward to your Mama coming home soon? And your brothers?”

“Mhmm.”

No, that doesn’t sound like my niece at all and her usual bubbly self, always talking up a storm, always wiggling around. Whoever she takes after with that? I just also know that poking her, trying to get to the bottom of whatever is bothering her, won’t get any results. So I let it go for the moment.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Lell?” she finally says, looking around at the mess surrounding me. I tried to sort all my former belongs into three piles – keep, donate, trash – but so far any method to the madness has yet to emerge.

I sigh. “Wish I’d know, Sos,” I admit.

Soso extracts herself from my arms and starts picking up stuff randomly. She somehow finds the remnants of an eraser that probably once was in the shape of Spider-Man but is now reduced to an overlarge bobblehead.

“Can I keep this, Lell?”

“Sure,” I reply while shoving all my old textbooks over to the donate pile. I have my doubts that they’re still useful to anyone actually attending school; they’re probably horribly outdated, but something in me refuses to throw books away. Books are sacred.

I keep on sifting through my stuff while Soso moves around the room, helpfully finding little things she wants to keep. A pencil that is approximately still an inch long but “is so pretty and glittery” and a simple notebook with a creamy white cover. She opens it on the first page and giggles before putting it down with the rest of her growing stash of things. Josie will be thrilled. I’m just glad to hear that little happy sound from her.

I’m still trying to decide what to do with ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ when I hear the click of a bottle cap, a soft thud and Soso’s voice going, “Ewww… this is so slimy!”

I turn around to see her standing next to my nightstand, holding up her hands covered in a gooey substance… and a bottle of lube by her feet. Fuck… It takes me a second to remember Josie being a thoughtful hostess and providing all kinds of supplies for our sleepover last Thanksgiving. The dull pain in my chest turns into a familiar throbbing as the carefully hidden memory of that night makes its way to the surface. I try to push it back down – Eli calls it a bad coping mechanism, but it’s the only one I have, so fuck it – and clear my throat.

“Um, that’s not for your hands, princess. Get a wet wipe from the drawer, and we’ll clean your fingers.”

The words have not fully left my lips as I belatedly remember what else is inside that drawer, and sure enough I watch in horror Soso’s face scrunch up while she gingerly lifts a condom between two fingers. Still securely wrapped and unused, thank heavens.

“What is this?” Her voice is a mixture of morbid curiosity and absolute disgust, like she’s found a booger in her Halloween candy.

Fuckity fuck.

“That is… um… put that back, Soso.” My brain is racing to come up with child-appropriate explanations. I’m guessing Josie hasn’t had the safe sex conversation with Soso yet, so… water balloon? A really weird finger puppet? A miniature sleeping bag for Barbie? A tiny raincoat for a worm? My inner pre-teen is snickering at the latter because… well… isn’t that what a condom basically is? Keep it together, Dupree! This is serious!

“But what is it?” she insists and starts picking at the foil.

“It’s for grown-ups, Sos. Put it back.” I’m trying to sound casual, not making a big deal out of it, in hopes she’ll lose interest. Move along, kiddo, nothing to see here. I should’ve known better; Soso isn’t as easily brushed off.

“What do grown-ups do with it?” She looks at me, tilting her head curiously.

“It’s…” Oh, Jay-zuhs, I was not prepared to have some kind of Sex-Ed talk with my seven-year-old niece. I also don’t want to flat-out lie to her. “Grown-ups use it… erm… for… protection.” There! That’s it! Good explanation, Unkie Lell! I mentally pat myself on the shoulder.

“Like when they’re sick?” Soso is on an investigative spree.

“Um… yeah… so they don’t make others sick.” That’s still good… still on safe territory. Soso hums and turns the foil in her hands to examine it from all sides. Time for a tactical retreat…

“Come on, Sos, let’s go to the kitchen and see if we can find a snack. I’m starvin’!” I’m not, but I need the distraction. I jump to my feet and, in one swift motion, wrestle the condom out of Soso’s hands, stuff it into my backpocket and throw Soso over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She squeals as I sprint into the hallway.

The sight that greets me outside my childhood bedroom still throws me, especially after being inside my own head and memories for the past hours. My bedroom still looks exactly like it did the day I took my bike to peddle over to St Apollonia church to sneak a look – and maybe a kiss – from my boyfriend, full of youthful hopes and dreams.

Outside of my room, the world has changed. The house, really. Since Mal moved in here, he’s worked tirelessly to fix the place up: fresh paint, new floors, and nicer furniture. He’s one of those people who just can’t sit around doing nothing. He started small, then convinced Josie to redo the master bedroom – where my dad used to sleep until Troy kicked him out – to make it their own. Little by little, the house on Joliet Street evicted the memory of Franklin Dupree and became a home for Josie’s expanding family.

With the impending arrival of another, Mal came up with his big plans. I guess he’s called Big Mal for a reason and not only because of his size. The twins are toddlers now and need their own space. Brady, too, once he’s older. I keep pointing out that there is a nice room with a great view of the magnolia tree in front of our house that’s not being used. It could easily be turned into a nursery or a room for the twins, but Josie keeps refusing the offer.

“It’s your room, and it will always be your room,” she insists. “Don’t even try to fight me on this, Lell!”

She’s a stubborn one, my sister. Something we might have in common. But since it is her house now, I don’t argue with her. So while my sister was away all summer, Mal, his dad and a couple of his friends, added more space to the back of the house. The front with my room, followed by the main bathroom, and Soso’s little realm remained untouched. Most of what used to be the master bedroom will now be Brady’s room, right next to his brothers’ habitat and the new master bedroom for Mal and Josie on the other side. It looks really great, but I still feel like Lucy Pevensie stepping into an entirely new world when I come out of my bedroom.

I barrel down the steps, deliberately bouncing Soso up and down – and almost running into the wall, because this is where the door to the kitchen used to be. It’s now around the corner where a proper dining room replaced our old living room. The new one is much larger and takes up the entire back, overlooking the porch and backyard. The steps are still there where Josie found me after my dad gave me one of the worst beatings of my life. Convinced that if he hit me hard enough, he could knock the sissy out of me. Unsuccessfully – but not for a lack of trying on his part. They are also the same steps where last Thanksgiving… I swallow, shoving the memory away before it can take hold. It used to be one of the happiest moments of my life. Now the thought threatens to open a void in my chest, crushing everything around it.

I don’t know how Mal preserved these steps, but being the genius Bob the Builder that he is, he somehow did. Pleased as punch about it, too. This is still the house I grew up in – and it also isn’t. Which isn’t a bad thing at all.

In the kitchen, I set a breathless Soso back down on her feet. We wash the remnants of her ill-fated skincare experiment off her hands before I start rummaging around the fridge for something edible.

“How about an apple, princess?”

Soso frowns at me. “An apple isn’t a snack, Lell! An apple is… like… healthy…” She shudders at the very idea.

I hide my laugh behind the fridge door and try to use my serious voice. “Of course, an apple is a snack. Snacks can be healthy.”

Soso gives me her best pleading puppy dog eyes. “But, Lell! Can’t I have a cookie or something? Something tasty?”

I turn around with the sternest expression I can muster. Which isn’t much because, looking at her face, I just want to crumble and give in. “It’s an apple or nothing!”

Soso groans and throws her head back. Before I can cave in, Soso trots towards the living room, mumbling something under her breath. I shrug and start cutting up two apples and put the slices in a bowl. If she doesn’t eat them, I will. When I’m done, I follow her and place the bowl on the coffee table. She’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, with the TV showing Hannah Montana reruns. I frown because Soso is supposed to ask permission before switching on the TV, but I decide to let this one slide. I won the snack battle.

I settle on the couch behind Soso and snag a slice of apple that is decidedly ignored by my niece. I can’t stop my gaze from flicking to the large windows overlooking the porch with its steps. The pain comes. I can’t avoid it. I know I should look away. This is like picking at a scab just to make it hurt again. So why don’t I?

My hands fall onto Soso’s head and start combing through her tangled curls. I hope he’s happy. Better at least. It’s been a month. Maybe he’s moved on already. Found someone else. Or he’s back to doing casual hook-ups. Decided that relationships aren’t worth the effort. I’m certainly not in the mood to try again anytime soon. Maybe not ever.

Soso winces as I accidentally pull too hard on a knot in her hair. I mumble an apology, and she sighs.

“Daddy tries… he brushes my hair every morning and does… something…” She waves her little hands above her head to imitate Mal trying to style her hair, and I snicker: “Those curls are a challenge, and it takes a lot of skill and bravery to get them to behave.”

Soso giggles but goes quiet really quickly. I frown because this is just not like her at all. Sure, she’s growing up, and maybe she grew up a little faster over the summer with everything that was going on. Still, I don’t like it. I sift my fingers through her hair, and she wiggles in front of me.

“Want me to braid your hair? See if I can still do it?”

Soso nods enthusiastically, and I’m glad for every glimpse of my happy princess that I can get.

“Fetch your beauty case for me,” I tell her, and she rushes off upstairs to her room to get it. Moments later she’s back with a tiny metal suitcase clutched in her arms. It’s definitely seen better days, but I know it’s one of her biggest treasures because her daddy got it for her. Long before he was her daddy, too. Josie had only started to work for Mal when the attack on me happened, and I hid at my sister’s because the idea of sleeping rough just terrified me. Christmas time came around, and Big Mal’s Market got really busy, and they needed someone to help them with deliveries and restock the shelves. Josie got me the job. It was good, honest work, and I could use the cash.

Of course Mal was already head over heels in love with my sister at the time and would have done anything to make her happy – including hiring her good-for-nothing baby brother. I am a hard worker, never shying away from manual labour and getting my hands dirty, so he never regretted his decision. The old ladies who had their goods delivered by me loved me too, and I usually came home with my pockets full of tips and my belly full of cookies. One day, just as I was getting ready for another round, Mal approached me, with a bashful smile on his lips. I always expected the worst when the boss sought me out, but he wasn’t there to fire me. He actually praised my work and then raised his hands to show me this small suitcase, which looked ridiculously tiny in his big paws.

It was covered in a faded pattern of cheerful flowers and ladybirds. There were a few scratches and dents in the metal, but the handle was still sturdy, and there was a proper clasp at the front. He said he saw it in the window of a thrift store, and it reminded him that his sisters used to have a case for all their beauty products. Then he said maybe I’d want to give it to my niece, for Christmas. I was stunned, but I loved the idea, and I knew Soso would be thrilled. I asked Mal how much I owed him for it, and he waved me off, ducking his head between his shoulders, and said it was only a dollar, and I should consider it as part of my Christmas bonus.

Little did I know that Mal had bought the case for Soso and hid it in his office for days but chickened out to give it to Josie directly. He feared she’d blow up in his face (very likely) and refuse to accept gifts from her boss. So he chose the route of less resistance and gave it to me. It did briefly make me suspicious if he had any ulterior motives and expected a special kind of service from me to show my gratitude. But I quickly dismissed it. In the weeks I’d worked for Mal, I’d come to know him pretty well. He was – still is – a decent guy, most definitely straight and not one to coerce someone else into sexual favours.

Soso was over the moon to discover her new little treasure under the Christmas tree. Of course, we told her it was from Santa Claus, but my princess just squinted her eyes at us, hands on her hips, and declared with all the sass of a three-year old: “But Mal is Santa, d’uh!” Josie’d made the mistake of taking Soso to Big Mal’s Market the weekend before to see “Santa Claus” and have her picture taken with him (Mal in a Santa costume) and his elf, who suspiciously looked like me.

Never underestimate the perceptive power of a preschooler.

She puts the little suitcase on top of the coffee table and clicks it open like she’s a banker on Wall Street, and it contains confidential business documents. It contains an assortment of bottles and jars, hair clips and crunchies, combs, brushes, nail polish, face glitter (that I’m pretty sure she stole from me) and everything else a little girl needs to make herself look presentable. Some of it came with the suitcase originally, brand new, unopened and definitely not part of a one-dollar-at-the-thrift-store find. Four years ago it confused me why Mal would go through so much trouble. But the message to my sister became clear really quickly: “I’ll do anything to make you happy, you and your little girl. I’ll take the whole package deal.”

Soso lines up all the products I need and explains all their purposes to me. I’ve been doing her hair since she was a baby – this is not my first rodeo, girl! – but I patiently listen to her and nod along, a sincere expression on my face. Then I ask her to sit down between my legs again and get to work. I spray a generous amount of detangler onto her curls and start gently combing out her hair with my fingers first. She settles against the couch, getting comfortable, trusting me not to rip her scalp out in the process. I decide it’s time for a direct approach.

“Hey, princess, is everything okay?” I push my finger through a strand of her hair and slowly move it upwards. Soso just hums in response. I reach for the wide-tooth comb, working from the ends upward toward the roots, holding the hair above the section I’m combing so I’m not yanking at her scalp. “You can talk to me, you know?”

She keeps silent, and I try again. “Is one of the bullies at school giving you a hard time? Reggie?” Soso just harrumphs indignantly. Okay, silly me. If anyone is having a difficult time, it’s probably not Little Miss Rainbow Rangers. Saving the Earth – and Marvin’s lunch – is her number one mission!

“Sometimes, when you have something that makes you sad and you share it with someone, it helps. I have a new friend. His name is Eli, and I tell him about the things that make me sad. And when I do, I feel a little less sad,” I explain to her.

Soso turns her head and looks at me with her big brown eyes. “Does he tell you his sad things, too?”

Mhmm… good question.

“Sometimes he tells me stories, yes.” It’s a little more complicated than that, but it’s maybe enough for her to know. I grab the rat-tail comb next and part her hair, middle, left and right, and clip her hair out of the way. Then I use the pointed end and make clean, narrow sections on top of her head before I clip them away securely. I take a little blob of hair butter from the jar, rub it into the first strand of her curls and start braiding: close to the scalp, picking up a little more hair as I work backwards. Soso keeps perfectly still, knowing any unexpected movement will ruin the braid.

I repeat the process four more times and admire my handiwork. I’m a little proud. The cornrows look really neat. Then I move on to the loose hair on either side of her head and pull it up in a pigtail, secure it with an elastic, and then use my fingers and a little more hair butter to make them big and fluffy, like perfect little power puffs.

I lean forward to kiss her cheek. “My beautiful princess.” I’m rewarded with a small smile before Soso looks down again and fiddles with a loose thread on the pillow in her lap. I wait patiently until she starts:

“Lell…?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Is Mama gonna die?”

I choke at her words and try to mask it with a cough. “Um, what makes you say that?”

“And my baby brother? Is he gonna die?”

“No, Soso, jay-zuhs, no.” I pull her up into my lap and wrap my arms around her. “Who said that? No-one’s going to die.”

“Mrs Keamy and Mrs Thomson.” Soso admits in a low voice. I frown. Those two are the biggest busybodies in Leonidas, but they usually mean no harm. They wouldn’t scare a kid.

“When did they tell you that?” I enquire.

“They didn’t,” Soso admits. “This summer when Mama got sick and we went to stay at Granny and Grandpa’s, I tried to find Kitty to say goodbye, and I crawled under Mrs Keamy’s porch, and they said it’s so sad that Mama and the new baby are gonna die. They said it’s such a shame because Mama is so nice, and poor Daddy will be left alone with three kids, and one not even his own.” A tear runs down Soso’s cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb.

“They shouldn’t have said that. Your Mama…” Gosh, today really is the day for difficult discussions. “Growing a baby is a lot of work. And there was something that made it harder for your Mama this time.”

“But there’s only one now. Last time there were two!”

“I know, I know. Sometimes growing one can be harder than two.” Apparently… gosh, kiddo, I’m a guy; don’t expect me to know everything about growing babies! None of my business!

“There was something that wasn’t right, but the doctors caught it early. Kind of like…” I wish Eli was here now; he’d come up with one of his metaphors to explain the situation. Although most of the time, even I don’t understand what the heck he’s talking about, so I doubt they would be very helpful to Soso. “You know like Spiderman? His spidey-senses tell him if there’s danger, long before it’s actually there?”

Soso nods, listening intently.

“Your Mama’s doctors are a bit like Spiderman. They have something like spidey-senses and could tell something wasn’t right. So they told your Mama to rest so she can be strong enough for the baby inside her. And that fixed it. Your Mama and the baby are perfectly fine now.”

Soso looks at me, still a little unsure.

“Every superhero needs to rest sometimes. And when they come back, they’re bigger and stronger than before. You’ll just wait and see.” I gently boop her nose, and she gives me a wobbly smile, then she frowns.

“She-Hulk never needs to rest.”

I can’t help but snort in reaction, and there’s no way to mask it this time. The idea of my sister being She-Hulk is just too damn funny, especially given our explosive Dupree temper. I wonder if that makes me Bruce Banner? Well, I’m not a genius scientist, that’s for sure. I don’t want Soso to think I’m making fun of her, so I school my features as quickly as I can and pull her tighter to me.

“Even She-Hulk needs to rest sometimes.” I press another kiss to Soso’s cheek. “Your Mama is the strongest person, and she’ll come home soon, and then you’ll have a new baby brother to play with.”

Soso sighs and pulls a face. “I hope he’s not as annoying as the twins. They always pull my hair and throw sand at me…”

I settle back on the couch, and Soso puts her head against my shoulder. “Boys can be the worst. Better avoid them.” I agree with her whole-heartedly. I should know. I’m one myself. I manage to pull the bowl of uneaten apple slices closer towards us and stuff one in my mouth.

“If Mama’d used one of your condoms, Lell, would she still have gotten sick?”

I almost choke on a piece of apple because, damn, girl, how did you make that connection? Soso just stares at me while I wheeze and cough, trying to dislodge the obstruction from my throat.

“You said grown-ups use condoms to keep from getting sick.”

Please, kiddo, don’t make me explain how babies are made and how condoms could have stopped your mama from getting pregnant. I’m your gay uncle. I don’t make babies!

“Condoms only protect grown-ups from certain things. They can’t protect you from what your Mama has,” I finally manage to croak.

Soso hums in acceptance, and her head drops back against my shoulder. I hope that’s all the tough questions for today.

“I’m just so scared, Lell,” Soso whispers in a low voice. “I didn’t wanna tell Mama or Daddy because they’re already so sad, and I didn’t wanna make them sadder.”

I pull her tighter to my chest. “I know, princess, I know. But there’s no reason to be scared or sad. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Soso turns her face towards mine, and I think I can see a tiny glitter of hope in her eyes. “Pinky promise?”

I nod solemnly and hook my little finger around the one she offers me. Pinky promises are sacred. I know I shouldn’t make her any promises I have no way of keeping, but I can’t let her be sad.

Soso hums like she always does when she’s processing. She’s thinking about what I said, and hopefully it’ll help her. I’m feeling a new kind of appreciation for Eli and Amina. They’re dealing with situations like this day in and day out: upset people who want easy explanations for something that cannot be explained easily. I keep Soso on my lap and stroke the back of her head, carefully avoiding making a mess out of her hair again. The late afternoon sun streams through the new big windows, and the warmth of Soso’s body on mine is making me sleepy.

“Can we watch a movie, Lell? Please?” Soso’s question startles me. I must have been dozing off. I know I should make her do her homework first, but I’m too exhausted. It’s been a long day.

“Okay, sure. What you want to watch?”

“Tangled?” She looks at me pleadingly.

Bit of a no-brainer after our beauty session, and at least it’s one I haven’t seen a hundred times already. Only like ninety-five times. Approximately. I reach for the remote control and catch Soso sneakily steals a slice of apple from the bowl and nibbles at it. It makes me smile. Small victories. I smooth down one of her power puffs that is ticking my chin and kiss the top of her head.

“Feel better, princess?” I ask her, and she nods against my chest, snuggling closer until her head rests in the hollow between my shoulder and neck.

“Everything is going to be alright, don’t you worry.” I keep stroking her back, feeling her relax against me. As Pascal, Rapunzel’s little pet frog, makes another of his ridiculous faces on the TV, I hear Soso let out a little snort. I glance at her while she’s covertly sneaking another apple slice. It’s not quite the full-bellied laugh I remember from her. But it’s a start.

I think I did good today.