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Christina tries not to eavesdrop. But some nights, it’s all she’s got.
When the lights are all out, when she has said good night, sometimes she would sneak out downstairs, sit on one of the dining chairs, and just listen to the soft murmurs of conversation between her parents coming from their bedroom.
Their voices aren’t always clear. Sometimes they’re too careful to not wake her up, that she can barely catch a sentence properly to know what they’re talking about. But often, such as this night, she finds them talking about an amusing artifact chase they had years ago with Uncle Pete. She can hear Mama chuckling softly, most likely at something witty Mum said.
When they were still active agents, it was such a rare occurrence to catch them just talking like this until dawn. Christina reminisces on the nights when she was a child, she had woken up from thirst, or even a nightmare, to find her parents have either a deep talk about their life, a heated discussion about literature or politics, or a case they worked on during the day. She’d sat on the chair near their room, much like right now, and fallen asleep on the table, being soothed by their murmurs.
Of course, Christina was scolded after she’d told them what she was doing– though when she got older she knew they were just worried she’d hear all sorts of Warehouse-related stuff... And other stuff as well (living with very active parents was a nightmare), and she eventually stopped doing it once she’d realized sleeping on the dining table just made her really tired at school the next morning.
And now, she feels it’s one of the only things she can do to feel like her world isn’t breaking apart. It’s one of the only few things she can say confidently, to fate or God or whatever it is out there: “This one’s mine.” Of course, they spent as much time as they could as a family– often also included the Warehouse family– during the day, but at night Christina feels lonely and scared the most. Yet, she has no heart to intrude on her parents’ alone time together.
The next week, Christina tip toes downstairs, only to see her parents room’s door slightly ajar. She hears faint music, only recognizing the song after walking closer to their door, then stops as she discerns two women slow dancing to Love Me Tender in almost pitch darkness, only illumined by the backyard’s lights. Christina sits on her frequent chair, buries her head on the table and silently cries.
“She thought it was you,” she jumps at the voice of her Mum, who immediately walks over to her at the sight of her tears. “Oh, dear. Come here.” She pulls her in a tight embrace. Mum pulls away, wiping away the tears on Christina’s face, while neglecting her own. “We must be strong for her, darling. I know It’s difficult, but she needs it.”
“Yeah,” Christina nods, weakly. “Yes. I know.”
“She asked to invite you in. Do you want to?”
Christina has never said yes so fast to anything.
Later, the three fall asleep on the same bed, with Christina sandwiched between her mothers, at almost six in the morning, after having quite a lot of unforgettable conversations that Christina will remember for the rest of her days.
And when Mama lets out her final breath, she does so with a smile on her face. When Mum follows her two years later, Christina has made sure every second she had with her was not ever wasted.