Page 103 of Royal Icing
“Okay. Start anywhere you want,” Leo said behind the camera. “I’ll have Ruby edit the video for me later.”
They sat in the kitchen, a ring light Emma usually used for the bakery’s social media perched in the corner.
She took a long, slow breath in and out, then opened her eyes. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that her fingers ached. “Okay, well. I remember the first time I ever became aware of abuse in my home. I was three, and my mom was teaching me how to ride a bike. We were outside when my dad came home, and my mom took one look at him and told me to take the dog and get inside. I didn’t know it then, but he almost always came home from work drunk. He always found a reason to yell at my mom and me—a dish in the sink, dog hairon the floor. Sometimes it was nothing at all. Like just seeing us brought out some kind of uncontrollable rage in him.”
Her heart thudded in her ears. This was a memory that would never leave her, no matter how hard she tried. The sticky August heat, the plastic pedals under her Lisa Frank sandals. The sound of her bicycle clattering to the sidewalk as she ran for the house.
“The abuse started small. He would yell, tell us we were stupid and worthless. I believed it for a long time.”
Leo’s posture became more rigid the longer she talked.
“Eventually it escalated to throwing things. Glasses, plates, even the TV once. He cut us off from everyone who loved us. My grandparents, friends who were like family. One by one, he convinced her that they were toxic and poisoning her against him. There was just no one left.”
Emma looked away from the camera for a moment and picked at a loose thread on her shirt. “Maybe you’re wondering why we didn’t leave. If things were so bad, why didn’t my mom pack a bag and take me and the dog and run away into the night?”
She took another deep breath before plunging on. “There weren’t as many resources back then. My dad controlled everything—the finances, in particular. My mom had to hand over her paycheck to him every week. He gave her an allowance for groceries and squandered the rest. She had to start a secret bank account and squirrel away loose change from trips to the store, tips from her clients. We used to make a game of finding quarters on the ground everywhere we went.”
“It was impossible to save enough for a new apartment. Rent was expensive even back then. Our only nearby relative that my dad hadn’t been successful in cutting us off from was my great-aunt, who had cancer. My mom didn’t want to burden her with two extra housemates. And my dad didn’t allow her to seefriends outside of work. We were stuck, imprisoned in this house of abuse.”
She met Leo’s concerned gaze, the story suddenly for him rather than a future audience. “The day I was talking about earlier, when I was riding my bike? I shut myself in my room, but I could still hear my dad walk up the steps and scream at my mom. It was something so arbitrary—he didn’t like what we were having for dinner, or maybe there were dog toys in the living room.
“He dragged her inside and hit her so hard it rattled my door. She had an awful black eye and told her friends at work that she had tripped and fallen against the cabinets. Around that time, things started to escalate.” She absently rubbed the back of her arm. “He was apologetic for a while, but a week later, he threw a glass at me when I asked if I could run out to the ice cream truck.”
Leo’s expression was somber, and he started to reach for her but stopped.
“It was…a lot. A living nightmare. Month after month of holding my breath, tiptoeing around. Never knowing what would set him off. Praying he would stop coming home. I remember the day we finally left. He came home drunk. Again. He argued with my mother because we’d had to spend some money on clothes. I’d outgrown everything I had. I was standing in the hallway, and he just…lunged at me.”
Her voice shook, and she touched a hand to her throat. Sometimes that day resurfaced in nightmares, but she’d quickly lock the memories away again upon waking.
“He choked me. I couldn’t breathe. The world started to turn black at the edges. I was almost a little relieved—it was finally going to be over.” Her voice shook, and she paused to gather her composure.
“My mom smashed a liquor bottle over his head. We grabbed the bag of school clothes she had just bought and left while he was unconscious.”
She stared out the window at a solitary streetlight. She could vividly remember the chill in the air as they ran to the shelter. Her mom hadn’t even paused to put on shoes. She had picked Emma up and run barefoot for eight blocks, the dog pacing them the whole way.
“The closest shelter wouldn’t take us with Sadie. But they kept us warm and called around until they found one that would—over here, in Brooklyn. That place was our home. It was the first space I had ever felt truly safe. I could sleep without worrying that someone was going to break my door down and scream at me. I could play outside without fear of making him angry just by existing. That shelter saved our lives. Every woman and child who has suffered from abuse in their home deserves a safe place to run. Everyone. If we hadn’t had access to one, we would both be dead.”
Tears swam stubbornly in front of her eyes. It had been years since she had talked about this to anyone. She and her mom kind of pretended like it was an alternate universe that had never happened. She vaguely remembered the play therapy she attended for a year after the divorce—a nice older woman with glasses who sat on the floor with her.
Her mom had made up for Emma’s lack of a dad a thousand times over. One time, she even wore a fake mustache and a suit and took her to the Daddy-Daughter dance at school.
But she’d seen the toll being a single parent had taken on her mom. If children were in her distant future, she wanted them to have two safe, loving parents. There would be laughter and dancing and rousing games of Scrabble. They would never live in a house of eggshells.
Leo stepped out from behind the camera and pulled her into his arms. He held her tight, like he thought she might crumble if he didn’t hold her together.
“I won’t use this,” Leo said. “It’s too personal. You shouldn’t have to talk about this. I’ll find another way.”
She pulled back and looked at him. “You have to. People are counting on you. And besides, I want to help. I believe in you, and I believe in this project.”
He didn’t reply but kissed her firmly.
“So does this mean you’re…leaving?” she asked hesitantly.
He took her hand with regret in his eyes. “I think I have to. I owe it to my people to try. And I have to find a way to stop them from building that ski resort.”
Emma straightened. She was about to do something stupid. She could feel it in her bones.
“Time out?” she asked Leo.
