Clover was moving so fast that Mal had her doubts about catching up to her when it came time to go home. She was playing with another toddler-shaped blur, the both of them screaming in breathless laughter as they chased each other through the gravestones, shouting apologies when they accidentally stepped on turned earth. Mal slumped listlessly onto the bench, wondering how she had missed her daughter’s first words, her first steps, her first friend — Clover looked to be three or four, had she really been away for that long?
“Istá!” Clover yelled, picking herself up from a high-speed fall and running up to her, breathing hard and streaked with mud. “Istá, I fell.”
Mal bit her lip and focused on sweeping the drying curls of clay-mud from her daughter’s face, telling herself not to wince at her stained clothes. She could panic about all the big things later: for now, she just wanted to look at the little girl in front of her, smoothing back the fine hairs that had come loose from her neat little braids and tucking the longer strands behind her ears. Her little face was a patchwork of ghosts: Kaia and their parents were present in her furrowed brow and pursing lips, Mal's parents in her ears and her narrowed eyes, Mal herself in the way she was starting to squirm, wanting to go back to her friend.
Clover squealed with laughter as Mal scooped her into her lap and blew a raspberry against her cheek. “You fell, huh?" She shrieked as Mal blew another raspberry. "You gonna live?”
She pursed her lips in thought and eventually nodded, handing her a clod of tufting brown grass before wriggling out of her lap and diving back into the fray. Mal picked gradually at the clump as she watched the children abandon their tagging game and start to wrestle, trying to catch more than a glimpse of the other child and figure out who they belonged to. Their frenzied screaming were escalating in pitch and volume, but it seemed that they were still having fun, and Mal told herself not to step in until someone started pulling hair, or biting.
“Hey, stranger,” Tai-Song said, lounging on the other end of the bench — she couldn’t recall him sitting down, so he must have been there the whole time. His awful jacket rustled loudly as he fished out a faded tin and a lighter, the sight and sound of it filling her with a primordial irritation; her sourness was lessened by the scent of tobacco smoke, so much like home that tears sprung to her eyes. "Took you long enough to get here."
She scoffed and leaned back, arms crossed as she squinted reprovingly at him. “And where have you been?” The finer details of him were fuzzy except for the ones she already knew, leaving her to fill in the nine-year gaps; he was clearly still in need of a personality adjustment, just like always.
He winked, and said nothing; before she could prod him further, he leaned forward and shouted through cupped hands, “Be nice to Clover, kiddo!”
Mal glanced over, but Tai-Song's child had already let go of her daughter’s ankle, standing up and running away as the chase began again. For the life of her, Mal couldn’t remember the child’s name, which was far too embarrassing to admit to Tai-Song — she would have to ask Clover about it later, and play it off like a joke.
Instead she asked, “How old is yours?”
“Oh, who can say?” And then, as casually as commenting on the weather: “Time’s ticking, you know.”
She rolled her eyes. “A little longer won’t kill you.”
“No, but it might kill you. ‘Here lies Mal, tragically struck down while brown-nosing a Vulture.” He reached over and flicked her cheek. “How embarrassing.”
She slapped his hand away. “I could just leave you behind.”
“No no no, I was just kidding around, I didn’t mean it.” The kids both fell this time, another spectacular crash-landing that had them looking to their parents to gauge the damage. After their united calls of touchdown! and you’re okay! the two picked each other up and went back to their game of tag and slinging mud at each other. “But seriously, you need to hurry up. You don’t have as much time as you think.”
“I’ll have Render eating out of my hand in a few days.”
“Or — and stay with me here, I know it’s a long-shot — he turns the game on you, and you’re stuck here, forever.”
“He promised me a seat.”
“Yeah, but you know Vultures." She had forgotten how tactile he could be, and it was almost a surprise when he slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled them cheek-to-cheek — a welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. "They see some pretty faces like ours, and they just have to snatch us up. They can’t seem to help themselves.”
She rolled her eyes, even though he was right. The more adventurous of Midtowners were known to pluck their mates from the packs of teenagers that roamed the city, and she hadn’t been thinking about that when she had lied about her age: eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds with rose-tinted glasses were the preferred targets, being easy to manipulate but old enough to maintain some propriety. “I’m being careful. He doesn’t know anything I don’t want him to know.”
“And if you slip up?”
“I don’t slip up.”
He scoffed, letting her go. “Your parents complimented you too much.”
“Excuse me?”
“Listen, you’re very smart. Normally I would be happy for you, but you can’t go around acting like you’re all that and a bag of chips — you might start to believe it.”
“I don’t think that." It was a weak rebuttal, but she was operating on very little sleep and even less food, so he could stand to go a little easier on her. "I can be humble, you just watch.”
“Yeah, sure you can.” He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. He looked around casually, taking in the scenery before turning his head and asking, "Where's your kid, Mal?"
She bolted to her feet, suddenly aware of the eerie silence, of the tiny figures running off through the field of graves, almost over the horizon. She was about to shout her daughter's name when Tai-Song reached over and covered her mouth.
“Don't yell, you want everyone to hear you?"
She smacked his hand away again, keeping her voice low: "I don't know if you've noticed, but our kids have just run off," she said acerbically — they were already impossibly far in the distance, but with their longer legs she and Tai-Song would be able to catch up. "Help me go and get them, will you?"
"Sorry, that's all you: I'm more a brother-figure." He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and turned away, speaking over her indignant noises, "Get home safe, Mal — I’m not around to watch your back anymore.”