“Wait!”
Harlan moved away from his camera and Cathy stopped moving the reflective screens. Molly approached Gregory and, standing on her toes, ran a hand through his hair to push a strand back.
“Much better,” she said excitedly.
Harlan resumed shooting Gregory, who was having fun, exaggerating his pose, looking toward the ceiling with a hand on his chin. The team thought he was funny. I stood with my back against the staircase, waiting my turn. On the stairs behind me, the twins sat sulkily, their faces pressed between the railings. Jules had taken up position between the two of them. As Molly reevaluated Gregory’s pose, Harlan looked at the proofs on his screen. He was taking quick, sidelong glances at me. Suddenly, he turned to me and took a photo. I smiled timidly.
“Could you scooch over?” he whispered, waving the air with his hand.
I moved to the side, not understanding. He moved slowly, as though afraid of startling his prey. It was the twins and the cat he wanted, having spied them through the stairway railing. He smiled with satisfaction and turned back to Gregory. I lowered my eyes, blushing.
After a number of shots in the living room, Molly finally gave me a role in the kitchen: I was to serve the boys some orange juice in crystal glasses that enhanced the colour of the liquid.
“Tell them not to drink it,” she said. “The juice can’t get on the sides.”
Gregory repeated the instructions, adding his critical assessment to the art direction. Seated side by side at the counter on stools, the boys fingered their glasses with no understanding of what was expected of them. They were being congratulated for not moving. They had to look at their juice, but weren’t allowed to touch it. Gregory shouted encouragement as though they were accomplishing a great athletic feat.
“Can they, like, smile or something? They should look kind of happy. It is, like, the theme of this issue.” Molly moved her head and shoulders as she spoke. Despite the heat, she wore a toque, spilling with long red curls. Behind Harlan, Gregory had started gesticulating to make the twins laugh. Thinking the he was supposed to imitate him, Daniil suddenly spread his arms, sweeping his glass to the ground with a smash.
“Oh my God, there’s juice everywhere! Oh my God!” Molly shrieked, as the crew tried to mop up the liquid seeping through the electrical cords.
There were shards of wet glass all over the ground. It was hard to know where to even start cleaning.
“Emma, do something, don’t just stand there like that. Go get the vacuum!” barked Gregory. “And put the cat somewhere, he’s going to get hurt.”
I sprang into action. Still sitting on their stools, the twins watched the scene, genuinely amused this time. Cathy panicked, thinking the juice had ruined one of her projectors. Harlan was sweating and didn’t know where to set down his camera where it would be safe. Sam and Peisley were unrolling paper towels, laying them hurriedly on the ground. Molly was circling the mess. The house vibrated with such tension that when Sam sliced his hand on the broken glass, Vanya burst out laughing.
It was the last straw. Gregory smacked him across the face.
I froze, the vacuum hose in my hands. The whole team watched me. No one spoke. Gregory looked at me defiantly. My mind scrambled, I set down the vacuum and walked cautiously toward the twins. Vanya, his cheek scarlet, wasn’t crying. I took them both gently by the hand to get them down from their stools, crossed the room silently with them, and left the house.
I set off walking aimlessly. It was a warm day for June. Once outside, I could breathe better. I refused to release the boys’ hands no matter how they twisted in protest. I had to pull them to move them forward. When we had reached Dewson Street, I took out my phone to check the time: it was two-thirty in the afternoon. The boys would soon be hungry. I circled back around to Octopus Garden, a vegetarian café that made big tempeh sandwiches; that would keep the boys satisfied for a while. I decided we would take a picnic to Dufferin Grove Park. We went there all the time. It was a big wooded park, and the boys loved it. There seemed to be fewer rules here than in other parks in the city. The ambience was more geared to organic foods, farmers’ markets, and outdoor theatre. The boho-chic parents there seemed less stressed than elsewhere. I checked the condition of Vanya’s cheek: there was no mark.
As soon as we arrived, the boys jumped on the toys. In a gigantic natural sandbox, there was an array of shovels and wooden beams. Dozens of children were busy building canals and bridges in the filthy sand. A kind of urban savagery reigned, which pleased everyone. They could play here for hours without ever worrying about me. Sitting on a big tree trunk that was used as a bench, I watched them muddy the expensive Salt-Water sandals and striped shirts Gregory had chosen for them.
“Are they twins?”
It was always the same introduction. I shook myself from my stupor and asserted proudly that they were. The man next to me was tanned and sporty. He was bottle-feeding a baby while holding the leash of a woolly puppy. His eyes were fixed on a spot in the distance; he was also watching an older child. His name was Oliver, and he spoke calmly in a deep voice with a Welsh accent. We made a little small talk and I quickly learned that he had an engineering degree, but was a stay-at-home dad. His wife was a doctor at the Women’s College Hospital. I gawked before managing to overcome my surprise.
“When do you see yourself returning to work?” I asked, curious, but trying to seem nonchalant. I
