Jessie & Elizabeth (abandoned)

1. Another Cockroach

"Miss Schneider!" a snippy voice called suddenly.

Both of us startled, and the woman sighed, giving me an apologetic smile. "Boss needs me," she said. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

And, just like that, I was alone, staring up at the painting of a stern man who'd obviously bit the dust centuries ago. I wrapped my arms around myself. Look what my life had come to. Fleeing from dickheads into the house of a complete stranger, not really anyone left to call for help, not even caring what would happen next.

Just as I was on the verge of letting out a sniffle, I felt someone watching me.

From behind one of the many robust doors, a young child stood staring up at me, a plastic princess tiara perched on her head. The girl smiled sweetly, hiding half of her face, yet she kept her eyes trained on me.

I wiped at my cheeks, even though they'd still been dry. "Oh, hi," I said, hoping my voice sounded unaffected. "It's okay, sweetie. I'm just visiting. Name is Jessie. What's yours?"

The little one shuffled closer, now fully visible. She seemed to be about three, with adorable golden brown lively curls and long lashes, wearing a sparkly blue Elsa dress. She was fidgeting in place, obviously trying to decide what to do with the sudden appearance of this stranger.

"What a pretty dress you're wearing. Wish I had one like that. Though I'm not much of a Frozen person myself."

Again, she didn't respond, although she did stop moving around, cocking her head as if listening more closely.

"Olaf is really funny, though."

Finally, the girl giggled, nodding her head. "Yes. When he sneezed, Sven ate his nose!" 

I laughed too. I remembered that scene. "Ouch. Poor Olaf."

"That's okay. He got it back." She took another step into the hallway, clutching her skirts. "Do you want to see my Barbies?"

  There were a million reasons I should say no. I was a stranger — the parents could get livid — in a few minutes, I would have to leave, and I couldn't survive getting attached to another kid that wasn't mine. Only, this was the first time in months I didn't feel like I was trapped on the bottom of a dried-up well, and the girl's smile was just too precious.

Before I could convince my brain this was a bad idea, I was sitting in the living room, fancy with flowery wallpaper and a sleek black grand piano, on a soft vintage rug, surrounded by a clan of white anorexic dolls with disfigured feet. Most of them were naked, and the girl was handing me plastic brushes and showing me how to comb their hair, all the while recounting all of their names, and, funnily, their favorite sweets. A brown-haired one named Anna loved apple pie, but judging by the size of her waist, I figured the doll had to be throwing up after every slice she'd devoured.

"You know, I never really liked apple pie," I said, as I pulled a skimpy dress over one of the blonde Barbies, who had gotten a horrible haircut sometime earlier in her life. "It gets so mushy. And the apples just taste like sugary slush."

The little girl giggled loudly, pulling up her shoulders and covering her mouth with her hands. "What's mushy?"

I paused for a moment, the Barbie dangling from my hand. "It's like... slushy. Pulpy. Like melted snow. Or mashed potatoes."

"I like mashed potatoes."

"Well, then you'd like apple pie too."

She nodded earnestly. "Yes. Mommy said we can make one for my birthday."

"What's your mommy's name?"

"Mmm." She looked at the ceiling. "Lizabeth."

"Elizabeth. And do you have another daddy or mommy?"