Pet

by Akwaeke Emezi

  The kitchen in Redemption’s house was yellow and enormous, with a long farm table on one end and a large stove system along another wall, green-tiled counters stretching everywhere. An herb basket garden hung from the high wooden beams, and the room was full of Redemption’s family, loud and soft and laughing. His mother, Malachite, was punching down bread dough in a large ceramic bowl, the sleeves of her linen shirt rolled up to her elbows, her mouth open in a laugh and her eyes crinkled. His father, Beloved, was sitting on a stool across from her, sketching her face while the recipient of her smile, Redemption’s third parent, Whisper, juggled three oranges and a grapefruit, their eyes focused on the fruit, tongue sticking out in concentration. Two of Redemption’s uncles were sitting at the long table, picking out stones from trays of dried beans, while his baby cousins played under the table. His aunts would likely be out in the garden, whispering some kind of magic to the plants or pulling up weeds. The uncles smiled and nodded as Redemption and Jam greeted them, then fell back to their tasks, a low hum of conversation flowing across the wood of the table.

  Jam watched as Whisper caught the fruits one by one, dropping their torso into a deep and dramatic bow when the performance was complete and the air was empty. Malachite clapped her floury hands together. “You’re getting so much better, love!” she said.

  “Still only four pieces, though? Up your game, Whis.” Redemption grinned as he teased his parent, and Whis grabbed him in a gentle headlock before letting him go.

  “You’re a rude little rat, that’s what you are. Hello, Jam darling. Love those twists.”

  Thanks, Jam signed, smiling as she gave Malachite a quick hug, breathing in the smell of yeast and flour. The only thing that could smell better would be when the baking was done and there was fresh bread to tear into. Malachite wiped her hands on her batik apron and hugged Jam back, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

  “How was the movie?” she asked.

  Jam gave her a thumbs-up and then reached across the kitchen island to dap Beloved, who’d reached his fist out from behind his sketchpad, his glasses slipping down his nose.

  “You staying for dinner?” Whisper asked. Jam glanced at Redemption, who was pouring out orange juice from the fridge.

  “Yeah, of course,” he said. “Stay, Jam.” He handed her a full glass with pulp floating at the top, and she smiled as she took it.

  Okay.

  “Perfect,” said Malachite. “We’re having spatchcocked chicken.”

  Jam raised her eyebrows. Fancy.

  “Oh yeah,” Whisper replied. “Malachite’s roasting them in duck fat.”

  Beloved closed his sketchpad and gestured to Jam as if he had a secret. “I’ve got potatoes and root vegetables in the oven,” he said in a low voice, “for those principled ones among us who don’t particularly feel like eating dead meat.”

  The other two groaned in unison. “As opposed to alive meat?” Malachite retorted, and even the uncles all the way over at the table laughed. Beloved gave the world a long-suffering look, and Jam leaned against a cabinet with a grin plastered on her face, watching them banter. Even as they teased each other, Redemption’s parents were always tracking him with eyes full of love.

  The screen door at the back of the kitchen banged open, and Malachite’s sister, Glass, came in, balancing a large box in her arms. She was wearing a white slip dress, and her feet were bare.

  “You come in through the garden?” Malachite asked.

  “Yeah, girl, parked out back. Your tomatoes looking real good.” Glass leaned her head away from the box to greet the rest of the room. “Hey, y’all!”

  A chorus of greetings echoed back at her. Beloved hopped off his stool to help her with the box, and Jam gave a shy wave from across the kitchen as Redemption hugged his aunt. “Where Hibiscus at?” Glass asked, looking around for her husband.

  Redemption frowned. “I haven’t seen him, actually.”

  “Oh, he’s out on the side, trimming back some of those trees for me,” Malachite said.

  Glass put one hand on her hip and stroked Redemption’s cheek with the other. “Y’all ain have training today?”

  The boy grinned and did some quick shadowboxing. “Did it in the morning. He made me run like six miles before breakfast!”

  “Ooh, chile. He making you work.”

  “Yeah, your aunt knows the feeling well,” Whisper said with a laugh.

  Beloved choked on the lemonade he’d just poured for himself, and Malachite threw a tea towel at Whisper, who dodged it, still cackling. “Don’t be making jokes like that in front of the children!” she scolded.

  Glass went to the fridge, smacking Whisper upside their head on her way. “You nasty,” she said.

  “You ain never lie.”

  “That’s enough from the both of you.” Malachite glared at them before softening her face for Redemption. “Go call your uncle and your brother in, baby.” Redemption nodded and dipped out the back door while Beloved snuck a peek under the lid of the box.

  “Oh, snap, you made pies, Glass?”

  She laughed, tossing blond dreadlocks over her shoulder as she poured herself a drink. “Lord, no, chile. I bought pies.” Glass took off the heavy rings she was wearing and slid them into her pocket. “Need some help, Malachite?”

  “Shoot, always. Grease those pans for me? These ones just like to watch me work.”

  “Girl, stop lying.” Beloved cut his eyes at her as he put the pies away in the fridge. “You don’t let anyone but your sister help in your kitchen.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Glass agreed, with a little chuckle. She swiped her fingers over an unwrapped slab of butter and began greasing the loaf pans Malachite was going to bake in. Jam put her empty glass down on the counter and exhaled.

  Maybe her parents were right.

  Maybe Pet had come to the wrong time line, gotten the wrong house. Her eyes moved from face to face in the kitchen, measuring the happiness that permeated their skin, their teeth, their air. Redemption and Hibiscus came in through the back door, the screen swinging, their arms wrapped around each other. Moss thundered underfoot, and Whisper caught him, scolding him about a fresh scrape on his arm. The uncles were picking up babies, and Hibiscus was dropping a kiss on his wife’s shoulder. Hey, Jam, he said when he saw her. How you been?

  Hibiscus had learned sign language along with Redemption way back when Jam was little, so they could both talk to her, and it always made her feel warm and lovely that he’d bothered, that he loved Redemption so much it spilled over to Jam. It made him feel like family.

  I’m good, she replied. Chilling. Hibiscus smiled at her, then leaned over to join Whisper in looking at the scrape Moss had on his arm.

  “We’ve got to clean this out,” Whisper was saying. Moss made a high-pitched whine and twisted away from them, darting out of the kitchen. “We’re still gonna have to clean it!” Whisper yelled after him.

  Hibiscus shook his head. “These kids, man. Stubborn as hell.”

  “Tell me about it.” Whisper passed him a beer, and Jam let their conversation bleed into the rest of the kitchen as she looked around. She couldn’t see how any of this was anything other than safe. This was the kind of home that she sometimes wished she lived in, so full of people that you could never imagine being alone, feeling alone, again. Not that she felt alone with Bitter and Aloe—it was just quieter in their house, with the three of them when they had been three, before she chose Pet and separated herself. There was more space in her house, and with more space you had more places where you could be by yourself. Here it felt like people would be pressing on you wherever you went. To be honest, Jam knew that at any other time, the idea of living in such loving tumult would’ve made Jam want to crawl out of her skin and leave her body behind for a little private silence somewhere else, but right then she was a little scared and feeli
ng more alone than usual. The thought of being surrounded by people, with all their worlds crowding out hers, of being swaddled with their noise—it felt like maybe it could be a comforting thing.

  Her mission crept back into her head: her job was to figure out where a monster could be in all of this. Was it one of these people, each and every one of whom she could swear loved Redemption more than their own life? Where were these unseens she was supposed to see? What was she meant to be looking for?

  Jam had grown up with these people. Malachite had made a birthday cake for her each year and even taught her how to pipe bright, glossy icing to spell out her name in a sugary cursive. Whisper had taught her how to braid her hair into two thick cornrows, because neither Bitter nor Aloe had any idea how to. Beloved had sat down with her and Redemption during their first big fight, when they were thirteen, to arbitrate. He’d taught them how to disagree, reminded them how important it was to do so while still showing care and respect for the person you loved. It didn’t make sense, what Pet had come across worlds and through a broken canvas to say.

  Jam had been there when Hibiscus cried after Redemption won his first fight, in the victory moment when Redemption had kissed his wrapped fist and extended it to his coach from the center of the ring, blood running down the side of his face, his eyes calm and steady. The cameras had caught Hibiscus covering his mouth with one hand, shocked by his own emotion, by the proud tears blurring under his eyelashes. Jam had run up from her seat to the edge of the ring to take Hibiscus’s other hand. He’d been surprised by that too; he’d glanced down at her and then back at Redemption, but he squeezed her hand tightly and didn’t let go for a while, forgetting even how strong he was. Jam’s hand had been numb for ages afterward, but she hadn’t minded.

  After Jam’s surgery, Glass had come by the house every couple of days, massaging her feet and hands, dabbing oils on her temples and scalp, loving her with her hands. These people were family, had been family. And now Pet was telling her that one of them was a monster? Standing in the glow of that kitchen, Jam couldn’t see it, couldn’t believe it. Pet had to be wrong, she decided. Yeah, there was no other option. She would tell it so when she got home. She’d do what her parents had suggested, send it back, fall back into them to become a three again. Redemption was safe, of course Redemption was safe. She was right here; she could see it, feel it. How could some creature from a painting know these people, her people, better than she did?

  The decision was a certain and immediate relief. Jam dropped her fear like a winter coat and walked forward to help Whisper set the table as if she was stepping into sunshine, leaving a heaviness pooled on the floor behind her.

  CHAPTER 6

  It was dark when Jam started walking home, but she hopped through the large patches of yellow streetlight on the sidewalk, her steps soft and hopeful. She was going to go home and talk to Pet, explain that she’d been to Redemption’s house and seen everything there was to see, explain that everything was fine and Pet could go home, wherever home was for it, a strange world on the other side of a torn canvas. Afterward the picture of her life would click back into positions she knew and recognized, smooth and pretty, with no terrifying ripples.

  Jam slid her hands into her pockets and listened to the crickets hidden in the grass, her earphones floating unused around her neck. The fireflies were dancing dots of light in the dark patches, and the air was sweet.

  A voice interrupted her thoughts.

  You’re wrong, you know.

  Startled, Jam whipped her head around. Pet was walking next to her, smoke rising off it like indifferent steam. Its arms hung along its sides, and it moved soundlessly, relaxed, as if it wasn’t strolling out in the open in the middle of Lucille. Jam glanced at the houses that lined the street, but Pet chuckled, the sound only in both their heads.

  Don’t worry, little girl. I am an unseen. They can only see you, the one they know to see. It tilted its head and made a small humming sound. Although perhaps you will become a little unseen, since you see unseen things now, especially after you see more of them.

  Jam’s shoulders relaxed, and she ignored the second part of what it had said. So you’re basically invisible?

  Pet shrugged. She wondered if it had picked that up from its short time here. You can see me, it said. I am unseen and visible.

  Jam nodded and tried not to look too much like she was staring up into the empty air beside her. They walked for a few minutes before she remembered its first words. Wait, she said. What did you mean, I’m wrong?

  The creature rolled its head around on its neck. You are not right, it answered. You think you are right, but you are missing things and you are wrong.

  Jam folded her arms across her chest, feeling prickly. It was talking about Redemption’s house. You don’t know them the way I do, she said.

  Pet swiveled its empty face, and a streetlight shone harshly off its metal feathers before sliding away.

  That’s precisely the point, little girl. Your knowing, you think it gives you clarity, sight that pierces. It can be a cloud, a thing that obscures.

  Jam frowned, and Pet rolled its neck again, ruffling its fur. Some of the things you know are not true, it said. You have to learn that things might not be real, even if they look familiar.

  You think I’m not seeing something in Redemption’s house.

  Pet stopped walking. I am not a mistake, little girl.

  Jam stopped as well and dropped her head, embarrassed. She wanted to deny that she’d been thinking exactly that, but she couldn’t.

  Pet’s voice was gentle anyway. It’s hard to look at things differently, I know.

  Jam started walking again, trying not to look too upset. Pet kept up with her easily, its strides swallowing up her smaller steps.

  It would be easier if nothing had changed, it continued. If everything was still pretty and safe, yes? Like this little town your angels have made. A pool of water with the moon reflecting in it…who would want to throw a stone and break the picture? It is fine to be afraid, to have a fine fear, to not want to cross a fine line.

  Jam flinched and curled her hands into fists, burying them deeper in her pockets. I’m not afraid, she hissed.

  She didn’t want to be called that. Afraid meant being closed and not brave, hiding and not looking.

  I looked, she said. I just didn’t find anything! That’s different.

  She tucked her elbows against her, pressing her arms against her ribs, making herself a tight line.

  Did you find nothing because there was nothing or because you didn’t want to find anything? Pet asked, its quiet bulk moving beside her. It didn’t fit on the pavement, so it walked on the road instead, passing through parked cars as if it was spun out of nothing but nightmare and imagination.

  Don’t tell me what I wanted, Jam snapped.

  Is there a want in you I do not see? Pet replied. A want to find a monster, to think something bad could be happening to your friend?

  I don’t want anything bad to be happening to Redemption, Jam said, pushing away tears before they could fall. I don’t think there’s anything so terrible about that.

  Pet stepped in front of her, dropping a knee to the pavement. It became roughly her height, other than the dark red horns rising in the shine of the streetlight, and smoke wafted out of its mouth, smelling like ash.

  Listen to me, little girl, it said. You want many things, you are full of want, carved out of it, made from it, yes. But the truth does not care about what you want; the truth is what it is. It is not moved by want, it is not a blade of grass to be bent by the wind of your hopes and desires.

  Pet put its hands on her shoulders, leaning its layered face close to hers.

  The truth does not change whether it is seen or unseen, it whispered in her mind. A thing that is happening happens whether you look at it or not. And yes, maybe
it is easier not to look. Maybe it is easier to say because you do not see it, it is not happening. Maybe you can pull the stone out of the pool and put the moon back together.

  Jam was crying quietly now. She could feel both the path Pet’s words were taking and the way her fear was trying to cover it up with thick briars of denial. She wanted it to stop, all of it, but Pet kept talking, its voice like many hands dragging over an infinite drumskin, creating a thrum that crept under her skin.

  What if you didn’t think about what you wanted, what you hoped? Pet asked. What if you thought about what was happening instead? How does that change your wants?

  Jam pressed her hands to her face and tried to calm the trembling inside her. Pet’s bulk was casting a black shadow over her, but it felt almost safe, like a shield. She tried to follow its instructions, think about what was actually happening, but she hit a snag almost immediately.

  I don’t have any proof, she said, dropping her hands. You’re the only one saying anything’s happening.

  Pet’s face gleamed in front of her. I am the only one saying so, it agreed. But I came across realms to do my job. You can choose to believe me or not to believe me. The truth does not care. The thing that is happening will happen whether you believe me or not.

  Jam stared into its smoke-filled mouth and thought again, this time with the memories of Redemption’s laughter-filled house fresh in her mind. If she was wrong, if her sight was wrong and she acted on it and sent Pet away, then she would be turning her back on whatever hurt could be happening there, whatever help she could give.

  Pet moved its head, and the smoke angled newly. Do you want to take that risk? it asked, its voice soft inside her skull.