Studio B is one of the most technologically advanced dance studios Emerynne has ever been in – complete with rigging, padding, harnesses, and everything important for a spectacular, stunt-filled show. And in Kendarie's book, Balanchine's Orpheus deserves to be a spectacular, stunt-filled performance.

Presently, Emerynne is suspended from one of the harnesses, flying in choreographed circles and spirals. Even though she has been doing this for the past month, and unaided by paddings for the past week, being swung around like this still manages to makes her insides uneasy. Kendarie shouts beats of movements from below, their eyes glinting, their lips stretched in a wide grin. At the end of her solo, they clap. "Perfect! Absolutely perfect. Take ten, then we rehearse the pas de deux."

Emerynne slips out for a quick smoke and comes back in time to see Fynn wrap up his solo. While Fynn rests, she refreshes her stretches and warm ups. The two prepare for the scene where the Dark Angel and Orpheus make a pact. They go through the sequence around each other, chasing and following. In her final jeté, Emerynne stumbles and comes to a stop, surprised by her own uncharacteristic bungling. Face red, she apologizes to Kendarie and Fynn, and asks to redo it.

This time, she barely makes it through her pirouettes when a misstep sends her crashing. Fynn is already at her side, Kendarie hurries to crouch beside her. "Emery, where is your head at?" they question, voice steeped in despair. "The show is this weekend!"

"I know, I'm sorry," Emerynne says, not looking them in the eye. "I'm just tired. Can we do this after lunch? I just need to rest a little."

Gentler now, Kendarie assents to her request. "But make sure you sleep and eat well the day before and the show. You can't be like this during the performance."

"Of course." Emerynne nods, letting Fynn help her stand. "I promise."

To Fynn, Kendarie says, "you take a break too. You're doing well."

Emerynne unlaces her pointe shoes, slips on her sneakers, and takes the stairs to the terrace of the Flow State building. She sits down, her back on the mumty's wall. After emptying her water bottle of its contents, Emerynne lights a cigarette and draws a deep drag.

"Smoking is bad."

Emerynne yelps. "Fynn!" she grouses, "I almost dropped this!"

"It's especially bad for dancers," he keeps at it, unfazed, "it'll weather your stamina."

"Yeah, I'm aware," Emerynne says, taking yet another lungful. "I'm working on quitting."

Chuckling, Fynn settles beside her, fanning the smoke away from himself. "What's going on?" he queries. "You seem worried, distracted...? Something."

"I'm feeling both." Emerynne sighs, tapping the ashes off the tip. "Family stuff."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to it, really. Mama and I have been on bad terms for a while. But now that we have invites to the AFCC event, I want her to come and see me perform. I'm wondering how to make up, how to break the ice and shit."

Fynn crosses his legs and assumes a meditative posture. Eyes closed, voice calm, he suggests, "simply go to her and say that you feel terrible about how you two have been lately. Apologize and ask her to come to the event."

"Oh..."

"She's your mother. She'll be glad to make up."

"I sure hope so." After a final drag, Emerynne crushes the cigarette against the floor.

"And don't forget to mention how important her presence is to you."

"Right. Of course." In the momentary quietude, Emerynne nudges Fynn with her elbow. "Thanks."

"No problem." Opening an eye, he gives her a crooked grin before resuming his meditation. "It's that easy when it comes to mothers, you know. They don't hold grudges or stick to past fallouts like we do."

The more Emerynne ponders on it, the more sense it makes, and the more confident she becomes about fixing her relationship with Annika. Following a much better rehearsal post lunch, she carries positivity along as she makes her way home. Since there's still a while until closing-hour at Esoteric Herbals, Emerynne heads on the route through the Marketplace so she can meet Annika at the apothecary.

She finds Erika wiping the bill desk clean. "Hi, Aunty," she says, stepping forward and hugging her. Erika freezes, surprised, but then her arms encase Emerynne. When they separate, Erika wears a beautiful smile. "I need to talk to mama," Emerynne tells her.

"Sure. She's upstairs, sweetheart," says Erika, lovingly squeezing Emerynne's hands. "Go on."

On the second-story, Emerynne smiles at Amelie in greeting, and makes her way deeper into the room. Annika is pacing beside the long table where the steam-distiller works, her ear pressed to her cellphone. "No, Johann, you don't understand..."

Emerynne's feet stop in their tracks, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She feels the same litany of emotions – from fear and betrayal to sadness and rage – before breathing deeply to keep herself in check and swiveling on her heels to leave. This is not worth fighting over again.

Once at home, Emerynne locks herself in her room, something she hoped she wouldn't have to do tonight. And as much as she tries, she cannot hold in her tears. Seconds later, she stalks out, places one invitation card under Erika's favorite pewter teapot for her to find. She's aware that this is immature, petulant even. Nevertheless, at that moment, it feels like an apt reprisal. Fed by her resentment, she falls asleep.

❧

On Wednesday morning, Emerynne waits for the Kaufmann sisters to leave and only then does she emerge from her room. Carefully packing her gouache and watercolor sets, along with her more expensive watercolor paper, she sets out for the Franke house. She and Matthias are supposed to design patterns for the hemp canvas tote bags they have plans to put up when they launch The Heartsease Effect.

Matthias's greeting is his usual, gorgeous smile and a bashful flourish. Emerynne thanks him, following him to the dining room, where she occupies a chair at the table. While he goes about clearing the table, she proposes, "can we paint on the porch today? It's really pleasant."

Ever so agreeable, Matthias nods. Emerynne stands and makes her way to his atelier. Full of paintings of people, places, and plants, this room is a photobook of his life in her eyes. No matter how many times she has been here, she always pauses to appreciate his work. Over the many hours and days she has spent here, she has familiarized herself with the Franke property. The atelier and the wild garden are her favorite places, owing to how much brighter, how much more in his element Matthias is here.

As she hefts two easels, one in each arm, Matthias comes in. He collects two tall stools and they head to the porch together. In another couple of trips, the pair bring out and set up everything else they will need in their undertaking – brush sets, paints, canvases, and pencil kits and a little table to keep them all on.

The next few minutes, Emerynne and Matthias brainstorm. Inspired by the edelweiss blooming feral throughout the frontyard, she begins sketching a pattern on her watercolor paper. Done halfway, she looks over at Matthias finding him lost, his stare fixed on some distant object. "What're you thinking about?" she asks. He turns to her, eyes still unfocused, and shakes his head. So, Emerynne prods, "can't decide on a pattern?"

Setting down his sketchbook, he signs: uninspired.

Matthias picks up his media once more, his fingers twiddle his pencil, his knee bounces in quiet restlessness. Reaching out, Emerynne gently lays her hand on his forearm. "Hey, it's alright. Don't force it."

We go live this weekend, he protests, his forehead furrowing.

"It's okay. We don't have to release different types of tote bags..." A soft, consoling squeeze on his arm accompanies her words. "We could collaborate. Design a single motif and release it in different colors. How's that sound?" With a tentative bob of his head, Matthias leans in to study Emerynne's page. "Scoot here," she tells him. "I thought of making bumblebees but it isn't working. Any ideas?"

Shifting his stool closer, Matthias holds his hands out for her sheet. He turns the page every which way, keenly scrutinizing her base design. Then he gives it back and suggests: butterflies.

"Yes!" Emerynne effuses, delighted by the idea. Mounting the watercolor paper on a board, which is then fixed on the easel, she moves it in front of Matthias and says, "have at it."

Their collective input births an espalier of edelweiss branches, leafy latticework, butterflies flying in the loops and sitting on the flowers. That is when they take a break from working, a break which becomes a picnic of sorts in the rear garden. Seated underneath the newly fruiting apricot trees, Emerynne and Matthias share Amelie's blackberry lemon cake, hibiscus iced tea from Esoteric Herbals, and much excitement over their business.

Matthias enquires on how things are with Annika. Emerynne releases a tired exhale, dusting cake morsels from her lap. "Not well at all," she answers, "she's a stubborn woman. Stupidly stubborn."

And your aunt?

Frowning as she thinks about Erika, she replies, "we're on talking terms. Still, I can't help but feel like Aunty is the one person who can make mama see sense, but she just isn't doing it. I don't get if she's afraid of hurting mama's feelings or if she's simply not willing to see how stupid mama's being...? That's really unlike Aunty."

Matthias carves another slice of the cake and places it on Emerynne's plate. You'll feel better, he explains when she lifts her brows in question. Most charily, he probes: what is unlike Erika?

"This whole... worrying? This... this walking on eggshells thing she's doing these days." At Matthias's clueless expression, Emerynne explains, "she's never been like this. I've always known her to be outspoken, especially when it's for the good of somebody she loves. And she loves mama very much." Leaning back in the wicker chair, she sips on her tea; Matthias waits, attentive and patient. "I remember how mama used to lionize to Aunty," she reminisces, her lips curving from the memories, "she called her 'Erika The Daring' because she dared to live her life her way in spite of oppositions. Aunty in her younger years constantly got in trouble, but not trouble like usual teenagers. Trouble like being arrested for rescuing minks from fur farms—they called it 'burglary'. She had six months in a reform center for that. And you won't believe this, in her university days, she was a big part of some antifa group... and she got arrested for fisticuffs with a couple of Neo-Nazis—they called it 'public disturbance', 'assault' and whatnot. Thankfully, she had a great lawyer who drove home the self-defense counterargument—I mean, it was two large men against a woman—so she wasn't convicted."

There is awe writ across Matthias's visage. It breaks into an amazed grin, and he signs: Erika The Daring.

"Damn right," concurs Emerynne. Another memory brings forth a chuckle. "Mama once said that if Aunt Erika got caught for every law she's ever defied, she'd have a huge criminal record. She'd also be branded a sociopath. Because it doesn't matter that she was driven by morality. General lawlessness scares people, despite certain laws being plain unfair. So yeah... she has always been fearless and expressive and honest, to herself, to everybody else. Oh, the best example! Apparently, Aunty brought home a friend from university one spring break, and introduced her as her girlfriend. That was the final straw for my grandparents. They threatened to disown her... however, Aunty wasn't having any of that. She walked right out of their lives..." In a flurry, Emerynne realizes that she's been prattling on far too long, and finishes, "I guess what I'm saying is that if she could be that straightforward with her parents, I don't understand why she is not the same with her sister now."

Matthias appears to mull on her words for a while, before fishing his red journal from his pocket and flipping through the pages until he finds what he's searching for. He shows it to her; a quote scribbled in green ink.

sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing.

there is a time for silence.

a time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny.

and a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.

(octavia butler)

The two fall into a hush. Emerynne rereads the sentences, her thumb running on the pressure indents on the page, until she has unwittingly memorized the quote. Maybe it is what Erika is doing – letting Annika figure things out on her own and being there for her when she needs it the most. At what cost though? There are far too many things that can go horribly wrong where Johann Becker is involved.

To repudiate the garish thoughts from taking root, Emerynne clears her throat, drawing Matthias's attention. "Well, now that we know my grandparents are bigots, what are yours like?"

Matthias's hesitancy cannot be more evident, though he starts gesturing just as she is about to deflect the conversation. My father's parents died when I was very young. My mother's parents live in the USA. We visited them maybe three-four times.

"Do you have any aunts? Uncles?"

Yes. A few. One in Graz, some in Germany and Belgium. Not very close to them.

The utilitarian responses from Matthias make it quite clear that he still isn't comfortable talking about his family, and hence Emerynne refrains from furthering the discussion. The silence blankets them again; she steals desultory glances at him, as invested in her observation as she was the first time she saw him. His slender legs stretching far in front of him, his spine sunk deep into the backrest, his hand dangling loosely from the armrest, the other lifting his tumbler to his lips as he takes languid sips, Matthias sweeps his gaze across the garden. It is the truest, most convincing image of the Summer Prince regarding his magnificent kingdom.