>With the most powerfully fake smile of your life, you pull open the door
>She stands there, holding a large cardboard box up to her chest
"Wow. You look just like your mom, don't you?"
>You take in the sight of her wavy hair, the way it curves around her face, transitioning from light to dark shades of silvery blue...
>Upon checking if she inherited the eyes that Lulamoon women are beloved for (assuming you're asking a Lulamoon woman) you find a tiny scrunched nose, paired with two spiteful purple eyes
"...Still mad at your mom?"
>The teenager forces through the door
>You back into the kitchen counter and let her pass a few steps into the living room and pause
>This was to be expected
>For a good fifteen seconds you watch her hair flick around as she scrutinizes every inch of the tiny, one bedroom apartment
>"...No."
>She spins around and rushes toward the door
>You jump into action, barely pushing it closed in time
>"Hey!"
"What the heck do you mean 'no'?"
>She rams your arm with her shoulder
>"Let Trixie pass!"
>She struggles to hold the box in one hand as she pulls on your wrist with the other
>Her blue fingernails - decorated with little crescent moons - dig into your skin
"Alright, timeout."
>You grab the box and hold it high above her head
>"HEY!"
>When she fails to reach it on her tiptoes she hops into the air, slapping at the bottom
>"PUT DOWN TRIXIE'S PRIVATE POSSESSIONS!"
"Kid! KID!"
>You toss the box up onto the fridge
>Trixie winces as though you'd thrown it from a moving car
>She is a bit short for her age...
"Calm down and tell me where you think you're going."
>She growls, "anywhere but here."
"Give me a reason."
>"...a reason?"
>A chill runs down your spine at the sight of those angry purple eyes, something that signaled a humiliating prank in the near future of your childhood
>"Trixie refuses to live in an apartment the size of her bedroom, with-"
>She violently points at the spot where tiles meet carpet
>"-a living room CONNECTED to a kitchen! Trixie has never seen such a thing!"
"...I know it's small, but you'll get your privacy. I promise."
>"Trixie has a second reason!"
>You raise your eyebrows and politely gesture for her to spit it out
>"Trixie refuses to live with her stupid Uncle, who looks like Trixie's mom, and stole Trixie's box, and worst of all-"
>She gets as nose-to-nose as she can with the height difference
>"-sides with Trixie's slut mom after she broke daddy's heart! Trixie REFUSES!"
>Slut?
>Broke his heart?
>You stare, dumbstruck
"There's more to that situation. Let's talk."
>"Trixie doesn't like you."
>It's like being punched in the stomach. You meet your niece for the first time, and right away she's not a fan
>She points up at thefridge, holds out the other hand and taps her foot
"...You're not getting it back until you behave."
>Then begins a vicious battle of patience
>Her outstretched hand remains, as does your crossed arms and eye contact
>Well over a minute later her fingers, then her hand, then her entire arm tremble
>The anger in her face fades as the realization that she simply will not be allowed to leave sets in
>"...Trixie..."
>She covers her eyes
>"...will never speak to you again."
>Your niece stomps into the living room and through a door on the right. The slam shakes the paintings on the wall
>It opens right back up
>"Trixie did not know this was a bathroom."
>The same show of defiance plays out again, this time into your bedroom on the left

>You lay back on your worn couch, flip-phone in hand
>A couple of questions are in order. Ones you shouldn't have to ask
>Out the window, you take note of the parking lot of a nearby liquor store, and the orange sky above it
>If things don't shape up quick they'll be rolling in more of your cash than ever before
>...
>Twice, the call goes to the machine
>Typical
>Your sister may run from conflict. But if she's left with a message and nothing more, she can't resist hearing it
>The number's dialed again, and your voice lowered
>After the beep you begin:
"Hey sis. Too busy setting up Halloween decorations to pick up the phone? I've got questions. Why in the world does your daughter talk like she's gossiping about herself? Trixie is happy, Trixie is sad, what the hell is this?"
>You take a quick swig from a bottle of whiskey resting on the carpet
"Why doesn't she know what's going on in her own house? Sending her away was for sorting your shit out, not hiding the whole thing from her the way you hide from the rest of the family. This isn't what I agreed to."
>You take a second swig
"'Quiet and creative?' Please. Whatever issues Trixie's got, I'm not equipped to deal with them."
>With the impending beep in mind, you take a deep breath and carefully choose your closing words
"Call back tomorrow and explain everything to me - and your daughter - or I'm taking her back."
>The phone's snapped shut
>It goes rolling into the corner of the furthest couch cushion as you lay back
>...
>Taking care of your niece was an exciting idea before you'd met her. Now part of you is begging for that excuse to get rid of her
>What a shitty weekend this is going to be
>For now, it'd be best to get some sleep...

>Three rough jabs to your cheek jolt you awake
>You sit up and rub your eyes
>The blurry mess of color builds into the image of a very unhappy niece standing beside the couch
"What? What's wrong?"
>She uses a thumb to point over her shoulder, at the fridge, to which your computer chair has been rolled
"Oh. Yeah, I moved your box."
>Her hands fly into the air demanding an explanation
"Like I said, behave and I'll give it back."
>You shake your head, take the bottle of whiskey and move into the little kitchen
>The morning is never kind to your stomach. Lighting a burner and opening up the fridge is purely out of a sense of duty to your relative
>It's filled with stuff you thought she might like
"Hungry?"
>With arms wrapped tightly around herself she eyes the fridge
>Then she gives you some kind of stare you can't read
"We didn't eat dinner, so I know you are."
>She takes four eggs, pancake mix, an orange, a bowl of butter and three slices of bread
>It's all piled up on the counter to your right
"Hey, I'm not hungry, so-"
>She shakes her head
>...
"You'll eat all of that?"
>She nods
"Seriously?"
>She nods again
>Jesus, at that rate your sister better send some cash now and then
>You hesitantly go to work
>In no time you've got a complete breakfast sitting before her at the table:
>A fluffy pancake smothered with syrup, scrambled eggs, three buttered pieces of toast, a sliced orange and a tall glass of milk
>The composition you've prepared on this plate...
>Some would call it art
>Maybe this is how you can win her over?
>You turn off the burner, quite happy with yourself, and sit down at the opposite end of the table
>Alright, she still looks upset
>Hasn't even touched her fork or knife
"Hey kid... I'll let you eat in peace in a second. Just wanted to let you know that, well, I know it sucks to have to stay here."
>You anxiously scratch your chin
"You might be in for a long stay. I'll do whatever I can to make it more comfortable for you. ...Believe it or not, I want to be your... friend..."
>With unbroken eye contact, Trixie takes the large plate of food, as well as the glass of milk, and flips them
>You stand, stuck somewhere between disbelief and burning anger as the food plummets onto the floor
"KID!"
>She jumps in your peripheral vision
>You take the glass - thankfully still in one piece - out of the floor
"Are you a fucking IDIOT?"
>With no hope of saving the food from the less than clean floor, you sit back down and face her
>Out of nowhere, her anger's dissipated
"The hell is wrong with you? Do you think I can afford to buy food and throw it in the fucking floor?"
>Her eyes shift between the table and your face
"Well? Are you going to answer me or not?"
>She lowers her head
>...
"Unbelievable. If I'm lucky I'll be driving you back home tomorrow morning."
>With her face stuffed into her sleeve, Trixie jumps out of her chair and runs back toward your room
"Hey, kid. Wait-"
>At least this time she doesn't slam the door
>You sit back down
>With one more glance at the mess in the floor, you sigh

>After cleaning up, you retire to the couch, phone sitting beside you and the mostly-empty whiskey bottle hanging from your fingertips
>Back to business as usual
>Hours of mindless TV roll by
>Now and then you open your phone, even though you know there's nothing there for you
>This time you note that it's 6 PM
>Surely your sister heard the message by now?
>You force yourself onto your feet and make your way to the bedroom door
"Kid?"
>A quiet test confirms that she's locked it
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
>Yelling at her earlier felt justified, but now that you're calm, guilt weighs down...
>Trixie's soft footsteps make their way to the door
>It remains closed
"...It's looking like I'm going to have to take you back. How about we say sorry before that happens?"
>She doesn't reply, but she doesn't walk away, either
"I'm not on anyone's side, regardless of what you've heard. I agreed to take you in because I care about you, and... I wanted to get to know you. And-"
>You reach behind the desk that your CRT TV rests on and retrieve the cardboard box
"-I'll give back your stuff now."
>The door nearly smacks into you
>Her box is snatched away and nestled into her chest, guarded by both arms and a highly skeptical expression
>"It will be searched."
"Okay? I didn't open it."
>"Trixie doubts that."
>You glance over her head and find a jigsaw puzzle on the floor by your bed, mostly complete
>So that's what she's been up to
>When you look back to Trixie, she's put on a devious smile
>"Maybe you stole Trixie's underwear."
"No, I- what?"
>"It wouldn't be surprising."
>This feels like the mother of all bait, but you can't leave such a statement alone
"Why do you say that?"
>"Uncle Anon's wife isn't here. Trixie got curious and searched the drawers."
>You follow her pointing finger to the desk, where some photos rest
>"Then it became obvious. No women's clothing. No wedding pictures. You're not married at all!"
"...Kid, I would appreciate it if you stayed out of my-"
>"This is why Trixie was sent here."
>Once again you can't help but question her statement
>Even though nothing good can come of it
>"Since you're single, you have time to take care of Trixie. It's quite sad."
>You open your mouth to respond and are cut off by a cruel laugh straight out of a cartoon
>"It must get lonely living like this. Trixie suspects her uncle secretly craves her company, since she's a beautiful woman."
>Though you shake your head, her words cut deep...
" 'Trixie'- "
>You poke her forehead
"-is a child, and a thorn in my side. 'She' had better watch what she says."
>"She is fifteen!"
>The box is set down so she can pose, hands on her hips, nose turned up
>"She can sign up for social media websites AND get her driver's permit."
"Wooow."
>"She can!"
>Trixie pokes your forehead back
>"She has her own email address!"
"I'm so impressed."
>"...You're being sarcastic."
"Noooo..."
>She doesn't let it get to her
>That devious smile is quick to return
>"Take Trixie home now."
"That will be tomorrow morning. Hopefully."
>After a little stare-down, your niece backs into your room and taunts you one last time:
>"It's really obvious to Trixie why her uncle never got married. He is the king of all losers."
>The door swings to close
>It slams against your palm, and you lean in close
"'Trixie' is as much of a bitch as her mom was when SHE was a kid."
>...
>Time seems to slow
>Instantly, you regret your words
>The cocky expression on her face vanishes, replaced with surprise. And then... misty eyes
>With both hands, she shoves the door closed