Dear Diary,
We loathed her the moment she crossed the threshold of our house. Her sweater was nothing special, but her hands were different from Mumsshorter and thicker, the fingers clenched like a fist. Her legs were slimmer than Mums, and her feet seemed unusually long.
Harry, my brother, was seven; I was nine, and we spent the afternoon hurling lightningbolt jokes at her. Mila is a mile long, not a Mila at all! wed shout. Dad noticed our rudeness and snapped, Behave yourselves! Act like proper children.
Harry, ever the impetuous one, asked, Is she staying with us for long? He was allowed such questionshes just a boy, after all.
Dad replied, Shell be here forever.
I could hear the irritation building in him. If he lost his temper, wed be in real trouble. Better not to provoke him. An hour later, Emily gathered her things to leave. As she slipped on her shoes, Harry tried to give her a little shove. She almost tumbled down the landing.
Dad rushed over, What happened?
She tripped over another pair of shoes, Emily said, not even looking at Harry.
Everythings a mess. Ill clean it up, he promised eagerly.
Thats when we realised he cared for her. No matter how hard we tried, we couldnt push her out of our lives.
One afternoon, when Emily was home without Dad, she announced in a flat, almost bored tone, Your mother has passed away. Sometimes that happens. Shes now on a cloud watching everything. I doubt she likes how you behave. She knows youre being cruel just for fun. Youre protecting her memory in the worst way.
We froze.
Harry, Lucy, youre good kids! Is that how you honour a mothers memory? Good deeds, not cruelty, make a person respectable. I cant believe youre as prickly as hedgehogs! she said. Her words gradually cooled our urge to be nasty.
Later I helped her unpack groceries from the shop. Emily praised me, brushed my back gently. Her fingers werent Mums, but the touch was sweet enough to make Harry jealous. She set the clean mugs on the shelf, and Emily praised him too. That evening she told Dad, loudly and with excitement, how helpful we were. He smiled.
Her foreignness kept us on edge for a long time. We wanted to let her in, but it never seemed to happen. Not Mum, never! we muttered. By the next year wed forgotten what life without her felt like, and after one more incident we fell for Emily without looking back, just like Dad.
In seventh form, Harrys school life wasnt easy. A bully named Tommy Hargreaves, who was as tall as Harry but far more arrogant, kept picking on him. The Hargreaves family was solid; Tommy felt his fathers protection. Youre a man, sonstand up, dont wait for them to trample you, his dad would shout, making Tommy see Harry as a convenient target.
Tommy started openly hitting Harry, landing blows on his shoulder whenever he passed. I managed to coax the story out of Harry after noticing bruises. He believed men shouldnt dump their problems on sisters, even older ones. Unbeknownst to us, Emily was standing just outside the door, listening.
Harry begged me not to tell Dad, fearing things would get worse. He also pleaded with me not to go after Tommy right thenthough I wanted to protect my brother, even if it meant fighting. Involving Dad would only bring him into a clash with Mr. Hargreaves, and prison wasnt far off.
The next day was Friday. Under the pretense of a shopping trip, Emily led us to school and asked me to show Tommy where she was. I did, saying, Heres the bloke. She smirked, Youll see what happens.
The drama unfolded in Harrys English lesson. Emily breezed into the classroom, hair tidy, nails done, voice pleasant, and asked Tommy Hargreaves to step out because she had business with him. The teacher, none the wiser, allowed it. Tommy left, assuming Emily was some new organiser. She seized him by the chest, lifted him, and hissed, What do you want from my son?
Whwhat son? he stammered.
My son, Harry Rybak! she shouted.
IIm not doing anything
I want you to stay away! If you ever lay a hand on my boy again, or look at him with the wrong eye, Ill ruin you, you scoundrel!
Please, Auntie, let me go, Tommy whined. I wont bother you again!
Emily snapped, Out you go! And dont you dare say a word about me. Ill have your father locked up for corrupting a child! Got that? Tell the teacher Im your neighbour if you need a key. After school youll apologise to Harry, and Ill make sure it happens.
Tommy scurried back to his desk, muttering about a neighbour. He never gave Harry another hard look; he avoided him altogether and apologised that very afternoon, short and shaky but sincere.
Emily begged us not to tell Dad, but we couldnt hold it in and spilled everything. He was proud. At some point she guided me onto the right path. At sixteen, I fell into a reckless love where hormones blinded reason and everything felt forbidden.
Its embarrassing to admit, but I dated a jobless, perpetually drunk pianist, never seeing the obvious red flags. He whispered that I was his muse, and I melted in his arms like wax. It was my first real encounter with a man. My mother once asked the pianist, Does he ever sober up, and how will we survive? With a solid plan, she said shed consider our future togetherif the pianist took responsibility. One flat, smoky apartment wasnt enough to prove serious intent.
The pianist was five years younger than Emily but twentyfive years older than me. She didnt bother with niceties. I wont repeat his answers here, but Ive never felt more ashamed in front of Mum, especially when she said, I thought you were smarter.
That love story ended badly and messily, but neither the pianist nor Dad ended up in prison. Emily intervened just in time.
Years have passed. Harry and I have families built on love, respect, and looking out for one another when someone errs. All those values were planted by Emily. No woman could have done more for us. Dad is happy with her, wellkept, and loved.
She once suffered a family tragedy that we never knew about; Dad never mentioned it. Emily fell for our dad and left her husband. She had a son who died because of her husbands fault, a loss she could never forgive.
We like to think we eased some of Emilys pain. Her enormous influence on our upbringing was never, and will never be, downplayed. The whole family gathers around her. We never quite know which slippers to slip onto her feet, but we cherish and protect her. Real mothers, even when faced with harsh obstacles, never stumble.
