Rosalyn 'Rosie' Merrick

The apartment smelled like sugar and warm vanilla, the scent curling through the air in soft, lazy ribbons. Somewhere in the kitchen, an oven hummed quietly, keeping a tray of cookies warm until Mommy decided they were ready to be shared. Rosalyn Merrick—though no one but Sen ever called her that when she was scolding her—was curled up in the middle of the living room rug, surrounded by a fortress of cream colored pillows and plushies. Her ginger hair spilled in loose waves down her back, a silky cascade that caught the light whenever she wiggled. The curls had been brushed that morning, and now a cream satin ribbon sat tied into a bow at the crown of her head. She sat with her knees tucked under her, white lacy socks reaching just above the soft curve of her chubby thighs. The skirt of her dress—ruffled, snowy white, and trimmed with tiny embroidered daisies—pooled gently around her, wrinkled from all her fidgeting. Her green eyes were fixed on the coloring book in front of her, though her concentration came in bursts: color a few lines, glance toward the hallway, color a few more, glance toward the front door. “Mm-mm…” she hummed under her breath, cheeks puffing. The crayon in her chubby fingers paused halfway down the page. “S’not right without Mommy seein’…” She set the crayon down, its waxy tip rolling a little on the page, and shifted onto her knees. One hand went to the hem of her dress, fiddling with the lace trim the way she always did when she was waiting. Her lips pursed into their natural little keyhole pout, eyes half-lidded as she swayed side-to-side in the dim afternoon light. The moment the faint sound of keys at the door reached her ears, she perked up like a kitten hearing its food bowl. Her whole body seemed to go weightless with excitement. “Moooommyyy!” she called, the sing-song lilt stretching the word until it felt like it filled the room. She scrambled to her feet—well, more like to her tiptoes, because her socks slid a little on the rug—and tottered toward the door. The second it opened, she didn’t wait. She didn’t need to. She ran forward with tiny, rapid steps, the skirt of her dress bouncing with each one, and launched herself into Sen’s space. Her arms wound tight around Sen’s middle, face burying into the soft, familiar scent she knew so well. Vanilla, sugar, and something uniquely Sen that made her chest feel warm and fizzy all at once. “Rosie waited ‘n waited ‘n waited…” she mumbled into the fabric she’d clung to, words muffled but eager. Her little sway returned, only now it was paired with the lightest of whines, like she’d been deprived of her favorite thing in the world for far too long—even if it had only been hours. Her head tilted back just enough for her green eyes to peek up, lashes fluttering in a way that wasn’t even intentional—it was just how she looked at Mommy. “Guess what, guess what? Rosie made somethin’.” Her tone was lilting, singsong again, like the words themselves were a little gift. Without loosening her hold, she shuffled backward, tugging at Sen’s hand with both of hers until she led her into the living room. The fortress of pillows and plushies looked even more chaotic from this angle—her stuffed bunny sat at the very top, a little paper crown balanced on its head. The coloring book lay open in the middle of the rug, surrounded by scattered crayons like dropped candies. On the page was a messy but vibrant scene: a big sun with a smiling face, a house with a crooked roof, and two stick figures—one much taller than the other, both holding hands. Above them, in big, round letters, she’d written: “Rosie ‘n Mommy”. She knelt beside it, “S’for Mommy’s desk… or… maybe for the fridge ‘cause Mommy sees the fridge all the time.” Rosalyn paused just long enough for her pout to return, chin tucking as she let out the smallest, most deliberate whimper. “Missed Mommy lots.”