Daddy had to work late tonight, so Mama let me stay up later than usual. We watched television on the sofa, curled up together like kittens. Mama kissed my head and shifted her weight.

“Emily?” she asked. “Is Lily here?”

I stiffened, feeling panic rise in my stomach. Mama told me I was never to talk about Lily, that she wasn’t real, and I had promised Daddy that I would never bring her up again. I swallowed, afraid to breathe. Mama caressed my arm with her fingertips, pressing her lips against my scalp as she spoke. “I’m not going to get mad, baby. I just want to know the truth. Do you still see her? Do you still see Lily?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” I whispered. My voice sounded small and thin.

“Emily, this is important. I heard you and Daddy talking about Lily the other day. I need to know if you still see her. Do you?” Mama’s breath was warm on my skin.

“Are you going to send me to the doctor if I say that I still see her?” I asked.

“Just tell me the truth, Emily. I need to know the truth.”

Squeezing my eyes shut and swallowing hard, I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered. “I see her every day. I talk to her and play with her every day. Of course I do, Mama. She’s my sister.”

I heard Mama sniffle, and I knew she was crying. I knew I was the reason she was crying, and I felt like crying, too, but not because I was sad. Because I was confused and scared and I wanted Mama to know what Daddy and I knew. I wanted her to be able to peel back whatever was on her eyes that made her unable to see her daughter, unable to see my friend and sister. Unable to see the other piece of our family.

But Mama couldn’t know how I felt. Instead, she wiped at her face, and sighed. “Can Daddy see her, too? Emily, is Daddy just faking that he can see her? Is it just a game? Or can he really see her, too?”

I pulled away from Mama then, so I could see her face. She wasn’t crying hard, like I do when I skin my knee or when I bruise myself. Her face wasn’t red or splotchy. But her eyes were watery and her nose a little drippy, and the corners of her eyes drooped down just a little. I placed my palms on her cheeks and pushed them up, forcing her to smile. And she thought I was funny, and she did smile, but only for a moment. Then she took my hands in her hers and held them in her lap. “Emily, please. Can Daddy see Lily, too?”

I didn’t want to hurt Mama. I didn’t want to betray Daddy. I didn’t want to cause any problems for anyone.

I nodded.

And Mama pulled me to her chest and began to cry like I do when I skin my knee or bruise myself. Except she had no Mama or Daddy to make it all feel better.

Mama walks by me and I smell her freesia perfume and the coconut lotion she rubs on her legs.

She is an angel. I want my hair to curl like hers when I grow up.

Except I know I won’t be growing up. And that makes me sad.

I watch Mama when she thinks she’s alone. I watch her read, pick her nose, sing badly, and walk aimlessly around the house. Sometimes I think she senses me. Sometimes I think she knows she’s not really alone. But the moment passes and her face changes and she does not believe in me.

But I’m here, Mama. I’m here whether you believe in me or not.

Sometimes when Daddy’s not home, Mama and I have girl time.

“What do you want to watch?” she asks me, plopping down next to me on the couch, pulling her feet up under her. Her eyes flit around for the remote. She finds it already in my lap.

“Practical Magic!” I shout. “It’s on HBO but it started eight minutes ago.”

Mama rolls her eyes. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve seen it eleventy billion times and you probably have the first eight minutes down by heart, don’t you?”

I curl up in Mama’s chest, and she takes one of my hands in hers. She rubs her tumb gently over my nails. “Want me to paint your nails?” she asks. She doesn’t like Practical Magic because I’ve made her watch it so many times.

I shake my head no.

When Daddy’s not here, Lily doesn’t come around as much. Sometimes I see her watching from around a corner, but when I catch her spying on us she disappears again. I don’t know where she goes when Mama and I spent time together. But she knows I won’t talk to her when it’s just me and Mama because Mama doesn’t believe in Lily and I don’t want to make Mama angry. And I don’t want to make her threaten to take me to see Dr. Mallory, which she said she would do if I didn’t give up my ridiculous charade.

So when it’s just me and Mama, I don’t see much of Lily.

But I still worry about her.

Daddy was in the kitchen making breakfast when I came downstairs. Lily was already awake, sitting at the table, dangling her feet and looking out the window.

“Morning Daddy,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“Hey, good morning sugar plum, ” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. His whiskers were rough.

“Are those gingebread pancakes?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

“Yes, and I don’t want to hear a word about it,” he said, brandishing the spatula at me. “You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want, but Lily asked and I’m making them.”

Lily looked over at me, and I frowned at her. “Lily can’t even eat them,” I whined.

“But I can smell them,” she said.

“And mama likes them too,” Daddy added, flipping the pancakes high in the air. He was trying to win me over. He knows I love it when he flips the pancakes. But I was not in a mood that can be lifted. I wanted buttermilk pancakes.

“Is Mama awake yet?” I asked.

Daddy shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Why don’t you–”

“I’m awake,” Mama said, padding into the living room, yawning and stretching. Her nightgown had fallen off one shoulder, and her hair was a a tangled mess all over head head. “Baby, can you get me a glass of water? I have a headache.”

Daddy handed me a glass and I took it to the water cooler, filling it halfway up so there was room for the ice that Mama liked. I don’t like my water too cold. But Mama does. I pressed the button on the refrigerator and ice plopped into the glass. The water alomst reacheed the rim. I put in just the right amount.

When I handed it to her, she sleepily mussed my hair, and smiled. “Thank you, angel. So, gingerbread pancakes, huh?” Mama made a face. “I was hoping for buttermilk,” she said, looking pointedly at Daddy.

Daddy sighed, and turned to me. “Go upstairs punkin,” he says. “Mommy and I need to talk for a minute.”

I looked back over at Lily, who climbed down off the chair and followed me up the steps. But we didn’t go to my room like we–I–were expected to. We sat on the landing, just out of view, so we could hear.

“I heard what you were saying to Emily,” Mama said. “I thought we were on the same page about this. I thought we agreed, Tim,” she says. She didn’t sound sleepy. She sounded angry.

“I know. But I don’t know that it does any harm, and–”

“You made gingerbread pancakes for her imaginary friend, Tim! Emily doesn’t even like gingerbread pancakes! What do you think that tells her?”

Lily turned to me, her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped about her legs. “How come you don’t like gingerbread pancakes?” she whispered.

“They’re too spicy,” I whispered back. “And they don’t taste good with cheesy eggs and grits.”

Lily stuck out her tongue and squeezed her eyes. She doesn’t like grits. “I don’t like it when Mama and Daddy fight about me,” she said, resting her chin on her knees.

“Well, don’t worry about it, because they’re not fighting about you, they’re fighting about me.” My stomach was starting to hurt.

“I guess you can look at it both ways,” Lily said. After a minute, she got up and headed to my bedroom. I realized I didn’t want to hear Mama and Daddy fight any more, and I followed her. It didn’t matter that Daddy made gingerbread pancakes for Lily. I wasn’t hungry anymore.

Daddy was asleep on the couch when we got home. The television was on, and he was snoring a little.

Lily and I ran over and jumped on the couch. Our pounce startled Daddy awake, and he said a bad word, but then he smiled and hugged me.

“Hey sweetheart! How was the party? Did you have a good time, punkin?”

Punkin is Daddy’s word for Lily when Mama’s around. He pretends that he’s talking to me so Mama won’t get upset, but Lily and I know he’s talking to her.

“It was good, Daddy,” she said, pressing her face into this neck. “But Emily and Benjamin went into the water.”

I shrank away from Daddy’s glare. He couldn’t scold me in front of Mama, because Mama didn’t know. so he said, “Well, Em? How was it?”

“It was good,” I said. “Me and Benjamin went in the water.”

Mama made a face, putting her hands on her hips. “You did what? This is the first I’m hearing about it! It’s too cold to be going into the water, Em, you know that!”

Lily stuck out her tongue at me. “I told you,” she said.

I ignored her.

Mama and Emily sing songs on the way home from the party, but I don’t feel like singing.

I wonder where the bird goes when it gets cold. I liked that bird.

I liked him because he could see me.