You thought there'd be more questions asked, when you moved in with Betty and Gladys, but people are so used to the arrangement already in place that they don't notice another woman coming and going; they must assume you're down on your luck, or in the family way, because it takes far too long for people to reconcile the actuality of you with the famous Kate Andrews, even people you used to work with in the factory, even people you used to live with in a cramped boarding house where there was always something going on.

You notice, one afternoon, Kitty babbling happily, doll clasped to her chest, Betty's record collection. It's not exactly hidden, but the box is under a small table draped with cloth which you happened to look under for the irrepressible child.

Every record you ever made, even your 7", is in this box. Your own face stares back at you, blank and unfamiliar. Kitty crawls out from under the sofa and watches you, looking between you and the cover and the record player. You can almost see the cogs slide into place.

When Betty comes home from the post office, you're twirling Kitty around the room, singing in harmony with yourself. Betty carefully closes the door behind her, props herself against it and just watches. The look on her face is worth more to you than any applause. This is your job now, to keep your little family happy and safe, and it's fulfilling in all the ways you thought singing would be but never was.

When Gladys gets home, Kitty insists on teaching her how to dance.

You still sing, now and then, at the church Leon still runs, his deep voice mingling with yours the way no one else's ever has. You see Betty bring Kitty in tentatively one week, not sure if she's welcome here. But Leon nods his head to her and the smile that spreads across your face lets her know just how welcome she is. How different it is now, singing, sweating in the heat of a church filled with bodies in summer, daylight streaming through windows and a cool breeze tickling your neck.

After church there's tea and coffee in the shade of the building and the warmth of the cup in your hand contrasts nicely with Kitty's cool hand in yours, Betty's soft hand brushing hair out of your face where the wind catches it. When you hand her your tea to tie back your hair, she sips from it absentmindedly, and that's how you know you belong here.

When Gladys' parents die, they leave Gladys their entire fortune, and the house. Everything. Betty is a little upset, thinking Gladys will move back home with Kitty but Gladys rents the house and its many wings to destitute women.

Betty asks her why she didn't move back home when this house is so cramped, the four of you in her tiny house, but Gladys just shrugs and says she likes it here, with both of you, and she doesn't want to bring Kitty up alone.

And she doesn't. You never really thought about it, but three women taking care of one child works out pretty well. Gladys joins the foreign office and she doesn't have to worry for a moment who's taking care of her child, not even when she's in ridiculously far-away places on secret missions, because she knows you've got this, between the two of you. She doesn't have to work but she's always been driven by a need to find a higher purpose. She can't talk much about it, but she glows when she finally makes it back home.

Kitty's never been confused about who her mother is, despite having three of them, because she is very much her mother's daughter. She grows older, she falls out of trees, she scrapes her knees up when Betty teaches her to play hockey but she doesn't let anything get in her way. A boy pulled her hair in class and she was sent home for punching him in the face. You're strangely proud of her for that one, and you know Betty had something to do with that. She's so fearless that sometimes you fear for her, because the world is not kind to a woman with a mind of her own. She comes home seething one day because someone called her a bastard and you have to carefully explain what it means. She listens through, nodding her head, and shrugs.

"I thought it meant something bad," she says eventually, "but you guys aren't married, so what's the big deal?" You exchange a glance with Betty and excuse yourself from the room, muffling your laughter behind your hand as Betty explains that there are laws and social stigmas, but Kitty's always known this so she just nods in that preteen way.

You watch Kitty and Gladys face off; it's about some boy Gladys doesn't like Kitty seeing and Kitty is yelling about life choices and Gladys gives you a helpless bewildered look and you have to look away and cover your mouth.

You try not to laugh in front of Kitty, to let her know that you think she's funny when she's being serious, but you can't help laughing because right now, in this moment, she reminds you so much of somebody that you used to know.

Fin

Author's (belated) note: And that's kind of it for this one, but also not, because I want to go back and tweak parts of it. There's not enough tea and desolation, and the point of this was to leave folks wondering as long as possible about Gladys and Betty (cruel, I know). So now that that's revealed I want to add all the little scenes that played out but never made it to the page.

I don't have a lot of time at the moment; my job is really intense. They call us the men in black. So when I have time, I'll put it into this. And Call Girls. Which is a book I'm working on about women in telephony. Historical fiction, of course.

Surfacing will be coming back from hiatus soon, hopefully with an explanation as to why it was left to linger so long. I may chicken out.

Anyway, thank you all for your support/comment/for reading this. May your stocking always be silk and your bathing-suits reach your knees, and may there always be a blinkenlight to guide your way.