Chapter Text
϶֍ϵ
"Oh, you're here! You're here!"
Lisa's excitement was real. She threw her skinny arms around her uncle's chest and hugged him tight, squeezing her frame to his. She grunted and whined as he hugged her back, as if it hurt to love him so much.
The hug didn't stop. He looked at Lisa's mom, his sister-in law. She shrugged, gave him a helpless smirk. He patted Lisa on the back. She could let go now.
Lisa disagreed.
It became less like a hug and more like a life-or-death struggle. Like she might lose him if she let him go.
She was somehow skinnier than he remembered her - and he remembered her being skinny. She felt fragile. He was reluctant to squeeze her back, as if the glue holding together her new, longer bones hadn't dried yet, and he might if he wasn't careful dislocate her, well, everything.
And yet she gripped him so fiercely. His right palm lightly pressed against her shoulder blade, he could feel the anxious thimpity-thimping of her heart. He could also feel, through the soft worn fabric of her t-shirt - clearly a lay-around, day-off garment, possibly sleepwear - that she was not yet wearing a bra. Soft, nipply buds poked against his stomach.
The hug went on. So he bent his head and smelled her hair. She smelled like nostalgia. She smelled nice. Like green apple shampoo and kid-scalp upfront, but with a chic floral after-fragrance of some sort. He knew Lisa's mom was somewhat compulsively into haircare. He wondered if she - a doctor whose administrators had scarcely granted two weeks of bereavement - had been spending extra money on her daughter since ... well, since ...
He glanced across the entryway. Lisa's mom had left them to their hug. He peered around the open archway and spied his sis-in-law standing at the counter, staring into the coffee machine with a hard, sour expression. She looked tired. She was usually more cheerful, and she always took care of herself. Her make-up bag sat open on the counter next to her, beside a pair of brushes she'd forgotten to put away. She also wasn't wearing a bra under her scrubs, which was a level of not-giving-a-fuck he'd never seen from her before. Was she okay? Regardless of how fit and shapely she was, he wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Lisa noised again, and he actually felt her voice inside his nostrils. He was still nose-deep in her hair, hypnotized by his niece’s capacity to smell good. And she was still squeezing him, both arms locked around him. Her pale, peach-fuzzy sticks were strong.
"Good to see you t-too," he grunted. "How've you been, Lise?"
"So-so," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I've been working on some new tricks. I want to show you later."
"Sure thing."
"I got a membership card!" she said, pulling back at last and beaming up at him. She was so proud. He could see the happy constellation of freckles on her cheeks, and the little crinkle of confidence between her eyebrows. "I got into the brotherhood."
"The brotherhood?" he said. He felt like she expected him to know what this was. "R-right. The, uh..."
She gave him a severe, slightly reproachful look. "The international brotherhood of magicians."
"Oh, right. I remember you mentioning it."
"It's a big deal," she said.
"I'm sure it is," he said.
She gave him another dubious look, then a small smile. "I'm really glad you're here."
"Me too."
Her mom cleared her throat. "If you guys are done hugging..."
Lisa made a face, then stepped back. Her eyes were still sparkling. "You can put your stuff in our guest room," she said, taking his bag. "I cleaned it up for you."
"You didn't have to do that."
"She wanted to," Lisa's mother said.
Lisa led him down the hall and past her room. It was more or less as he remembered it: pastel blue walls, messy desk, closet door half open with clothes spilling out onto the floor.
The guest room was tidy. The desk was organized. The bed was made. And it smelled clean.
"Wow," he said. "I'm impressed."
She smiled shyly. "It's no big deal."
She heaved his bag up onto the bed. He looked around.
"Wanna come see my room?" she asked, only a little short of breath from the exertion.
"Uhm," he had scarcely even begun to acclimate to his new lodgings. "Sure?"
"Come on!" she yipped, and dragged him by the hand back out into the hallway.
It was indeed Lisa's room. It smelled like her, was the first thing that struck him. A large poster of a unicorn hung on the wall over the bed. A big dry erase board leaned against the desk, covered in hearts and flowers, top hats and magic wands. Some kind of math homework was spread out on the desk. He glanced at the top sheet. Algebra. He had long since forgotten what any of it meant.
Lisa sat down on the bed. She patted the space next to her. "Come sit with me."
He sat down. The mattress was soft. Lisa leaned against him. Her hair tickled his chin.
"I missed you," she said.
"I missed you too."
She sighed. "You're not gonna leave too soon, are you?"
He put his arm around her. "Not for a few weeks. Maybe a month."
She nodded her nuzzled head. Itchy soft hair rubbed his cheek.
"I wish you could stay longer," she said.
"Me too."
She peered up at him. Freckles dusted her snout. Her ears stuck out. Her eyes were enormous and blue-gray and as serious as a tidal wave. Her prettiness was so close and warm and real. Her lips were slightly pouted. He suffered a sudden, shocking urge to kiss her. His skin even tingled from the sheer electricity of it. He wanted to smash his face to hers. A chemical storm of passion completely unbecoming of any adult man, much less a blood relative, shuddered and convulsed silently and invisibly through him as he sat there at kissing range, not kissing her. It was all he could do not to.
She looked away. "I gotta finish my homework," she said, and uncoupled from his side. Stood up off the bed. Faced him. "I'll be back. You stay?"
"Okay."
She nodded contentedly at his compliance, then left the bed, went to her desk, and sat. He lay back across her covers and stared at the ceiling, half-listening to the sounds of pencil scratching paper, half-reeling.
What the hell was this about? He hadn't actually thought about kissing Lisa, had he? Why would he? She was his niece. She was eleven years old. Of course he hadn’t sincerely wanted to grab her face in both hands and kiss her like the stars depended on it. He’d just misinterpreted a bodily cue from the sad, animal part of him that sorely needed to comfort whatever it had recognized in Lisa’s sad, animal gaze as shared grief. That made more sense. Right?
Right.
No, if he was being brutally honest - which he owed it to his dead brother to be - the urge had been there, strong and undeniable. Man-sized, despite her minuteness. He could still feel it, in fact, if he lifted his head and peered over at her, seated at her desk. Her long, lean legs, her pretty feet perched atop the little wheels of her desk chair, her bubbly little rear in those child-sized shorts -
He sat up. He needed to get out of this room. He needed some air.
He stood up and walked out into the hall. Lisa's mom was still in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She looked up as he entered.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said. "Just, uh, wanted to check in on you."
She nodded. "She can be a lot sometimes."
He smiled. "Nah. She's a good kid."
"She is." She took a sip of coffee. "You want some?"
"Sure."
She poured him a cup. He took it and sat down at the table. She sat down across from him.
"So," she said. "How's work?"
"Good," he said. "Busy."
"That's good. They sore about you taking the month off?”
Uncle shrugged.
They sipped their coffee in silence for a minute. He could hear Lisa moving around in her room. Little creakings of desk chair. The odd sneeze. The occasional sigh.
"She's been looking forward to your visit," Lisa's mom said.
"I can tell."
"She's been talking about it nonstop for weeks."
He smiled. “Sorry."
"She really loves you."
He looked down at his coffee. "I love her too."
She nodded. "I know."
They drank their coffee. The silence stretched. He could feel her watching him. He looked up. She was staring at him with a strange, intense expression.
"What?" he said.
She shook her head. "Nothing."
"Come on."
"It's just..." She sighed. "I'm glad you're here. I think it'll be good for her."
"Me too."
She looked away. "I just worry about …”
"… What?”
"Well,” Lisa’s mother almost seemed to wince. “She's been... well, just lately - Since..." She was trying not to cry, but each new formulation of whatever she needed to say seemed to hold the same impossible truth.
"Oh."
"Yeah." She took a deep, stabilizing breath - and another sip of coffee - and let it out. "She's always been a sensitive kid. The mood swings, the crying jags … they sucked, but they were how she coped, and I - I knew how to handle them. S-so when her Dad died, I worried. A lot. I worried. But … she didn’t … it’s like she’s … She hasn’t cried since that first night. She didn’t even cry at the funeral. I’ve had to stop asking her if she’s okay, telling her it’s healthy to cry, that it’s not expected she act like nothing is the matter. But … meanwhile, I’m a fricking mess, so it’s like - I don’t know. I don't know what to do.”
"You’re doing great,” he tried to assure her. “I think. I don’t know, either. But I can tell you’re trying, and I’m sure she can tell too. But maybe she's just going through it in her own way. Honestly, it kind of sounds like how my brother would be acting if he was in her shoes. Weirdly okay with it, you know?”
"Maybe." She frowned. "She won't talk to me about it. She barely talks to me at all."
"You’re in pain. That’s tough for a kid to see."
”I try not to let her! I try so fucking hard, to keep it reasonable, you know? Not to overwhelm her. I t-try t-to get all the ugly stuff out in the shower, or in the car, really just like everywhere she isn’t, b-but - ”
”So then why are you upset if it sounds like she’s doing the exact same thing you are?”
"Ha. Fair." She smiled faintly. She offered one hand, palm up. "I'm glad you're here."
He reached across the table and took her hand. "I'll do whatever I can to help."
"Thank you." She squeezed his hand. "I appreciate it."
They sat like that for a moment, holding hands across the table. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the strength in her fingers. He realized suddenly, and for the umpteenth time in their years of knowing each other, that he was attracted to her. He always had been, a little. She was a beautiful, headstrong woman. But he'd never let himself think about it, at least not for any longer than it took to shove such thoughts out of mind. She was his brother's wife. It wasn't right.
But now, with her hand in his, her eyes soft and vulnerable, he couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss her too. He wanted to pull her close and hold her and tell her everything would be okay.
He let go of her hand and stood up. "I should, uh, go check on Lisa."
She nodded. "Okay. I gotta head to work in a sec. See you later?"
"Bye, Sis," he said, giving her a friendly salute. "Go save some lives. I'll make sure dinner's ready when you get home."
"God, yes," she sighed. "Thank you."
He walked back down the hall to Lisa's room. She was still at her desk, hunched over her homework. He knocked on the doorframe.
"Hey," he said.
She looked up. "Hey."
"How's it going?"
She sighed. "Stupid algebra."
He smiled. "Yeah, that stuff is tricky."
"I hate it." She pushed her textbook away. "I'm done for today."
"Good call. It's Spring break. Homework can wait." He sat down on the bed. "So, you wanted to show me some tricks?"
She lit up. "Yeah!" She jumped up and ran over to her closet, rummaging around in the mess. "I've been working on my sleight of hand."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." She emerged with a deck of cards and a couple of coins. "Watch this."
She proceeded to show him a series of card tricks, her fingers moving with practiced dexterity. She was good. Not amazingly good. But she'd clearly been practicing. The cards seemed to dance between her slender, too-small fingers, disappearing and reappearing with unlikely fluidity. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the deck, her brow furrowed in concentration. She fumbled her lines every once in awhile. Had to start over on a couple of tricks. But the final number culminated in a flourish where she made his chosen card materialize from behind his ear. Her eyes sparkled with pride as he clapped, his heart full of genuine admiration mixed with something else he couldn't quite name. He noticed how her hands, though small, moved with the confidence of someone twice her age, each gesture clever and considered.
"Wow," he said. "That's amazing."
She beamed. "Thanks! I've been practicing a lot."
"I can tell." He hesitated. "Your dad would be proud."
Her smile faltered. "No. He would have had notes."
"Yeah. Okay. He would have,” Uncle chuckled sadly, bodily appreciating the precision with which she not only remembered the man, but resembled him in doing so. “But that was how he showed his love.”
”Yeah,” Lisa smiled warmly despite what was now happening to her eyes. “He did other stuff too. But yeah.”
”He told me himself you had a gift for magic."
She nodded, looking down at the cards in her hands. "I, um." She looked up, but couldn’t quite look at her uncle. Not right that second. She shrugged for some reason. And then she tried again: “I know I don’t act like it - ” She almost lost it before she could finish. “But I really miss h-him?” Why it came out as a question, she could not have answered.
For a second Uncle stood there. He’d made a sound sort of like, “Aw,” but then not known what else, if anything, he should say or do. So he said the simplest, truest thing he could think of.
"Me too.” He mumbled it, but she heard him.
She looked up, her eyes little aquariums of grief. "Do you actually think he’s looking down on us or whatever?”
He blinked at her. "I, um. I talk to him like he is. But I don’t actually know."
She nodded, blinking back tears. "Me either."
He opened his arms. "Come here."
She climbed onto the bed and hugged him, pressing her face against his chest. He held her close, stroking her hair. She felt so small and fragile in his arms. He wanted to protect her. To keep her safe from all the pain and sadness in the world. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, feeling a confusing mix of paternal affection and something more primal, more urgent. He knew he shouldn't be thinking this way, but he couldn't help it. The contrast between her childish form and the adult emotions she stirred in him was dizzying.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too, sweetie."
They held each other for a long time. He could feel her heartbeat, slow and steady against his chest. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing. He could feel the warmth of her body through her clothes. He wanted to stay like this forever. To hold her and protect her and never let go.
But eventually, she pulled away. She wiped her eyes and smiled at him. "I'm tired."
"Yeah," he said. "Me too. Maybe could use a nap, huh?"
"Will you... will you stay with me?"
He hesitated. "I don't know. That bed you made for me looked awfully inviting."
"Please? Sleep there later. Nap here with me."
He looked at her. Her eyes were big and pleading. He couldn't say no, could he? And yet, somehow:
"No, kiddo," he sighed. "I think I'd better sleep in the guest room. Don't want me stinking up your bed."
She looked hurt, but she nodded. "Okay."
"I'll see you after, okay?"
"Okay."
He stood up. "Have a good nap, Lisa."
"Goodnight."
It wasn't even lunchtime.
He left the room and closed the door behind him. He stood in the hall for a moment, his heart pounding. What was wrong with him? Why was he feeling this way? She was his niece. A child. He shouldn't be having these thoughts. It was wrong. Sick.
But he couldn't deny the way she made him feel. The way she looked at him. The way she touched him. It was like she was trying to seduce him, even though she probably had no idea what she was doing. She was just a lonely, confused kid, looking for comfort and affection. And he was the one she'd chosen to give it to her.
He took a deep breath and walked to the guest room. He stripped down to his boxers and got into bed. Yeah, he was only taking a nap, but he didn't like sleeping in his clothes regardless. The fresh clean sheets felt amazing, and smelled like hospitality. He gazed up at the ceiling, his mind whorling. He couldn't stop thinking about her, damn it. About the way she felt in his arms. The way she smelled when he put his nose right on her scalp. The way she looked at him with those big, darkly shiny gray-blue eyes. Like cloud cover before a downpour.
He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. He had to get a grip. He had to control himself. He couldn't let this go any further. It wasn't right.
But as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but wonder ... what if he did?
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A small-knuckled rap at the guest room door woke him up. For a moment, he was blearily grateful for the disruption. He'd been dreaming that he was at the funeral again. But whereas in real life, he felt like he had barely even attended - despite having delivered his eulogy, greeted every person there, and even stayed until it was just him and the mortician chatting about small things over paper cups of cold hard decaf - in this dream-version of the funeral, he was literally invisible. No one could see him. No one could hear him. Except for one person: Lisa. And he started crying when she asked him what was wrong.
So she had pulled him into the bathroom - everyone was too distracted to notice her slip away - and told him to sit on the lid of the toilet and breathe while she rubbed his back and told him she loved him. He had told her it was like no one could see him. She had answered that was probably because he was a ghost, not because they were mad at him. And he wept again that much harder. He hadn't realized he was dead. She had told him sorry, and that she thought he knew. He had sobbed once, hard, almost like a hiccup. She had laughed sweetly and told him that if he kept at it then she was going to cry, too. And then she had begun to weep.
Somehow her weeping changed the dream. Now as she wept she began to slink and shimmy out of the expensive, ill-fitting dress her mother had bought for the funeral. Underneath she had on white lace leggings, through which shone lime green panties. She kicked off her shiny black mary-janes. She was perilously frail, like a skeleton with skin. Through his tears, he had begged her to put her dress back on. She had ignored him and defiantly yanked her leggings down, and then stumbled out of them - reaching out to him for balance - but as she'd gone to plant her palm on his knee, her hand went straight through him.
He'd sat there, paralyzed with puzzlement. He was the furthest thing from lucid right now. Which, as it turned out, was still be a very vivid place to be.
Still crying, she had felt around inside his leg - a sensation so bizarre he could still feel it, now, a minute after waking, in the marrow of his femur - as though trying to find something she'd dropped inside him. Eventually, her hand had made its way to his groin, and he froze in knotted horror as she groped at the space his semi-hard cock was occupying. How hot her hand had felt as it had swum through him, how insanely warm - and how empty and achy it had left him, deep inside, when she'd simpered in frustration. He had pleaded with her one last time, not to stop, but to forgive him.
And she had said: "What for?"
He hadn't known what to say to that.
"C-coming," he mumbled when there came a second knock at his door. "You can come in."
Lisa cracked the door. "You dressed?" she asked suspiciously.
"No, I'm butt naked," her uncle snorted. "That's why I wanted you to open the door."
"Eww," Lisa giggled, and shot him a toothy grin. She had grown-up teeth in a child's mouth. Braces had straightened them, but left them huge, and he adored it. "You're not really naked," she observed.
"You looked," he scoffed.
"Whatever," she scoffed right back. "Not like I would have cared."
"Uh-huh," he rolled his eyes, and dropped his feet off the bed as he sat up. "I think your mom might've."
"She's at work," Lisa reminded him.
"R-right," he nodded. It was just the two of them. Uncle and niece. Sad man and sad girl. Dreamer and ... dreamee? What a peculiar relief it was to see that real-life Lisa had some musculature to her; she was scrawny, yes, but hardly the deathly stick-person he had witnessed in his dream.
They were alone for the entire rest of the day. Sensing his own problematic stirrings, Uncle excused himself for a bit so he could empty his nuts to some healthy, regular, adult porn. An hour later he came back out and joined Lisa watching cartoons. She insisted he join her on the loveseat, and shared a big aluminum bowl of dry frosted corn pops cereal with him. He ate it by the handful. When a stray piece tumbled out of one of his bites, Lisa plucked it from his lap and ate it before he could so much as protest. When they'd finished the corn pops, Lisa had made him wear the bowl like a hat. She giggled hard at his indifference to this new hat. But before long she was comfortably indifferent to it, too, and they both sort of forgot he was wearing it at all. They watched cartoons like that for hours, and it was lovely. She protested when he finally uncoupled her from his side - oof, how sweaty they'd gotten where there sides had been nestled together - but he told her he needed to get started on dinner, then put his aluminum hat on her much-smaller head and dubbed her the new captain of the couch.
Uncle made them chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese for an early dinner. Lisa sat at the kitchen table and studied a book about close-up card magic. She had a deck of cards in her hands that she fiddled with as she read. Uncle's mind kept trying to wander as he stirred crayon-orange powder into milky, buttery noodles, and he kept having to reel it back in: stay here, stay present, stay uncle. heard the sound of a playing card hit the kitchen floor, and his niece swearing under her breath as she bent under the table to pick it back up. He glanced over his shoulder at her and caught her peeking at him from under the table.
"What?" he said.
"What?" she said.
They smirked at each other. It didn't have to make sense.
"Wait," she said. "Watch." She didn't sit back up in her seat, even after she had retrieved the face-down card. Instead, she got down altogether, crawled under the table, and from down there held up the card so only he could see what was on its face. "Don't tell me what it is," she said, giving him an extra second to memorize it. The two of clubs. "Got it?"
He chuckled, and nodded once.
She slid the card back into the deck. She riffle shuffled it on the kitchen floor. Once, then twice. Then she reached up and, carefully, without being able to see what she was doing, placed the deck on top of the table, right at the edge. "Look," she said, and knocked on the underside of the table, under the spot where the deck now lay. "I can't possibly see the cards, can I?"
"No, ma'am," Uncle smiled, intrigued.
Lisa nodded smugly. Then she reached up over the edge of the table, blindly feeling around for the deck, and - "Oops!" she gasped - and accidentally brushed the deck off of the table and onto - or more like all over - the kitchen floor. "Oopsies," she muttered, "sorry." She emerged from beneath the table, and the two of them picked up the cards. "Here," Lisa said, handing him the recovered deck. "Since I dropped them before the spell was complete, you'll need to find your card again."
"Me?" he asked, puzzled.
"Uh-huh," she said matter-of-factly. She retreated back under the table and sat cross-legged. He sat, too, but in a chair. She peered up over his lap as he sifted through the deck, looking for his two of clubs.
A minute later, after two complete passes through the deck, he frowned and said, "It's not in here."
"Oh?" Lisa frowned, and cocked her head. "That's funny. But where else could it be?"
Uncle squinted at her, suspicious. "I don't know," he humored her.
"Oh!" Lisa clapped, as though suddenly remembering something. "You know what Daddy used to say whenever I couldn't find something?"
Uncle shrugged, intrigued.
"He'd say, 'Did you check your butt?'" she grinned.
"Lise," Uncle blushed. "I'm pretty sure there's not a card in my butt right now."
"Did you check?"
"You're serious?" he blinked at her.
"You should definitely at least check," Lisa refused to stop grinning.
Uncle sighed, and then he couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright, fine." He set the deck aside, stood up, and undid his belt. He undid his fly, more than a little self-consciously, as his niece watched raptly. "Please don't tell your mother I fell for this," he sighed.
"A magician never reveals her secrets," she winked, and pantomimed locking her mouth with a key.
He didn't pull his pants down, didn't have to, as with the fly down he had enough room to slide his meaty hand down the back of his underwear and feel around for any missing playing cards. Sure enough, there was nothing - wait a minute. No way.
But no, it was just the tag on his briefs. It had thrown him for a second. He blushed all over again as he caught Lisa watching him.
"Your butt doesn't have it?" she asked innocently.
"Thankfully, no," her uncle said as he zipped back up and began to refasten his belt. "Although for a second there I really thought you might have figured out a way."
"Well shoot," Lisa frowned, and uncrossed her legs, crawled out from under the table, and stood up right in front of her uncle. She stood with hands on hips and peered around and around the befuddled man, as if the card might be stuck to his person somewhere.
"I really don't have it," he chuckled.
"Well shoot!" she said again, and turned around to look back under the table. "But then I have no clue where it could have gone!"
Uncle's eyes went wide at the sight of his niece bending over at the waist away from him. His eyebrows shot up. His heart skipped a beat. There, sticking out of the waistband of her tiny green athletic shorts - no, sticking out of the waistband of her pink and blue panties inside her shorts - was a playing card. It was bending a little from its placement at the apex of her butt crack. She'd hid it there face-to-skin, so he couldn't see which card it was, but he had an awfully strong suspicion. Entirely by accident, he swooned. He loved Lisa's butt so, so much. Then he gulped those feelings down. He muttered, "H-hey, uh - kid."
"Hm, yeah?" she muttered, subtly wagging her hips, still pretending to scan the floor under the table.
"I found the card."
"No way!" she giggled, spinning back around to catch his face before he had a chance to hide it from her. "Where is it, then, huh?"
"Y-your, uh ... " He hated that she was having this effect on him. If anything, that was truer magic than he knew what to do with. He pointed humbly to her hindquarters.
"Oh?" she perked up, acting confused, and turned around again so they could both inspect her rear. She craned her neck and peered over her own shoulder. She had to arch her back, pop her butt out, and go on tip-toes to be able to see where she'd slotted the card into her waistband. "Wouldja' look at that!" she giggled. "Silly me. I forgot to check my butt!"
"You knew I'd look," he grumbled, embarrassed.
"Duh," she goaded him, and wagged her popped-out butt at him.
"What?" he grimaced. He knew what she was asking him to do next. But he didn't want to.
"Don't you want to see if it's your card?" she asked.
"Can't I just already be amazed?" he winced.
"But how can you be amazed for SURE if you don't check that it's your card first, silly?" she laughed, and now hopped back a little, practically twerking toward him.
"Lise, p-please, I'm not about to - "
"Just! Take! The card!" Hop. Hop. HOP. And now her butt was perilously close to bumping into a part of him that he was suddenly shamefully aware would not mind at all if his niece bumped into it. If the good uncle was going to do something to prevent this, he needed to act now.
He could tell she wasn't going to relent until he took the dang card out of her underwear, so he turned his brain off, asked the girl to stay still, and swiftly, with just two surgically precise finger tips, pinched the card out of her panties. It was indeed a two of clubs. And it was warm.
"Voila!" she said, twirling back around so she could bow for her disgruntled audience. "Are you not amazed?"
"I get the feeling you didn't learn this one from a book," he said, gently flexing the two of clubs in his fingers, compulsively trying to re-flatten the curve her butt had bent into the card.
"Daddy taught me it," she said proudly. She stood there expectantly after proclaiming this, like she was waiting for applause.
"H-here's your card back," he offered. She took the card somewhat robotically, a look like disappointment dampening the pride on her face.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked self-consciously.
"Huh? No!" Uncle panicked a little. "No, it was - it was amazing. So, uh, knocking the cards off the table ... that was part of it?"
"You're acting weird," she frowned. There was an anxious knit in her brow.
"Am I? Sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I'm just a little distracted. I need to get back to making dinner," he insisted as casually as he could. "Thank you for showing me your - " ... panties? ... butt? ... twerking ability? " - trick."
"You're welcome," she said tepidly. And she left the kitchen altogether, forgetting her magic book on the table. When he called for her to come eat, she took several minutes to comply. She reentered the kitchen sullen and messy-haired - she had clearly been crying - picked up her bowl of mac and accompanying ramekin of chicken nuggets, and withdrew again to her bedroom.
A moment later he was knocking at her door.
"I don't want to hang out right now," she said from the other side of the door.
"I brought you a fork," he informed her.
Soft footsteps. The door opened. Lisa held out her hand. He placed the fork in it. And for a second he held the fork there, on her warm pink palm, until she closed her fingers around his fingers and the fork, and they sort of held fingers (and fork) like this for a single weird moment.
"Can I ... have it?" she asked, suppressing a smirk.
"I wanted to say sorry," Uncle said. "I really was fooled, earlier. It was a neat trick."
"I know it was," she frowned.
"But kid," Uncle sighed. Here came the hard part. "I know that with your Dad it was probably, you know, pretty funny hiding cards in your underpants. But I'm not ... I'm just ... With me, there's a little bit different rules around that kind of thing, you know?"
"I know," she said quietly, and could barely even look at him. She closed her grip around the fork more tightly. He let go of her fingers. Now she was just holding up a fork in the air between them. "I know it's different."
"You do?" Uncle said, hopeful. "I mean, of course you do. I'm not telling you anything you don't know. But I guess I just ... what I should really say is ..."
"That you love me."
"I do," he laughed sadly, uncertainly. "I really do, Lise. You amaze me, even without all the magic tricks."
Lisa mumbled something Uncle couldn't make out.
"What was that?" he asked gently.
"I said I'm sorry I made you pick your card out of my underwear. UGH. Don't make me say it again!"
"Oh!" he snorted. "Apology accepted. Thanks."
"Are we cool?" she asked him.
"Always," he assured her.
"Can I go eat now?"
"In there?"
She looked at him like 'duh.'
"I mean, I guess," he slumped a little. He really did enjoy her company. But he supposed she was entitled to her space. "Are you going to come back out at all? Or should I just plan to, like, entertain myself tonight?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. She was growing sullen again before his very eyes. Had this been what her mother was talking about?
"That's okay," he shrugged back. "I'll, uh ... I'll just be out here watching TV, then."
"Okay," Lisa said, and softly shut her bedroom door. The sound of it latching felt so painfully final, even to this man who was just her uncle. He caught himself staring at her door a moment longer than was probably non-creepy, and shepherded himself back into the kitchen, where he finished scarfing his dinner before going and sitting down in the family room to watch ... something.
He didn't know what he wanted to watch. Or rather, he did. But she was hiding in her room, now. And there she wound up staying the rest of that whole first night.