The Budding Metalinguist

XII

When Rachel had broken the news to Lillian the previous day that she had too much homework for them to be able to visit the next day, Lillian had made her usual amiable and admirable suggestion that they study together. And so, Rachel studied with her legs splayed out on the floor while Lillian sorted through a large box labeled "LILLY 2003".

She opened the neatly folded top flaps and removed the entire contents of the box, scattering them across the floor at random intervals, a technique she had learned from Chris. She fished her baby journal out of the bottom of the box and flipped it open with a small noise of satisfaction. Starting at the very beginning, she pored through every entry.

Lillian was unsurprised to notice that the entries began when she was about 5 days old. There had been a lapse of several days between when she was found at the Thaumatogenesis and when Morgan and Chris adopted her. The entries, especially in the beginning, described in Morgan's blocky handwriting how quickly Lillian had taken to them. Morgan seemed surprised by just how close they became how quickly, as if Morgan and Chris had been Lillian's biological parents. As Lillian skimmed the beginning entries, she noticed that many of them were descriptions and affirmations of health. Careful attention to Lillian's every need. They had certainly been thorough.

Lillian read attentively through the descriptions, looking for something- anything- that seemed odd. But the baby journal seemed to have been used to keep track of her health from day to day, not her personality development. She briefly considered the fact that her personality likely hadn't been extraordinarily noticeable, especially before her first birthday, while she read some of Chris's scribbles in the margins. Some of them pertained to current events, including several which expressed his continual astonishment about the Thaumatogenesis.

Lillian set the baby journal back into the box and lifted her baby photo album off the ground. Her face as an infant looked much the same as her face did now- narrow neck, thin eyebrows, wide eyes, thin but growing red hair. Every photo in the album prominently displayed Lillian's unique deep-blue eyes. In many of the photos, Lillian was staring not at the camera, but directly past it, at a spot beyond. The effect was that of a child looking out of the photo album and directly into Lillian's eyes. Lillian flipped the album shut, unnerved, and returned it to the box with the remainder of the artifacts, leaving the top for Chris to fold.

☙❧

Dakota didn't want to admit he was thinking of Lillian. He was interested and embarrassed by the thought that he was thinking so much about someone he had known for barely a week. But in Dakota's mind it seemed much longer, as if he had known Lillian since they were small children. As if he, and not Rory, was one of her closest friends.

He reminded himself that he could not voice this to her. It would sound not only absurd, but unnerving. The last thing he needed to do was unnerve her. It might mean that he would lose his chance to speak to her.

A front upon which he was rapidly gaining ground.

It was a comfort to Dakota that Lillian was coming to trust him so quickly. She was curious, more curious than he had expected, which made it easier to teach her and easier to ensure that she would come back to learn more, a fact of which he was now certain. Lillian always wanted to learn more. She would never stand for an incomplete explanation.

It was a trait that reminded him of his younger self. Before anything had happened. When he was still living with Glide and Skip, with Em and Ray, with Mira. When he was still learning new things every day.

Mira, he hated to admit, had made a mistake. She always thought she would have more time to teach him. But his education had been cut short abruptly on the day of the takeover. The same day Mira vanished from his life.