Emi's Night

The elevator ride was short, but it felt like it lasted a thousand years. Emi shifted her weight from foot to foot, her heartbeat a rapid, arrhythmic flutter in her ears. The mirrored doors made it impossible not to stare at herself, at the black hair neatly bobbed, at the thin-lipped smile she practiced and abandoned and re-practiced every few seconds. But what drew her gaze—and then repelled it—were her arms. Not the normal ones, those she could handle, but the other four.

Two of them had coiled around her waist, hands nervously clenching at the hem of her skirt, tugging and releasing, tugging and releasing, pulling down her neckline and then letting it ride back up. Another was wrapped, almost tenderly, across her chest, as if offering comfort, but the fingers kept drifting—embarrassingly, irrepressibly—to brush at her breast, thumb flicking at the edge of her nipple through the blouse. The last was worse, hanging at her side, drifting as if uncertain what to do with itself, before slowly, inexorably, creeping up along her thigh toward the apex of her legs.

She tried to will them to stop, but if she focused on one, the others grew restless. When she made the mistake of locking all four in place with her main, “real” hands, they strained against her, and the tension made her ache.

“Stop,” she hissed. “Not tonight. Not now.”

The hands stilled, if only for a second.

It had been like this since the transformation. Emi wondered if the arms were a metaphor for her character, or just a very literal piece of bad magic. She was getting better, she reminded herself. The first day, she’d tangled herself in a chair and knocked over a glass of wine with a stray elbow. She’d slept with the four new arms tied in a makeshift cocoon of blankets, just so she wouldn’t punch herself in the face or grope herself—or Norah—every time she rolled over.

She could do this. It was just Andy. She’d known him since the days when extra arms were something she only drew on anime characters, or on those margins of math homework where she was supposed to be solving for x but really she was dreaming up a superhero alter ego. She’d spent half her adolescence hiding behind tree trunks in the woods behind Twin Yews Road, hoping he’d notice her and simultaneously praying he wouldn’t.

The elevator dinged at the Master’s Suite. She did a quick shuffle, arranging her arms into what, on a crash course glance, might pass for normal. Two at her sides, two behind her back, the others knotted tightly at her waist. She breathed in, then out, and when the doors opened, she was met with Andy’s face.

He smiled. Not the “oh, what a science experiment you are” smile, but the one from when they were twelve and she’d shown up at his house after getting in a fight with Laura, and he’d handed her a cookie without comment. It was that exact smile. Even though she could see the flicker of surprise, the quick dart of his eyes over her six arms, he made no comment, just stepped forward and gently, with no trace of sarcasm, offered her his hand.

“Emi,” he said, voice soft, and she tried not to sigh at the way her name sounded so perfect in his voice. “Come on in.”

“Hi,” she managed. “Sorry—I’m still learning where to… where to put these.” She attempted a curtsy, but it ended in a bow, two hands groping her breasts, her two original arms trying to pry them loose, the other two collapsing in a sort of group hug around her midsection. She gasped.

He moved closer, arms out as if to help, but stopped just short, a careful two feet of air between them. “You look great,” he said, and she felt a sting of gratitude. He was treating her as if he couldn’t see the humiliation.

“I feel like a muppet,” Emi said, and the words came out with a laugh she hadn’t planned.

He grinned. “I always liked muppets.”

The Suite was warm, bright. There was a faint scent of jasmine and—something else, deeper, almost herbal—lingering in the air. Andy looked her over, then tilted his head. “You look good, Emi. Really good.”

She ducked her head, cheeks burning. “You don’t have to say that.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I do. It’s the rules.” He waved her toward the sofa, but Emi hovered awkwardly in the entryway, uncertain if she’d knock something over, or worse, knock Andy over.

He watched, then turned and disappeared into the kitchen. “Want some tea? I found a box of mugwort in the pantry. Thought of you.”

The simple statement, the memory… she remembered telling him, in third grade, that mugwort was the fairy tea, and that it let you dream truer dreams… made Emi’s heart stutter in her chest. She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see it, so she cleared her throat and called out, “Yes, please. Thanks.”

She made her way, carefully, to the sofa. She tucked her lower four hands under her thighs, hoping that would be enough. She let herself breathe. The air was sweet, the light soft. She closed her eyes and remembered, for a second, being normal.

Andy returned with two mugs. He set one by her, careful, then sat across from her, elbows on his knees, hands folded. “You’re more present tonight,” he said. “You seem… here.”

She looked up, startled, and for a split second, all six arms wanted to cover her face at once. But she kept them at bay. “I’m trying,” she said, and meant it. “If I don’t, the arms...” She paused, searching for the right word. “They get weird. I have to focus, or else they do what they want.”

He took a sip of tea, nodding. “That’s got to be hard. Like training a pack of cats.”

She giggled, then caught herself. “It’s exactly like that. Sometimes, if I’m not paying attention, they just… start groping people.”

He grinned. “Could be worse. You could have tentacles.”

“Don’t even joke,” she said, shuddering. “I had a nightmare about that last night.”

Andy smiled, thoughtful. “Have you named them yet?”

She blinked, thrown. “You mean the hands?”

“Yeah,” he said, a shy smile. “Sam would have named them by now.”

Emi snorted. “I have met her only two days ago, but I already know Sam would have drawn little faces on them by now.”

They both laughed. The sound made her relax, just a little. Her arms followed suit, draping over her knees and around the mug. She looked up at Andy, and found him watching her, not in the way most of the other girls did—like she was a puzzle or a freak—but with a kind of gentle admiration. He leaned back, stretching out his legs. “You know, I was thinking about old times. Back in Chicago. Remember that summer we built the raft on the river?”

She brightened. “Yes! With the milk crates and the stolen twine. It sank in, like, twelve minutes.”

“More like two,” Andy corrected. “You started crying and Laura just jumped in to save your sketchbook.”

Emi smiled, wide and open. “She hated getting her hair wet. But she never hesitated, not even a little.”

Andy’s face went soft, the memory brightening him from the inside. But then, as if they’d reached a boundary neither wanted to cross, a silence settled. Thinking of Laura, and water, would do that. Emi let her hands drift to her mug, wrapped her fingers around it, careful not to scald herself. She stared down at the cloudy, almost greenish brew.

“I remember I was so embarrassed, after. How old were we then?” She asked softly.

Andy smiled wistfully. “You were thirteen, we were eleven. Everything was embarrassing then. But you weren’t really embarrassed,” he said, and she heard the warmth in his voice. “You just didn’t like being watched. Especially when you cried.”

Emi peeked through her fingers. “That hasn’t changed,” she said. “I’m still terrible at it.” Her extra arms started to shift again, one curling around her shoulder, another reaching up to brush her hair back behind her ear. “It’s worse now,” she admitted, “because everyone stares.”

He nodded, then reached for his own tea. “I try not to. But you’re—” He paused, considered. “You’re easy to look at, Emi.”

She wanted to disappear, but instead, she straightened, and the hands stilled. “Thank you?” she said, quiet.

He set down his cup, then sat back. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“Do you miss her?” Emi asked, so quiet she thought maybe the words never left her throat.

He didn’t answer at first. “Every day,” he said, eventually. “I can’t help it.”

Emi nodded. She understood. The topic was too heavy to touch for more than a second, like the heated mug in her hands.

She set the cup down, folding her arms tight to her body. “So, you want to know about the transformation?”

Andy looked up, met her eyes. “Only if you want to tell me.”

She hesitated. “It’s like… my body is trying to keep up with my brain. If I get nervous, or lost in thought, the arms just act on their own. Sometimes it feels like I’m not in control. Sometimes it’s like there’s another Emi, the one who does the things I’m afraid of.” She reached up—original hand, not mutant—and tugged at the edge of her hair, a nervous tic.

He watched her, thoughtful. “Have you gotten used to it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know that I ever will.” She looked up, meeting his gaze. “I feel like a freak, sometimes. Even when the others try to be nice, it’s like I have to act extra normal to make up for it. If they didn't have a mind of their own, maybe, but... ”

He reached across the table, offering his hand. She put hers in his, surprised by how warm his skin felt. Two of her extra arms tried to join, but she shooed them away with a gentle squeeze.

He grinned. “I think you’re handling it better than I would.”

She snorted. “You’d make a game out of it.”

“I’d lose,” he said, and his sincerity was so plain that she laughed again, this time not holding back.

He tilted his head. “Do you ever get tired? Holding them all still?”

She nodded. “It’s exhausting. Sometimes I just want to let them go, but then…” She hesitated, “I’m afraid of what people will think.”

“Emi,” Andy said, voice low, “If there’s anyone here you can be yourself with, it’s me. You know that, right?”

She nodded, the words burning through her. She wanted to believe him, wanted to just be herself, but the fear was older than her bones.

He squeezed her hand, then let go, gentle. “You still draw for fun, you said yesterday.”

Emi’s lower right hand fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, a nervous tic she couldn’t suppress. “Every day,” she said. “It’s the one thing I can control. Sometimes I draw with my eyes closed, just to see what happens. Now I’m going to have to figure out how to hold three pencils at once.”

Andy laughed, then sobered. “Is it—does it help?”

She nodded, shy. “I told you, I make children’s books, now. Mostly for indie publishers. Sometimes for commissions. But I still draw, every night. Even when I’m tired. I’ve been doing that since we were children.”

He seemed genuinely impressed. “I never knew that.”

She shrugged. “I don’t really tell people. I started after…" She wasn’t going to bring up Laura’s funeral. “Most of the time I just draw for myself. It’s easier than explaining why I’m not, you know… out, or married, or doing normal things.” Her upper left hand reached for her cup again, but her lower right batted it away, impatient. “I’m still living alone.” She shrugged. “I tried dating, but it never really stuck. People always said I was too quiet. Or weird.”

“I never thought you were weird,” Andy said, and something in the way he said it made her believe him.

She sipped her tea, letting the warmth fill her. One of her arms drifted up, almost unconsciously, to brush his cheek. She caught it, surprised, and snatched it back.

“Sorry,” she said, mortified. “They do that sometimes.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “It’s okay.”

For a while, they sat in companionable quiet. Emi relaxed, letting her arms settle however they wanted. One lay across the armrest, another traced invisible patterns on her knee, a third hovered near Andy’s shoulder but never quite landed. The fourth one hesitated near her breast. Her main hands clung to the mug, anchor and shield.

She risked a glance at him. “Do you ever wish you could go back?” she asked, meaning the raft, the milk crates, the days before everything had gotten so complicated.

He thought for a moment. “All the time. I thought if I could just go back and make different choices, everything would be easier. But there’s no going back.”

She nodded. “You always did say the smartest things.”

He rolled his eyes, another wistful smile. “That’s not what Laura used to say.”

“She always said you were a dork,” Emi said, remembering.

He grinned. “She was right.”

After that, the tension drained away, and it felt almost like old times. Emi let herself lean into the moment. For once, she wasn’t counting her mistakes.

It wasn’t until the tea was gone and the moon rose behind the glass that Andy’s voice turned softer, more deliberate. Andy checked the time. “You want to call it a night?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. But...” She paused, then blurted, “Could you help me with the pillows? I have to, um, bind my arms or else I wake up with them all tangled. Or worse.”

He stood, gestured for her to follow. The bedroom was absurdly large, with a king bed that looked more like a runway than a place to sleep. Andy grabbed a stack of pillows and, with Emi directing, arranged them into a kind of padded wall along the length of the bed. Emi lay on her back, original hands folded over her belly, extra four hands tucked under her body.

She giggled. “I look ridiculous.”

He shook his head. “You look like yourself.”

She let her eyes close. “Thank you, Andy.”

He turned to leave, but she called out, “Wait.” She hesitated, then said, “I, um, sometimes my arms… well, in our room, they uh, sometimes grope Norah. In our sleep. I didn’t mean to, but now she sleeps on the floor because of it.” She bit her lip. “Is that weird?”

He stifled a laugh, then gave up and let himself smile. “It’s a little weird, but it’s very you.”

She smiled, drifting. “I hope Norah forgives me.”

“I’m sure she will.”

He sat at the edge of the bed, not quite touching her. “If you need anything, I’ll be here.”

She nodded, already half asleep. Her arms twitched, once, then stilled, cocooned in soft down.

“Good night, Emi,” he said softly, and meant it in every sense.

In response, she murmured, sleepily. “Good night, Andy.”

Andy watched her for a minute, then slipped into his own side of the bed. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, fingers absently tracing the thin cord of the friendship bracelet he still wore. Talking of Laura always made him touch it, as if it could ground him. Tonight he’d have the dreams, he knew.

He closed his eyes, and listened to the soft, even breathing of the girl beside him, who’d always been just out of reach, and now was here, in this impossible place, with all her arms folded peacefully.

——

In the blue, half-lit hour before dawn, Emi woke to the sound of someone breathing softly next to her. She felt the weight and warmth of another body, and for a moment, she was certain she’d drifted back to some middle-school sleepover, all of them sprawled on a futon, sharing pillows and secrets and dreams of running away together to some distant city where nobody knew their names.

But then she remembered where she was. And what she was.

The first thing she noticed was that her arms were tangled, not just the usual two but all six, knotted over her chest and waist like the world’s saddest spider. And the second thing she noticed was that one of them—bottom right, the traitor—was creeping up and over the curve of Andy’s hip, fingers splayed with delicate intent, inching slowly, inexorably, toward the waistband of his pajama pants.

Her face went hot with panic. She tried to yank the hand back, but in her haste, she set the other arms into motion as well. Top left clutched at the blanket; bottom left reached out and patted Andy’s thigh as if to check for damage. Middle right groped her left breast. The original arms went rigid, gripping the bedsheet in mortified silence. Bottom right slipped right under Andy’s waistband and she felt its fingers touch… something, there.

Touched Master’s penis! +2 VP

Andy stirred, murmured something, and blinked awake. For a second, he just lay there, processing the situation. Then he looked at Emi, then at the hand, then back at Emi. He smiled, sleepy but kind.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “You can leave it there, you know.”

She went so red she thought she might faint. “Sorry—sorry, I don’t know why it—” She tried to wrangle all six hands to her sides, but it just made her look like a human bouquet.

He rolled onto his back, stretching. “Stop being so self-conscious, Emi. Seriously. I’m okay,” he said, and before she could protest, he reached over, caught her in a gentle hug, and pulled her close. All six arms ended up folded between them, Emi’s face smashed against his chest. For a moment, it was so intimate, so impossible, that she could only freeze and let it happen.

She felt his breath in her hair. “It’s okay,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t catch it.

She let herself relax, bit by bit, until her limbs stopped quivering. “I’m really sorry,” she mumbled, not knowing if she meant for the hands or for everything.

He propped his head up on one elbow, looked her in the eye. “Emi, if this is forever, or if Arabella’s right about all the rules, I don’t want you to be scared of me. Or of yourself.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m not scared of you.” She thought about it, then said, “Not even a little. I just…” The sentence died in her throat. “I missed you,” she blurted.

He seemed to take this in, weighing it. Then he nodded, slow. “I missed you, too. I didn’t realize how much until you walked through that elevator.”

She looked away, not sure what to do with the words. It felt dangerous to want things. But it also felt good.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It’s nice, having someone from… before.”

She smiled, a little. “Yeah. It’s nice not to have to explain all the references.” She hesitated, then added, “I miss her, too.”

He closed his eyes for a second, as if bracing against a memory, then opened them again. “We don’t have to talk about her, if you don’t want to.”

“No,” she said, a little firmer. “We should remember her.” The hand she’d banished a minute ago found its way to Andy’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I think she’d want us to be okay. Even like this.”

He nodded, his eyes sad but grateful. He started to say something, but she leaned in quick and kissed him, just a brush of lips before her courage could evaporate. Then she gasped, as if shocked by her own daring.

Kissed the Master! +1 VP

Andy was quiet for a moment, then he smiled, wide and genuine. “I always wondered what that would feel like.”

They both laughed, soft and a little shaky. She hugged him, and with six arms, it was as close to a perfect hug as anyone could manage. She pressed her face into his shoulder and let herself be small for a while.

“You still give the best hugs,” he said, voice muffled by her hair.

She giggled, a bright, birdlike sound. “Now with three times the coverage.”

They held on, neither quite ready to let go. After a minute, she leaned back, biting her lip. “Is it okay that I kissed you?”

Andy looked at her, amused. “I’m not going to sue you.”

She rolled her eyes, then, emboldened, gave him another kiss, this time with a little more confidence.

He kissed her back, gentle but full of warmth. “It’s more than okay.”

She smiled, bashful, then pulled back to a more respectable distance. “I’m still figuring out the arms.”

He shrugged. “I think it’s pretty cool.” He paused, thoughtful. “I get to see the real you. Not just the one that’s daydreaming all the time.”

She looked at him, not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. “You always did. Even when I tried to hide it.”

He nodded, serious. “You should try with the others, too. They’d like you.”

She made a face. “I like them. It’s just… easier not to risk it. With you, I always knew you’d be kind.”

He considered this, then smiled. “You should have more faith in yourself, Emi.”

“Does it bother you?” she asked suddenly, hesitant. “That I’m like… this?”

Andy went quiet, then shook his head. “Not at all,” he said, and Emi knew he meant it.

She had to change the subject before she could get emotional. “Are you hungry? I can make breakfast. I promise not to drop anything.”

He grinned. “Let’s see you try.”

She pulled back, untangling herself with a fluidity that surprised her, and rolled out of bed, stretching all six arms above her head until her spine cracked audibly.

Andy watched, propped on one elbow, a lazy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Showoff,” he said.

“Like it?” she teased, and immediately regretted it—was it okay to flirt? Was it weird to treat him like a regular guy? But Andy didn’t recoil. He just rolled to his feet and followed her to the kitchen.

The Master Suite’s kitchen was a wonder: induction stove, marble counters, a fridge stocked with at least five kinds of milk. Emi didn’t bother with a robe—her sleep shirt reached mid-thigh, and in the privacy of the suite, she found herself less concerned with modesty. She moved with a purpose she’d never felt before. One arm poured the coffee, another measured grounds; two more whisked eggs and diced fruit; the last two set the table and arranged the plates with a meticulous grace that made her proud. It was almost like conducting an orchestra.

Andy watched, sipping his coffee. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

She ducked her head, but couldn’t stop the smile. “You really think so? Even with…” She waggled her lower left arm, a little sheepish.

He nodded. “Especially with.”

She brought him a plate, set it down, and slid into the seat across from him, her arms folding automatically. “If I ever figure out how to get rid of them, will you still like me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t care if you have two arms or six, or if you grow wings out of your back. I’ll always like you.”

She smiled, relieved. “Okay.” She paused. “I don’t know if I want to get rid of them. If only I could control them better…” She left the sentence hanging. “Is that weird?”

Andy shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, Emi. I’ll like you no matter what.”

They ate in comfortable silence. She found herself glancing at him, just to make sure he was real. Every time, he caught her, and she’d look away, pretending to be busy with her food. It was silly, but also wonderful.

After breakfast, she sipped her mug and said, “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded. “Shoot.”

She hesitated, then said, “Last night… did you want to do more than cuddle?”

He nearly choked on his juice, then grinned, embarrassed. “It was a perfect night. You didn’t have to do anything else. Honestly, I just wanted to see you.”

Emi flushed, and all six arms froze mid-motion. One holding the kettle. Another cradling the fruit knife. “Oh,” she said. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to hear that. Her cheeks were pink.

He laughed, warm and real, then he looked at her earnestly. “I missed you, you know, once you went away. After…” he trailed off, not trusting himself to speak further, but Emi’s eyes told him she understood.

She bit her lip, then decided to just say it. “I missed you too. I want to try again. Next time, I mean. To stay the whole night without making it weird. I thought maybe if I just… let things happen, it would be okay. But I’m still learning. I want to try harder.”

Andy looked at her, and something gentle flickered in his eyes. “You don’t have to be anything you’re not, Emi.”

She sipped her coffee, grateful for the warmth and the silence. “I know.”

She glanced at his hands, resting on the table, and realized how easy it would be to reach for them, how natural it would feel. She did, with her top left, and he met her halfway.

For a while, they just held hands, eating with the other four between them, laughing when their fingers tangled or when she accidentally knocked over the salt with an errant elbow.

Emi finished her plate, then sat back, arms folding around her midsection in a hug. She stared out the window, watching sunlight creep across the tile.

“I know you’re still hurting,” she said, voice low. “About her.”

Andy didn’t flinch. “Laura?” he asked, as if the name tasted strange, but she heard the catch in his voice.

She nodded. “I remember how you were, after she was gone. Like someone unplugged you.”

He laughed, but it was soft, sad. “Yeah. I think I still am.”

Emi squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to get over her. The bond you had… it doesn’t go away just because someone is gone. I know she’s still in your heart. She’s still in mine, too, but you… You were halves of the same person. You don’t have to get over her, you just… have to let yourself feel something else, too. I’m not trying to be her, or to take her place. But it’s nice, having someone to hold, and to be held by.”

He looked at her, and she saw the hint of tears, just for a second. He blinked them away. “You’re good at seeing people, Emi.”

She shrugged. “It’s easier with you. I don’t have to guess.”

Andy looked down at their hands, then back up. “Do you think it’s weird? That I’m here with all of you, and all I can think about is not letting anyone down?”

She shook her head. “It’s not weird. It’s brave. But you’re allowed to want things for yourself, too.”

He didn’t answer, but the silence said enough.

She cleaned up the kitchen, all six arms working in a strange, beautiful harmony. When she finished, she turned to Andy, hesitated, then walked over and gave him another quick kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she said. “For making this not so bad.”

Andy took her hand—top right, this time—and squeezed it. Then he stepped close and wrapped his arms around her—only two, but it felt like enough.

She laughed, bright and clear. “You’re going to have to try harder if you want to win this hug contest,” she teased, looping all six of her own arms around him in reply.

He grinned, face pressed to her hair. “I think I’m outmatched.”

They stood like that, swaying a little in the golden morning light, the smell of coffee and toast lingering. Emi closed her eyes and let the feeling sink in: comfort, belonging, maybe even hope.

She kissed him on the cheek, then grabbed her things and headed for the elevator, waving with every hand as she left.

Down the hall, Emi walked with her arms folded, a little awkward, but more confident than she’d felt in days. She let herself remember the feeling of Andy’s body against hers, the way his voice softened when he said her name, the way he’d looked at her when she said she wanted to try.

She wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could get used to this. She had been truthful, with him. She knew she had no hope of unseating Laura in his heart, even though she was dead and gone for sixteen years. But Laura had been her friend, too, despite… She shook her head. The point was, she didn’t even mean to try. Yet if Andy was willing to find a path forward, open up a piece of his heart… she smiled wanly. She suspected a lot of women on this island would very much like that, whether they knew it or not.

She pushed open the door to the lounge, and found Liesa and Dawn already there, mats unrolled, the windows flung wide to the ocean breeze.

Dawn waved. “Six high fives, Emi?” she asked, grinning.

Emi laughed, and slapped hands with her, all six in rapid-fire. Liesa applauded while Dawn winced and looked at her palms, then scooted over to make room. “That was a bad idea!” Dawn laughed.

They settled in for yoga, stretching and breathing and laughing every time Emi’s hands wandered into someone else’s space.

For the first time since arriving, Emi felt almost normal.

When the session was done, she lay on her back, arms spread wide, and let the sunlight warm her face. She thought of Andy, of the promise of another night in his bed, of the strange new world opening ahead of her.

She smiled, content, and let herself drift.

For once, her hands were perfectly still.