Matthew Thomas had always known that having two first names was a sure road to confusion. He just figured that confusion would be relegated to strangers, government workers, and substitute teachers who hadn't properly read the class role. That was his mistake, clearly.
"Tommy!"
Theresa Dane, his once step-sister, stood in his apartment doorway with too big eyelashes, badly died blonde hair that seemed both too oily and too dry, and an obnoxiously silver puffer jacket. His first thought upon seeing her was that a hooker had managed to get into the building. Seeing that too wide and too fake smile though, Matt realised who it was with sudden clarity.
His second thought was that he hadn't seen her in five years. Not since his father had divorced from her mother. This was immediately followed by the question of how she'd even found him. He'd moved twice since he'd last seen her, and one of those had been across the country.
Upon hearing her greeting though, his surprised expression turned deadpan, "My name is Matt, Theresa."
She waved a dismissive hand, scoffing, "I knew that. Look, I-"
"Mummy."
Matt looked down to the tiny figure in too big clothes that emerged from behind Theresa's leg.
She had short, oddly cut hair - more like someone had hacked at it with some blunt scissors than tried to style it - that was died an odd shade of sick yellowy-green on one side, with an unwashed chocolate brown on the other. She had huge brown eyes, half-lidded in tiredness, and a rounded face that hinted at baby fat despite being too thin.
"I'm hungry."
Theresa brushed the girls hands off like they were dirty - they were, but that was beside the point if the child was indeed Theresa's - and turned back towards Matt.
"Yes, yes. Look, Matt, I need a small favour," she said.
Those statements never ended well from Theresa. Or her mother for that matter.
"How did you even find me?" asked Matt, legitimately curious as his eyes flicked down to the little girl. The more he looked, the more he could tell she was Theresa's. It was in the point of her little nose, the slight curl to her hair, and the shape of her eyes. He reassured himself that at least this wasn't some sort of kidnapping situation as Theresa replied.
"Saw you down at the bar earlier," she said.
Ah. That made sense. Though why she had a kid - still presumably her own - with her, didn't.
"...and what? Followed me home?" Matt raised a brow.
Theresa did that awful glittery laugh she did when trying to get out of trouble, "Semantics. About that favour. I need you to watch Gwen for a few days."
Theresa brought the child from her side to her front, barely seeming to want to touch her, "Gwen, meet Tommy-"
"Matt."
"-He's my brother-"
"Was."
"-And he's gonna watch you for a few days."
"Theresa, I've got work, I can't just-"
But she was already walking away, waving as she went.
"Thanks Tommy! Really appreciate it!"
Matt's eyes widened and he stepped out of his apartment and into the hallway after her rapidly retreating figure.
"Theresa! Hey!"
"Thanks! You're the best!"
Matt was frankly astounded by how quickly she headed down the hall to the stairwell and out of sight.
He released a breath, looking down at the little girl who looked back up at him as if he was expected to just look after her now.
"Do you have food, Matt?"
Matt stared at her a long moment before he scratched the back of his head in frustration, "Sure kid, but you're gonna wash your hands and face first," he said.
She tilted her head, confused, "Mummy said I only need a couple of baths a week, or it'll waste water."
Matt frowned. Then ushered her inside his apartment, out of the cold hallways, "Your mum is...not always right."
"I know," she said, quietly, like she was disappointed.
Matt closed the door, he had no slippers for her, but her shoes weren't exactly clean either.
"Take your shoes off," he said, "Put them there in the corner."
He watched as she sat on the ground, pulling each shoe off one at a time. They were pull on with elastic laces, but old. Too old. The elastic had just about frayed through.
"Are you my uncle?" she asked as she went to haphazardly throw the shoes in the corner and noticed that all of his were lined up neatly. She fixed her shoes, then stood as he offered her his hand.
"I guess," he said. It was easier than explaining the workings of his father's four divorces to a child that can't have been older than four, "You can just call me Matt though."
She took his hand hesitantly and he walked her to the bathroom.
The sink was way too high. Looking around, Matt realised there was nothing she could feasibly stand on.
"Hold on," he said. He quickly headed down to the kitchen and grabbed one of the two chairs, lifting it and carrying it down the hall.
"Look out," he said as he entered and she backed up swiftly, "Here, stand on this."
She maneuvered herself up onto the seat of the chair with a huff, and Matt couldn't help the slight lift of the corner of his mouth. It was the most adorable thing he'd witnessed in a while.
As she stood high enough to look at him in the mirror though, he suppressed his amusement and grabbed the bar of soap to the side.
Turning the water on he made sure it was somewhat warm as he helped her wash her hands, which she did with avid concentration. Like she'd rarely had the luxury of soap before now.
"It was Gwen, right?" he asked, "Your name."
She nodded, "Gwen Dane."
Two first names. At least hers were typically for different genders.
"How old are you, Gwen?"
"3," she said, "Do I use the soap for my face too?"
Matt looked at her, she probably should, but better to get some food in the evidently too thin child first.
He'd judged her age by how she spoke, not her size. For a 3-year-old she spoke well. Too well. It didn't sit right with him how utterly comfortable she appeared with despite them both being strangers.
"Just water for now, you can have a proper shower after you eat something," he said.
Her eyes widened a fraction, but she didn't argue.
His thoughts drifted to what he had in the kitchen. Nothing particularly nutritious. Orange juice. Maybe a couple of apples or bananas. The rest were cheap ready meals or frozen foods he could throw in the oven.
It was nearly midnight now though, he couldn't head down to the store at this time. Especially not with the current situation.
Face and hands washed and dried, Gwen hopped down from the chair and Matt led the way back to the kitchen, putting it down and indicating for Gwen to take a seat.
"Do you want some juice? Water?"
Gwen seemed thrown for a minute before quietly uttering, "Water, please."
Matt took a glass from the side, then frowned at it and opened a draw, fishing around until he found a plastic straw, lime green in colour. He filled the glass with water from the filter in his fridge then placed it before the girl.
"Drink slow, don't make yourself sick," he said.
She nodded cautiously, sitting on her knees on the chair and grasping the glass with both hands.
Matt turned and opened the freezer. He didn't think ready meals were a good option for a kid.
Perusing the meagre opinions, he pulled out one of the half empty bags.
"How do you feel about chicken nuggets?" He asked.
Gwen looked up and carefully took the straw from her mouth, "They taste okay."
"Are you okay with having them tonight? We'll go shopping for something else tomorrow, assuming your mum doesn't pick you up," Matt said.
"She won't," said Gwen with a sad kind of confidence, "Last time she was gone for a month. Mr. Denk got angry with me."
Matt frowned, "Why?"
"He said I shouldn't be his problem to deal with," said Gwen, "But I don't think mum wants me to be her problem either."
Matt would bet money she didn't. Theresa hadn't ever been the responsible, nor the mothering type. Case in point.
"Where is your dad?" He asked.
She shrugged, "Mum said she didn't know him."
That also, unfortunately, sounded on brand.
It hadn't been Matt's problem for half a decade and he hadn't been planning on it ever being his problem. Now however, he was stuck with a kid that wasn't his for at least the following month.
Given his current situation, it'd probably be kinder to hand her over to child protective services, but that could land her in a worse situation than she was currently in as much as it could improve her life. He'd had friends in foster care growing up that weren't eager to return to such care after school every day.
"We'll have some nuggets tonight, then a proper shower, then get some sleep. Does that sound okay?" asked Matt.
He didn't exactly know why he was asking the 3-year-old. He was supposed to be the adult in this situation. He was only 22 himself though. Working a bar job to keep the lights on whilst he worked out what he wanted to do with his life.
Still, Gwen looked him with thoughtful wide eyes for a moment before she nodded once.
"Chicken nuggets it is."
Matt turned to put the oven on.