My dad nods. “Yep. Starbucks. You have birthday money, right? Knock yourself out.”
“I don’t want Starbucks. I want to sit down and have pancakes with my family.”
My dad harrumphs. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty, as they say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Poppy rolls her eyes. Sighs. “It means you should’ve thought of what you were doing before you did it.”
I turn to her. “And what exactly is it that you think I did?”
She shrugs matter-of-factly. “Ruined our family.”
My mom winces. But she only spends a split second with that expression on her face before she goes back to her juice and the conversation she was having with my dad. “Might as well work through today and get it done. Refill?” She holds the juice pitcher up to my dad. He nods, and she pours OJ all the way to the top, emptying the pitcher so there’s none left for me.
Poppy chews on her pancakes. Sequoia stabs at blueberries with his fork. My mom and dad look at each other and smile their unspoken smile.
I’m on the outside looking in.
Like I’m in one of those stories where a person has come back as a ghost and wants to make enough noise to let the people they care about know they’re there, but no matter how much they scream and shout, nobody hears them.
The toaster dings as my toast springs out. I plunk it onto my plate, grab a glass from the drying rack next to the sink and fill it with water, and take a seat next to Poppy.
“So this is how it’s going to be? Everyone is going to ignore me?”
“I don’t know what you expect us to do,” my mom says. “You’ve chosen to spit in the face of everything we stand for. Everything we’ve fought for and believe to our core. How do you expect us to feel?”
“I tried talking to you about it. I tried everything to avoid it going this far. I had no other choice.”
“No other choice?” My dad’s face goes red and bulgy. He reminds me of Teddy at the party after the football game. “You do realize you can’t come back from this, right? You take us to court, you get your vaccinations, and things will never be the same in this family. I promise you that.”
Poppy sits there opening and closing her mouth like she’s debating whether or not to chime in.
“Maybe I don’t want to come back from it!” I yell. “Maybe I want everything to change.”
Sequoia puts his hands over his ears to block out my shouting.
“Well, you’ve certainly done a good job of it,” my mom says.
“Do you not want to live here anymore?” my dad says. “Do you not want us to be your parents anymore?”
“No.” My bottom lip wobbles. I try not to cry. “I want to live in this house. I want to live with my parents and my family.”
“Well, you can’t have it both ways,” my dad says. “You can’t actively decide to go against everything we believe in and expect us to throw you a party at the same time. These choices you’ve made, they change everything. They change the dynamic of this house. You and your mom and me. Poppy and Sequoia. Everything’s different now. And excuse me if I’m not going to high-five you for making it happen.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” my mom sputters tearfully.
“I’m done, too,” my dad says, scooting away from the table.
Poppy clears the plates, sets them in the sink, and leaves, too.
Sequoia and I are left sitting at the table together. He chomps on his last bite of pancake. I watch him until he looks at me. Grins a gummy grin that comes from missing his top two front teeth. He wriggles in his seat, leaning his chair back and almost losing his balance. He rights himself quickly and pushes away from the table.
I reach for his hand. Pull him back to me.
“What?” he says, sitting down again.
“Don’t go.”
“Why?”
“Do I have to have a reason?”
“Guess not.” He picks at a blueberry. Tosses it into his mouth. Studies me. “But why?”
“Do you hate me?”
“You’re my sister.”
“So?”
“So how could I hate you if you’re my sister? I’m supposed to love you.”
“But do you actually love me or do you just think you’re supposed to love me?”
He props his elbow on the table, rests his chin in the palm of his hand like he really has to think about it. “I actually love you.”
My eyes mist. My vision blurs. “Thanks.”
His eyes crinkle. “Why are you crying?”
I swipe at my face. “I just am.”
He studies me. Shrugs. “Okay.”
I spend the rest of the day continuing to feel like a ghost in my own house, shuffling down hallways and tiptoeing down stairs. Pouring a glass of water. Taking a shower. Brushing my hair. Reading my books.
My Snow Ball dress hangs from a hanger on the back of my door. Sometimes, when I walk past it, I create enough of a breeze to make it flutter. Last night already feels like a lifetime ago. My dress is a memory. A ghost, too.
I spend my day alone.
Nobody comes to check on me.
Nobody cares.
FORTY
On Christmas Eve a week later, my whole family piles into Bessie to make the trek up to Sacramento to stay with Mimi and Bumpa. As if my parents aren’t embarrassing enough, they insist on dressing Bessie like a reindeer at Christmastime, with antlers on the windows and a red nose on the front bumper. I’m always positive people in other cars on the freeway are rolling their eyes at us. So I’m not sad when the rain picks up and Bessie loses an antler and her red nose to the downpour. The traffic gets more horrendous, but I’m grateful for the reprieve it brings because it means my mom and dad will be too busy focusing on taking turns driving to bother arguing with me. I nestle into the cocoon of a blanket in the back of the van, leaning my bed pillow against the window until I fall asleep to the sound of the rain on the roof.
We make a few bathroom stops and take a lunch break. Because of the pouring rain, we have to eat the picnic my mom packed inside the van in the parking lot of a gas station. When we finally arrive in Sacramento, we’re all swept up in hugs and Duke barking and nipping at our legs. I pick him up and nuzzle him.
“Aw, he missed you,” Mimi says. “He’s been so excited all day, almost like he knew you were coming back to him. Bet he can’t wait for you to take him for a walk.”
When I stayed last summer, Duke slept on my bed every night. I scratch him under his chin and he licks my wrist. “I missed him, too.”
“Bad traffic?” Bumpa asks, because traffic is his favorite subject. He lives for stories about harrowing travel conditions.
My dad puffs up his chest like he just survived the Indy 500. “What should’ve been a six-hour drive took nine.”
“Wowza. How many accidents did you pass?”
“At least five,” Poppy brags.
“Thank goodness you survived,” Mimi says, scratching Duke’s scruffy neck. Some strands get caught on the big, fat diamond of her wedding ring and she has to untangle herself.
“Mimi, where do you want us?” my mom asks.
“Russell’s old room. I’ve got Juniper in the guest room. And Poppy and Sequoia can take the sofa bed in the rec room.” She looks at them, grinning. “There’s a second Christmas tree up there.”
Poppy squeals in excitement. I have to hold back from doing the same because the truth is, I want to do a happy dance, too. The guest room is downstairs, away from all the other bedrooms, and it has its own TV and bathroom. It’s where I stayed this past summer, but I thought Mimi might give the room to my parents since it’s more private.
“Both trees have twinkle lights,” Bumpa informs us, like they’re some fancy new technology.
“Cool,” I say to humor him.
My dad grabs the suitcases, leaving my duffel bag on the floor by the piano, and heads upstairs. My mom goes to the kitchen to unpack her reusable groce
ry bags of food, because she doesn’t trust Mimi’s refrigerator or pantry.
Mimi whispers to me, “How many superfoods will she have us consuming this week?”
“Tons.”
Bumpa lands in his La-Z-Boy with a grunt and points the remote at the TV. Sequoia rushes to the couch, eager to watch whatever he puts on.
Mimi pokes at the logs in the fireplace as their flames rise and crackle, the reflection catching in the big silver bulbs decorating the Christmas tree. Duke curls up on the rug in front of Mimi’s feet, rests his head on his paw, and closes his eyes.
It’d be the perfect day-before-Christmas setting if there wasn’t that anger from my parents bubbling underneath the surface.
“One hour of TV. And only something educational,” my mom mumbles to us as she passes again. She turns to Mimi. “I’m going to lie down for a bit. It was a long drive.”
“Do you need me to do anything?” I ask.
“Nope,” my mom says. “You make up your own rules now anyway.”
“Mom—”
“What’s that about?” Mimi says as the door shuts upstairs and my dad shuffles back into the living room.
“Oh, you didn’t hear, Mom?” My dad flops down on the couch, pushing the decorative holiday pillows into a pile to the right of him. “Juniper is taking us to court. Apparently she can take care of herself now.”
“That’s not the whole story.” I turn to Mimi. “I just want to get my vaccinations.”
“Ah.” Mimi nods her head knowingly. “I could’ve told you something like this would happen eventually.” She looks at my dad. “Your kids are going to grow up and realize your ways are too extreme, Russell.”
My dad tosses a glare at his mom that isn’t unlike one I’d give my own mom. “I didn’t come here to be lectured about the way I’m raising my kids.”
Mimi shrugs. “Very well. Snacks, anyone?”
“Mom,” my dad warns. “Melinda brought food for them. They should eat that.”
“Fine. I’ll have a look. Come on, kids.”
Sequoia pops up from the couch immediately, but Poppy chooses to stay by my dad’s side when he hands her the remote for the TV.
Bumpa snuffles out a snore.
“Looks like we already put him to sleep,” Mimi says.
“Think I’ll do the same,” my dad says, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. “Remember, Poppy, only something educational.”
Mimi rolls her eyes and heads to the kitchen, with Sequoia hopping behind her. She pulls a package of Oreos out from the pantry and puts her finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” she says, and Sequoia looks at me uneasily.
“They’re good,” I tell him. “You eat the insides first. Here, I’ll show you.”
Mimi plunks the package onto the middle of the table, and we all settle into our chairs. I twist the top off an Oreo and lick at the white goo in the middle. Sequoia untwists his own cookie and tentatively touches the tip of his tongue to the filling. He screws up his face in disgust and bites into the chocolate wafer instead. He grabs a napkin from the holder on the table and wipes the white residue off the other half so he can toss that wafer in his mouth, too.
Mimi laughs. “I guess your mom still wins this one.”
“Not entirely,” I say as I lick up more filling and push the wafers I didn’t lick over to my brother.
“So tell me what this court thing is about,” Mimi says, tapping her Christmas-red nails against the table.
I fill her in as she tuts and groans, finally shaking her head in exasperation as I finish.
“They don’t want to even try to listen,” I say.
“I’ve certainly tried to talk to them myself,” Mimi says. “As a parent, I support their right to raise their children as they see fit. But for crying out loud, they’ve got to get out of their own heads. Your dad tries so hard, but sometimes it’s too hard. He doesn’t realize how he ends up pushing people away.”
“He’s very stubborn,” I say.
“Ha!” Mimi guffaws. “Stubborn is an understatement. Did you know he got booted from the Boy Scouts for refusing to wear the uniform?” She can’t help but smile at the memory, the same way my mom gets all choked up when she tells me about something I used to do when I was little. “And he never played sports, because he didn’t like the idea of looking like everyone else.” She waves her hand. “Thank goodness I didn’t send him to Catholic school. He would’ve led a revolt.”
“Yep. Classic Dad.”
“He means well, I know that, but he’s a stubborn one, isn’t he? Skipping sports because of uniforms. My goodness.”
“Yeah. Sometimes it’s not so bad to be on a team.”
“Exactly.” She pats my hand. “I’ll try to talk to them for you. Again.”
“Thanks for offering, but I wouldn’t expect them to listen,” I say.
“I can be calm and rational when I want to be.”
“I’m sure you can. But I’m not sure they can.”
I stand up and wet a paper towel to wipe off the chocolate crumbs that have collected all around Sequoia’s mouth. He jerks away and rushes to the living room when I’m done.
Two seconds later, my dad bursts into the kitchen.
“Oreos, Mom? Seriously?”
“He only had a few. And he didn’t even eat the filling.”
My dad pulls at his hair in frustration. “What do I have to do to get you to respect our rules?”
“This is my house. I have rules, too. And they include spoiling my grandchildren.”
“Your rules do not apply to my children when it puts them at risk.”
“From a cookie?” Mimi says. “Please.”
He looks at me. “I’m sure you encouraged this, right?”
Mimi stands up. “She had nothing to do with it. I pulled the cookies from the pantry and Sequoia didn’t even like them. I doubt he’ll ever try another one as long as he lives, so calm down.”
My dad talks through gritted teeth. “Do not tell me to calm down.”
“Oh, go take your nap,” Mimi says, shoving the Oreo package back into the pantry. “You need it. That long drive made you grumpy.”
My dad groans and stomps out of the kitchen.
I stifle a laugh in my hand. “Is it weird to say that’s the most I’ve related to him in the last year?”
Mimi laughs. “Nope. That was definitely a flashback to his teen years. Next thing you know, he’ll tell me I need to relax because piercing his ears with a safety pin he pulled from my sewing kit was no big deal.”
“He did that?”
“Oh, he did. And I have the trip to the doctor and the antibiotics to prove it.”
FORTY-ONE
Later that evening, when the rain has let up, Mimi asks Poppy and me to take Duke for a walk around the block. He gets all excited as soon as he sees me grab the leash, rushing for the door and yipping. I clip the leash to his collar, and my sister and I head out to the sidewalk.
It’s dark now and various houses are lit up with colorful Christmas lights. The air is crisp and clean, like the rain washed everything dirty away.
Duke pokes his nose into the wet grass and mossy tree trunks of every house we pass.
Poppy’s quiet for the first block or two. And then she turns to me, her face serious. “Am I supposed to choose a side?” She holds tight to Duke’s leash. “Between you and Mom and Dad?”
“No. You can do whatever you want.”
“It doesn’t feel like that. You can basically taste the tension in our house. My insides hurt when we’re all in a room together. I swear I’m going to throw up one of these days.”
“But it’s not about you.”
“Yes, it is. It’s about our whole family. And I’m a part of this family, too.”
Duke happily bounces along at my side, completely oblivious to Poppy’s annoyance. I envy him.
“You don’t have to choose a side,” I say.
We stop to let Duke do his business and Poppy ha
nds me a plastic baggie to scoop it when he’s done.
We walk another block in silence. When we arrive back at Mimi and Bumpa’s, Duke has a spring in his step and I have a pit in my stomach. I don’t want my sister to feel sick because of me. I only ever wanted this to be a thing between my parents and me.
I can hear Mimi laughing through the front door when we walk up to it. The Christmas tree lights glow through the window, and white twinkle lights crisscross the eaves of the house. It all seems so festive and fun. Maybe being with Mimi and Bumpa is just what our family needs.
Poppy opens the front door and I unclip Duke from his leash. But when a car pulls into the driveway next door, Duke takes off running, tearing across the front yard and into the neighbors’ driveway, all barks and bounces.
“Duke!” I yell as he jumps up and down at the driver’s side of the car.
The door opens and I recognize Noah, the boy from college with the tattoo and the lawn mower and the boring-sounding internship. I wonder if he’s literally just getting home from school, his duffel bag full of dirty laundry in the trunk. I shouldn’t care. I like Nico way more than I ever liked Noah. But I can’t help but be curious after all those weeks I spent wondering about him last summer.
Noah stomps his foot and shoos Duke away.
Duke barks back.
“Get out of here,” Noah says.
“Sorry,” I say, rushing over to scoop up Duke.
When my eyes move from Duke to Noah, I notice he’s wearing a North Face jacket, the long sleeves covering his tattoo, and a baseball hat. He doesn’t look like the same guy who headed to his fancy financial internship last summer. He just looks like a regular kid home from college.
“That dog is always so out of control,” he says.
“Duke?” I scratch at Duke’s head and he leans into my hand, licking my face. “No, he’s not. Maybe he just missed you.”
Noah slams his door shut. “Doubt it. I hate dogs. That one’s always just been too dumb to figure it out.”
His tone is harsh. Like a slap in the face. I take a step back. In a split second, any fantasy I ever had about Noah is destroyed.
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