Page 157 of Between the Lines

“Sell it, Nate. Don’t make a mausoleum out of Mom and Dad’s memories. My memories are ofyou, man, not that house. It’s meant for like, a family of five anyway. Do you honestly enjoy cleaning it?”

He chuckles, and so do I.

“I hired a cleaning service back in the day,” I admit scratching my neck. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. We can take the summer to say goodbye, but I think we both need to move on.”

Move on.

From our parents’ death? From the tragedies that encompassed our youth? I’m not sure how that’s possible.

But with my brother now on the same side as me, I see hope on the horizon.

All I’m missing is my girl at my side, and if I can get over this hurdle that has been building for over twenty years, I feel like hope is on my side too.

sixty-two

claire

I pull into my parents’driveway for my sister-date with a little more excitement than nervous anticipation. I’m taking Harper and Zoey out to the library and to dinner. The hope I have that they’re waiting in the front window and will simply dash out the door and into my car without me having to walk up vanishes when the front doordoesopen, revealing my mother.

Even in her clear state of disarray, she’s got a full face of makeup and stands tall in her Jimmy Choo’s. I’ll give her that.

Taking a breath of resilience, I turn off the car, shove my keys into my pocket, and meet her on the porch.

We stand there in silence. I guess I can’t say I inherited nothing from her—we clearly share stubbornness.

She surprises me when she speaks first.

“The girls are inside getting ready. Do you want to come in?”

Suddenly, the February air is biting, and I nod, following her in.

The house looks like a bomb hit it. Shoes, toys, and clothes are everywhere. Sonny’s toys are dumped in the entryway. Oliver is crying in the living room, and Mom is quick to attend to him. When I get there, she is pointing at the TV in disarray.

“Ollie, buddy, I don’t know whatdig-dogmeans.”

From the anguish on her face, I can tell this isn’t the first time today that they’ve had this conversation. And, from the red hue on Ollie’s cheeks, I can tell this isn’t the first time he’s asked. I approach gently.

“Can I try?”

“Please,” she all but begs.

“You want Mickey Mouse, buddy?”

“Yes!”

The relief that washes over both of them could flood the living room. They collapse onto the couch, Oliver on Mom’s lap. I wonder if they’ll both pass out from sheer exhaustion before I can even queue up his show.

His thumb is in his mouth, head tilted back onto her shoulder, as the theme toMickey Mouse Clubhouseplays softly. I can hear Zoey and Harper getting ready upstairs, and while I long to grab them and run, something tells me to sit down. It takes us past the Mouseketools to talk.

“How’d you know what ‘dig dog’ meant?” she asks. And for the first time, I can sense vulnerability in my mom.

Glancing to see that Oliver is passed out, I snag the remote and fast-forward to the end where they sing the hot dog song.

“His favorites show isMickey Mouse Clubhouse.He and Harper fight, because she would rather watchBluey. I make them play rock-paper-scissors for it, and who ever loses gets to pick first the next time.”

I shrug. This is second nature to me, but to her, it’s like reading a manual in a different language.

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