Page 51 of Years in the Making

“It’s a girl,” Zoe squeals, and I have to pull the phone away from my ear. I’m sure the dogs below me just perked up. “We didn’t even make it to the car before checking the envelope.”

“That’s amazing, Zo. Congratulations! What did Dad say?” I ask, leaning back against my headboard and trying not to yawn. Zoe had told me that if they were having a girl, they’d name her after Mom.

“He cried. At first I thought he was upset but then he smiled.”

“That’s awesome. I’m glad he reacted well.” In the years since we lost Mom, Dad has been hot and cold about some things. One minute he’d want to reminisce about her, and then the next he’d shut us down if she came up. We’ve all encouraged him to get back out there so he wouldn’t be alone, but he maintains that she was it for him and he doesn’t want to make anyone feel like they’d never live up to her. It’s a feeling I relate to more than I’d like to admit.

I soak up every second I speak to my family. It took me so long to reestablish any kind of relationship with them, but once I got my head on straight I started by calling Zoe, then Will, and finally our father. Repairing our relationships hasn’t been the easiest thing, but I’m glad we have gotten as far as we have.

When I hang up, I wonder how things are going to work with Nellie. I’m the only one at fault in our relationship, orwhatever you’d call us now. She owes me absolutely nothing, while I owe her years of apologies. I had dreamt of seeing her again but never knew how she’d react if she saw me. Would she even care? Had we meant anything to her, like we had meant to me? That first day back in December sure made it seem like I had meant something, but since then… Well, she’s made it clear that nothing more was going to happen, and she’s made that easy by keeping her distance every chance she got.

I don’t know what is worse anymore, having her back but not being with her or not seeing her at all.

TWENTY

NELLIE

“It’s not that I want them to die,” I say, peeking through the window that faces my backyard. “I just don’t want them to be there anymore. A retirement home, or just a different house that’s not next to me, or… spontaneous combustion.”

“To be fair,” Izzy says, coming up beside me, “spontaneous combustion would most definitely result in death.”

I shrug as I catch sight of Mrs. Dipietro squinting into my backyard from her deck. “Okay, maybe death is the best option. There’s no coming back from it,” I huff, sitting back down on my stool at the island and immediately feeling guilty.

“Why do you let them control when you can and can’t be in your own yard?” Izzy asks, still staring out the window.

“Because I’m afraid that one day one of them is going to say something so unforgivable, I’m going to end up saying something that will shock them so thoroughly they’ll drop dead.”

“Problem solved!” Izzy claps.

“I don’t want to kill them, Iz,” I gasp. “When they die, I want it to be of natural causes, preferably peacefully in their sleep. And not until it’s their time.”

“Well, excuse me for taking this conversation to a dark place.”

“Okay,” Tom says, sighing heavily as he walks into the kitchen. “The faucet is no longer dripping every three seconds. It was a pretty simple fix. You probably could have done it yourself.”

“She’s aware, honey. But she also knows that she didn’t want to do it, and if it happens again, she won’t want to do it then either.”

I point over at Izzy. “That’s exactly it. Besides, I had to finish the salad.”

“Is it the one with grapes and asiago?” Tom asks, walking over to the counter where a saran-wrapped bowl sits.

“It is,” I reply slyly.

“Okay, we’re even.”

“Also, when I get a dog, you get to come play with it whenever you want. Unless I’m entertaining, then you have to wait.”

“You’re not getting a dog,” Izzy says, as she starts packing up stuff to go to Bennett and Marley’s. “You don’t have time.”

“Well, that’s because I pick up extra work, due to the fact I don’t have a life. If I had a dog, it would give me some more”—I pretend to think—“damn, what’s that thing called when you work but also do stuff you want to do for fun? There are scales and shit…”

“Work-life balance?” Tom tosses out.

I snap my fingers and nod. “Yes, work-life balance. I think a dog would help with that.”

Izzy’s eyes narrow at her husband. “Don’t for one second think that’s an excuse for us to get a dog. You balance plenty with work.”

“Babe, golf is work.”

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