Page 67 of Ticket to You

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” Joel asks, placing Ophelia’s sundae in front of her.

Joel insisted on picking everyone’s sundae toppings, already knowing the family’s preferences and wanting to guess Ophelia’s. Her long crystal bowl is filled with three perfectly balanced scoops of vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate ice cream. There’s a drizzle of hot fudge and three picture-perfect whipped topping towers. Finally, a bright red cherry tops the masterpiece. Joel hands out the other sundaes. They’re all thrown together with far less care and attention to detail.

My family—aside from Mom—already loves Ophelia. Staring at her bowl of ice cream, warmth radiates through me. I’ve always wanted to feel my family’s acceptance. I didn’t expect that acceptance to come through someone else.

Ophelia twists her bowl around to get a full view. “This belongs in an ad.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You said you like beautiful things.”

“Which begs the question ofwhyyou’d want to spend time looking at Adam,” Micah says, and I flick a slivered almond from my sundae at him.

“Philly, we’ve spent way too much time talking about our Mom,” Jude says. “What’s your mom like? Is she as dictatorial as Naomi?”

“Jude,” Dad warns gently. “Be kind to your mom.”

Ophelia twists her spoon through her ice cream absentmindedly. “I don’t know my mom.”

“Lucky you,” Micah whispers.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dad says, reaching over the table to pat Ophelia’s arm.

Meanwhile, I shoot warning looks at my brothers, mentally begging them to drop the subject. But they don’t pick up on my sibling telepathy.

“How did she pass?” Joel asks.

Ophelia smiles, but the corners of her mouth seem to fight the motion like they’re weighed down with grief. “Your mom is very involved in your lives, so I’m not surprised you would assume that my mother must be dead rather than simply…uninterested in me.”

“How awful,” Eloise whispers.

“It’s alright. I never knew her, so it’s not like I actuallylosther, right? Can’t lose something you never had.” Ophelia inhales heavily.

“No wonder you’ve put up with our mom for this long,” Jude says, snickering. “She looks pretty good by comparison.”

“Jude,” I scold, but Ophelia just laughs.

“No, no. You’re right. Little did your mom know that the tense handshake she gave me was more motherly affection than I’ve had for years. She’s practically a saint in my eyes.” Ophelia looks slowly around the table. Her eyes connect with mine last, and she breaks into a bright, captivating smile. “You’re all lucky to have each other.”

35

OPHELIA

I spendSaturday evening in Abrams Family Boot Camp. They test my skills at all of their favorite games: Scrabble, Boggle, and Catan. They show me their favorite home movies, which include a particularly endearing recording of Adam playing the Tin Man in his elementary school’s production ofThe Wizard of Oz.He looked so damn cute with that silver face paint and talked so quietly on stage, I can hardly hear anything. And we spend hours digging through more family photos, including a whole album of Adam’s childhood Beanie Babies collection.

Adam’s brothers and I trade sarcastic comments. Eloise is always at my side, and Adam is always at the other. Adam hardly talks around his family. Three months ago, I would’ve thought this was him brooding, but now I know Adam is simply being observant. While we all look through albums of old family photos, David watches me and Adam with a proud look on his face.

I can’t believe how many pictures there are of all the kids. Of course, they have photos at graduations, school dances, family vacations, and the sort. But there are also endless photos of their everyday lives: Joel giving Jude his first buzz cut, Micah showing off his loose tooth, Eloise braiding her Barbie’s hair, Adam aiming his camera at a butterfly in the back garden. Is it possible Naomi and David truly cared this much about the bigandthe little things in their family?

“So, Philly, are you excited about your upcoming trip?” Joel asks, handing me a new album.

I look up from the picture of toddler Adam in his Superman underwear and cape. “Sorry?”

“You know, three months all around Southeast Asia? Indonesia, Singapore, Thailand…” Joel’s voice trails as he reads my expression.

“You’re not going?” Eloise asks, tightening her arm around mine. Her voice is hollow, tinged with worry.

“And leave the readers ofAtelier Todaywith no guidance on the shoe of the season or the best methods of pattern pairing?” I ask, hoping my humor will encourage them to drop the conversation.

Eloise isn’t willing to let this topic die with a simple, dismissive joke. “Can’t you write about that in Adam’s new magazine? It’s all about culture, right? Food, travel, music, that sort of thing? Fashion can fit right in there.”

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