Page 17 of Only Mostly Devastated

“My fingers aren’t big enough,” Crista complained, spreading her hand like a starfish over the fret board.

I rolled back on my haunches to see for myself. On the one hand, she kind of had a point. Her fingers were skinny and short, little spidery things. At best, she’d end up with killer cramps after a few chord progressions. Then on the other hand (no pun intended) I’d seen a four-year-old onEllennail Santana, so,really, she was years behind already.

I couldn’t quite bring myself to explain to my little cousin that her weak will was bringing shame on the family, and that Ellen would never want her at this rate. Instead, I grabbed the neck alongside her. “Here. Put one finger here on the fifth string. Remember which one that is? Perfect. And then this one”—I grabbed her middle finger and raised it—“up here on the sixth string. I’ll hold this one down here. Remember which string this is?”

“First.”

“Great job, right. Now, do you think you can give it a strum as well?”

“That’s too far, Ollie. You do it.”

“I do it,” Dylan interrupted. Up until now he’d been playing some pig-based game on his iPad near his bed like a good twenty-first-century toddler. I should’ve known he was following along with what Crista and I were doing on the guitar. If Crista was doing it, Dylan wanted to do it, too. Luckily for the sanity of everyone in the family, Crista didn’t mind indulging him. Once or twice, I’d actually caught her staring at him while he slept with a slightly deranged expression, while whispering, “Sleep well, Anna,” to him. I assumed Crista was probablyFrozenrole-playing,so I didn’t ask. Well, that and because I was secretly terrified she’d come out with something horrifying, like, “Anna was the girl who lived here a hundred years ago, and is currently sleeping next to Dylan right now.”

All I’m saying is, I’ve seen enough horror movies to have a healthy mistrust of kids.

“Pinch your hand like this and play it, Dyl,” Crista instructed. Dylan did as he was told, and honestly it wasn’t half bad. Maybe I was putting myEllenhopes on the wrong cousin, here.

“Awesome, guys. That’s what a G-seven sounds like.”

Crista’s grin was so big you’d think she’d wrapped up a performance in a sold-out amphitheater. “Can you play the song again, please?”

“Which one?”

“The one that goes daa-da-daa-da-da-da.”

Unfortunately, Crista’s singing abilities were questionable, so I remained lost. I shrugged, while Dylan absentmindedly strummed the guitar. “I’ve, uh… forgotten that one.”

Crista sighed, like I wasthebiggest idiot she’d ever met. Oh no, not her, too. “The one with all the chords.”

Right, that one. Thatreallynarrowed it down.

“Because you showed me the C, and the A minor, and then I couldn’t do the G one, and you said you’d show me that tonight.”

Suddenly it clicked. She wasn’t talking about an actual song I knew, just a progression I’d made up on the fly the other night while I was keeping an eye on the kids in the tub. I grabbed the guitar and played what I could remember, narrating as I went. “So it’s C… A minor… F… and G-seven, like you guys just played.”

Crista jumped up and started spinning in circles, hertight curls splaying out behind her. “It sounds like ‘Let It Go’!”

I mean, not really. No. “Oh yeah, I can see that.”

Why do we lie to children?

I kept playing the progression, and Crista pretended to fling off an imaginary glove, with Dylan twirling around behind her now. Before Crista could burst into song, like I was 90 percent sure she wanted to, Aunt Linda pushed open the door. I hadn’t even heard everyone come home. It was impossible to predict how long I’d be babysitting when Aunt Linda had appointments in oncology. Sometimes she and Uncle Roy would be home in half an hour, sometimes I’d get a text with her credit card details asking me to order Chinese for delivery. Hence, why I’d started leaving a guitar here. Figured I might as well give myself something productive to do if my shift got extended.

“Hey, munchkins,” she said as she scooped Dylan into a hug. “What are you still doing up?”

“Well, funny story,” I said, letting Crista take over the guitar. “I went to the bathroom for one second, I swear,tenseconds at most. Then when I came out, a quarter of the Nutella jar was magically gone.”

“Magically gone?”Aunt Linda repeated, raising her eyebrows. Neither Dylan nor Crista met her eye.

“Magically,” I confirmed. “I know it had nothing to do with these two, because they told me it didn’t, and I know they’d never lie. Then, Aunt Linda, thefunniestthing, after I’d cleaned all the Nutella off their faces and hands, they had all thisenergy.Almost like they’d had a whole heap of sugar.”

“How mysterious,” Aunt Linda said, putting Dylan back down. She seemed out of breath, just from holdinghim for that long. “And I’m sure the Nutella on their faces was a coincidence, too?”

“Total coincidence.”

Aunt Linda shared a conspiratorial glance with me. I could tell she wasn’t pissed, but looking at her, I felt guilty for not trying harder to get the kids to sleep on time. Her eyes were all puffy and red, and the wrinkles on her face seemed more obvious than usual.

“Okay, guys, time for bed,” I said, getting up. “For real.”

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