Page 106 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
“Yes.” I hold out my hands, taking the lights from her. “Everyone is fine.”
Her shoulders slump in relief. “Thank God.”
“Speaking of Mom.” I redirect my gaze to a framed cross stitch hanging on the wall, displayed in the middle of family photos. The quoteThat’s what she saidis encircled by embroidered flowers. “Have you heard from her today?” When I look back at her, my sister narrows her eyes.
“Why?”
I shrug. “No reason.”
When I don’t say more, she walks into her craft room to the pink tree and picks up a sectioned ornament box on the floor.
I follow, surveying the open shelves topped with baskets and a pegboard filled with spools of thread on a wall above the sewing table. There’s even a large drop-down table installed on another wall, currently folded up to make room for the tree. There’s stuff everywhere, but all artfully organized.
My sister isreallyinto DIY.
One shelf has rows and rows of jars of glitter. All lined up and gleaming in the morning light streaming through the front window, reminding me of Rose and why I’m here.
“Were you ever angry at Dad?” I hadn’t realized the question that I needed to ask until now.
Brit freezes, eyes wide. “Are yousureyou’re okay?”
My breath comes out in a huff, embarrassment setting in. “Why would you think something’s wrong?”
Her eyebrows rise. “Why?” She scoffs. “Maybe because you’re doing things you never do.” She waves her hand, now holding a large pink iced donut ornament. “Bringing someone to Thanksgiving dinner, playing video games with your nephews online, stopping by my house unannounced. Asking aboutDad.” She reaches out and hangs the donut at the top of the tree next to an ice cream decoration.
The whole tree is confectionary themed.
“When people start doing things like that, it usually means they’re sick.” Brit leans back, checking the donut placement. “Or in love.” Her mouth drops open as wide as her eyes. “Oh my God.” Her head swivels slowly in my direction. “You’re in love.”
When I don’t deny it, a large, Cheshire grin spreads over her face. “Iknewyou were more than just friends with Rose.” She pumps her fist. “Yes. This is so great.” Lost in her own thoughts, she tells me about how the boys each got notes from their teachers praising their newfound feminist terminology. And how Rose has been sharing her Fortnite treasure boxes with them when they play together online so they could all climb the ranks together.
All things that prove how good Rose is with kids. Prove how amazing she’ll be with ours.
“Vance?”
I shake off my thoughts, still not ready to go there yet.
Brit leans in and squints at me. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
I ignore her. “Do you remember when Dad died?”
She retreats into her own space and sighs, like she was hoping I’d forgotten about my earlier question. She might be right when she said I never talk about Dad, but neither does she.
“Yeah, I remember.” Brit opens a large cabinet revealing a stunning display of organized chaos. Small tubes of paint, ribbon spools and jars of beads all color-coded and lined up in clear containers on shelves. It hits me that this is my sister’s version of a glitter room. And, if given the chance, she and Rose would be great friends. Sisters.
Brit grabs a bag of light pink tinsel and hands it to me. “Here.”
I frown but take it.
Then Brit picks up a cupcake ornament from the box. “We’ve never really talked about Dad, have we?” She assesses the tree, then squats down to place the white and blue ornament toward the bottom. “Come on.” She gestures at the bag in my hand. “If we’re going to get sad, you can at least help me tinsel.”
I move carefully around the tree. “How do you tinsel?”
“Pinch a few strands then toss them artfully on the ends of the branches.” She points to the top of the tree. “Start there.”
“Okay.” I elongate the word, having no idea how to artfully do anything. “But don’t blame me if it looks bad.”
“I make no promises.” She waits for me to start. Once I do, she frowns and nods, like it isn’t perfect, but she’ll let me slide.
