Page 89 of You're so Basic

“Even your cast is pretty,” Izzy says. “I broke my arm falling from a slide when I was three. I don’t remember it, but Mom got me a white cast. Can you believe it? All of the colors in the world and she got white. Can I sign yours? I can write my name the right way, except sometimes my y goes in the wrong direction.”

“You can sign it any way you like,” Mira says, then glances at me and grins. “You know, your uncle hasn’t written anything on it yet, and he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“Uncle Danny needs people to tell him what to do sometimes.”

It takes children to truly bite through to the heart of something. It’s true. I should have signed it. I’ve seen other people do it. Leonard. Delia. Burke. A message from Azalea is on there, too, plus a few other people whose names I don’t know. I’ve noticed the messages and drawings. But it never occurred to me that Mira might want me to write something—and she’s never asked. This is probably one of those situations whereIwas supposed to ask.

Ruthie comes up to us and nudges me with her shoulder in greeting. I put my arm around her and squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, meaning it. Then I introduce her to Mira, who balances on her crutches to shake hands. My sister, the shorter of the two of them by far, pulls her in for a hug that nearly knocks her over.

“I like you already,” Ruthie says into her shoulder. “You’ve lived with Danny for two weeks without killing or even maiming him. It’s got to be some kind of record.”

“Burke lived with me for ten years,” I put in as she pulls away from Mira. “The only person I’ve ever lived with who’s tried to kill me is our mother, and we can both agree it was a pretty half-hearted effort.”

If Mira’s surprised that I’d joke about such a thing, it doesn’t show. She’s studying me, though, like I’m a nut and she’s holding a pair of pliers.

Ruthie frowns at me, reminding me about little pitchers and big ears—a reminder I seem to need every five minutes when I’m with my niece. It’s hard for me to sanitize things for Izzy. But I do want her to keep her innocence. To see the world through a kaleidoscope that makes even bad things beautiful.

“She didn’t really try to kill you, did she, Uncle Danny?” Izzy asks, peering up at me with her fathomless eyes.

“No, honey,” I say, lifting her up and hoisting her up on my shoulders. It earns me a tirade of giggles. Today, I barely feel any pain in my wrist, just a twinge that reminds me of Pumpkin. “She wasn’t trying to kill me. But it’s best not to throw around things that could hurt people—even if you’re just trying to get their attention. Let’s try and remember that.”

Ruthie gives me a shrug-nod combo, as if to say it’s a fairly good save but I probably shouldn’t have made the mistake in the first place.

“Why does he drive you crazy?” Mira asks, amused, as we walk toward the restaurant, Izzy hanging onto my head as if she thinks there’s a reality that exists in which I’d let her fall.

“He’s so overprotective,” Ruthie says with an eyeroll. “My parents couldn’t care less who I dated, but he practically gave every guy I brought home a quiz. Short answer, not multiple choice.”

“It’s easier to cheat on multiple choice,” I grumble as we make for the door.

“Who says I wanted a good boyfriend?”

The big brother in me wants to point out that it’s not what she wanted that interested me—more like what she deserved, but then I’d just be proving her point, I suppose. And I appreciate that she’s being so warm and friendly with Mira.

Mira snort-laughs. “We’ve all been there.”

I think about the guy with the platinum hair. I think about her seeing him on Wednesday. I scowl as I tell Izzy to duck. Laughing, she grips my head and bows low over it so she can make it through the door.

We’re directed to our table, and as we sit, Ruthie looks at Mira and says, “I hear we’re all having Thanksgiving together. You know, I thought it would take an act of God to get Danny to celebrate again.”

“I prefer the term goddess,” Mira corrects, making me grin. Look at me, grinning at the thought of doing anything other than hiking and drinking on Thanksgiving. I guess I never thought I’d see the day either.

“So noted,” Ruthie replies with a grin.

“Watch, someone’s going to throw the Cranberry sauce at me this time,” I say. “Then it’ll be another ten years before I celebrate.”

“I thought you said we shouldn’t throw anything at anyone, Uncle Danny?” Izzy asks, her lips pushed out.

“Exactly,” I say. “You remember that if you feel the urge to toss the cranberry sauce. It’s disgusting, but it won’t be any less disgusting if it’s in someone’s hair.”

My gaze darts to Mira, and I catch her smiling at me. I’d let someone throw cranberry sauce in my hair to earn another smile like that again. I’d let someone rub the whole can of it down to my roots. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, of course.

We order our food, and even though the restaurant is loud and there are dozens of smells at war with one another, I’m happy because I’m here withthem. We talk about Thanksgiving, and Vanny, and True Colors. Ruthie doesn’t know about the meeting with Daphne, and I’m grateful that Mira doesn’t feel the need to bring it up. Because that’s a whole additional conversation I’d rather not have with my sister. She may say I used to give her boyfriend’s tests, but she’s always done the same with the women in my life—only she’s more subtle. I already know that Mira has passed what Daphne failed.

Then Ruthie glances at Mira over the rim of her juice glass and asks, “Danny says you run Glitterati? I’ve heard about it, obviously, but I haven’t been there yet.” She gives Izzy a fond glance, then says, “I hear it’s frowned upon to take children into establishments that serve hard liquor. But one of these nights I’ll get a sitter.”

Mira’s face lights up, as if the glow she always carries around just went up a few voltages, and I feel a glimmer of…

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