FOR THE NEXT FEW HOURS, I WEIGHED THE PROS AND cons of staying versus leaving, finally resolving to go home. I’d call Juno after dinner and ask her to switch my ticket to tomorrow, Tuesday, which meant I’d be able to babysit with her on Wednesday. She could handle one more day without me, and I’d deal with Dad when I got home.
But I couldn’t just show up at home. What if I startled him so badly that he had a heart attack? (These are the things you have to think about when you only have one parent left and no more sister.) I’d call him before I walked in the door, maybe on my way home from the airport, and tell him it was just too hard. I’d been too homesick. And if he was disappointed, so be it. I was disappointed in him, too.
There was the matter of Aunt Elise, though. We’d just found each other. Plus she had a broken leg, and I’d been helping her out. But she’d been alone this whole time, not counting the past three days, and she had neighbors who were willing to help. Did it really matter if I left Tuesday or waited till Sunday? She was going to be alone again either way, and at least she was on the mend.
Besides, the important thing was we’d reconnected. We were back in touch, and we wouldn’t let ourselves get out of touch ever again. Talley had done that.
So I made my peace with the fact that I was cutting my visit short, but I still kept putting off telling Aunt Elise. I thought I’d tell her while she sat by the kitchen island as I cooked dinner. Then I thought I’d tell her during dinner. Then I thought I’d tell her when the dishes were cleared and we were sitting together on the couch.
“Great dinner, Sloane,” she said.
I’d made pasta with butter and parmesan, along with a side of broccoli for Aunt Elise. (Personally I was not a huge broccoli fan. I didn’t even know how to cook it, but Aunt Elise had walked me through the steps.) “It was nothing,” I said.
“It was something,” she said. “It’s been such a gift to have you here.”
Uh-oh.
“I wish I had cake to offer you for dessert,” she went on. “That is, if you still love it.”
“I do.”
“I figured,” she said. “‘Cake’ was your first word.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
“It must’ve been your mom’s influence,” Aunt Elise said. “She had very specific feelings about birthday cake. She thought it shouldn’t only be for birthdays, and she thought there should be a rose on every piece, so that every piece was the best piece.”
“Oh, wow,” I said. “That rose thing used to stress me out so much at other people’s birthday parties. The parent would bring out the cake. The roses would only be on the corners, and kids would start to shout out claiming them. I never shouted fast enough, so I never got a rose—one time I missed getting a rose at my own birthday party.”
“It wouldn’t have happened under your mother’s watch,” Aunt Elise said with a smile. But then her smile fell. I knew we were both missing my mother at that moment—I was missing what might’ve been, and Aunt Elise was missing the real sister she knew, which of course brought me back to Talley. I was missing her most of all.
“Talley said that all these years, your dad hasn’t ever really dated,” Aunt Elise said.
“Here and there, but nothing serious,” I said. “When I was little, Talley said it was because he was damaged. I thought she meant his finger.”
“His finger?”
“His left pinky got slammed in a car door when he was five,” I said. “The top half was sliced off.”
“Oh, right,” Aunt Elise said. “I remember your mom once told me she loved to hold his hand and find that little imperfection. She found it soothing.”
“I found it terrifying,” I said. “Fingers aren’t supposed to come off, and I wondered where the missing part was. Did they throw it away, or did they keep it? Was it in a glass jar in a lab somewhere—and did it get its own jar, or did it share a jar with other people’s missing fingers? Was there a finger-obsessed doctor somewhere who collected and performed experiments on them? And was it just fingers, or was he into toes, too?”
Aunt Elise shook her head, laughing.
“Mostly, I worried that something bad would happen to my pinky finger, too. Or to even more of my fingers. Sometimes I’d have to ball my hands into fists and feel for them, to make sure they were still intact. And when they were, I’d think: I love you, my fingers. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“With that imagination, no wonder you’re a writer. It’s very impressive.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said. “But thank you.”
“Have you talked to your dad much since you’ve been out here?”
“Not really. We’ve texted a little bit.”
He’d written to see how the first day of classes had gone. I wrote back: Great! Teacher is almost as good as Dr. Lee. Learning a lot!
“Well, you’ll be back to Minnesota soon enough—too soon, if you ask me. But I know you must have a lot to get back to.”
“Aunt Elise, I have to tell you—” I started.
But then my phone buzzed. Phew. Saved by the proverbial bell. I’d take all the extra seconds I could get to avoid telling Aunt Elise my change of plans. Though I figured the text was from Juno, reminding me that I needed to decide about my plane ticket.
But it was Adam’s name on the screen. I hadn’t heard from him since he’d dropped me off the day before, not that I’d expected to. It had only been a day. It felt so much longer. Time bends in such strange ways. Yesterday can feel like a year ago, and a year can feel like yesterday.
“What is it, sweets?” Aunt Elise asked.
“Hang on. Adam just texted.”
What r ur plans for the wk, he’d written.
Me: Heading home tmrw
I still hadn’t given the official word to Juno to change my ticket, and it was getting late back in Minnesota. Juno was a night owl, but the clock was still ticking.
I’d wanted to tell Aunt Elise my revised plans first. The words were on the tip of my tongue when my phone buzzed with Adam’s next text: Thought you were staying the week?
Me: Change of plans.
Adam: Well, good I caught you. Can’t let you leave without trying ice cream sandwiches at Cream. Can I pick u up in 10?
Me: Yes