I’m writing really quickly, before breakfast. I don’t want to forget what happened late last night.
I was wide awake, even though the lights had been out for a while. Jo was sleeping in her bed. I could hear her breathing in and out, in and out. And I realized something. My whole life, I’ve been listening to Jo breathe in and out, in and out, as she sleeps. If we get our own rooms, I won’t hear it anymore.
Dad came to check on me and Jo then.
“What are you doing awake?” he asked quietly, when he saw that my eyes were open.
“I’m going to miss Jo’s breathing,” I told him, “if we get separate rooms.”
He came and sat on the edge of my bed.
“We’ll all miss things if we move,” he said quietly. “But can we discuss NICE possible changes?
I, for example, have always dreamed of owning a pool table.”
“We’d have space for a pool table?” I said.
“We might,” he said. “Don’t go crushing my dreams. You next.”
I thought for a second about what I might like in a new place that was big enough for all of us to live together comfortably. With no mess. I thought about Lula and Violet visiting me there.
“I’d like three big beanbag chairs,” I said. “And an old-timey popcorn maker.”
“I think I can make that happen,” Dad said.
“A cotton candy machine, too,” I said. “Violet won’t eat it, but Lula would.”
“Hmm,” Dad said. “I’m not sure we could fit a popcorn maker AND a cotton candy machine.”
“They’re smaller than a pool table!” I told him.
“An excellent point,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” I said. I had just that second come up with the perfect plan. “I dream of an art studio for Granny and me.”
He leaned over and kissed my forehead then. “I love that dream,” he said. “Let’s work on that. In preparation, let’s both get a good night’s sleep.”
He left the room after that. And I fell asleep to the thought of dreams coming true.