After school, I found Aunt Liz in her warm, buttery kitchen. Her eyes smiled when she saw me. “I was just making some more Benedictine for you and Miyoko,” she said.
“Thanks, but Miyoko couldn’t come today. She said she’d see you next time.”
“More Benedictine for you,” Aunt Liz said as she flipped the switch on her food processor and a loud humming filled the room.
I smiled because I’d arrived at just the right time—Benedictine is best straight out of the food processor.
When Aunt Liz turned the processor off, the phone was ringing.
“Hello,” she sang into it happily, just before her face changed. “Okay,” she said seriously. “Okay. . . . Uh-huh. . . . How long? . . . Okay, I’m on my way.”
I frowned. “I’m on my way” didn’t sound like good news for me—or my Benedictine.
“That was your dad,” Aunt Liz said, tearing off her apron. “Suzanne’s having the baby!”
“Now? But it’s not time yet,” I protested.
“The baby doesn’t know that—it’s coming,” Aunt Liz said. “C’mon, Fizzy. We’ve got to go—I’ll drop you at home on my way.”
“Why?” I whined. “Why can’t I go with you?”
Aunt Liz grabbed her purse. “Because we don’t know how long it’ll take. The baby could be born in a few hours or it could be tomorrow. C’mon! We’ve got to go!”
“You promise you’ll call, right?”
“Yes, I promise!”
• • •
As usual, my eyes went straight to the pukey recliner when I walked into the town house. The thing that was unusual was that Keene was sitting in it.
“Um . . . hi,” I said, feeling awkward, like I should’ve knocked or something.
“Hi,” Keene said.
I waited for him to say more.
He didn’t. He just stared at me.
Had Mrs. Ludwig called? I wanted to ask, but didn’t want to have to explain, so instead I said, “Any mail?”
Keene shook his head.
“Any calls?”
He shook his head again and continued to stare at me.
I decided Keene was probably busy making a mental list of all the things he hated about me—my meatball head on top of my toothpick body, the bump on my nose, my freckles, my raggedy old backpack. I couldn’t blame him. I hated all those things, too.
“Well, um . . . I guess I better call Mom and let her know I’m home.”
Keene nodded.
I dropped my backpack and kicked off my shoes before I remembered Keene’s pet peeve. Then I picked everything up and carried it into the kitchen with me.
“Mom, Keene is here,” I whispered urgently into the phone.
“Yes, he lives there now, Fizzy,” Mom said matter-of-factly.
“Oh. Right.” Then why did it still feel like there was a guest in the house?
After I’d told Mom that school was fine and I was fine—in fact, about to become a big sister any minute—I put the phone back. Then I thought about the guest-y feelings some more. I remembered Keene’s outburst during The Meat Loaf Dinner: “I am not a guest!” he’d insisted angrily.
It was then that I realized he was right: Keene wasn’t the guest.
I was the guest! In my own house!
• • •
I looked at Genghis every five or ten minutes and waited for the phone to ring all night, hoping it would be Aunt Liz—and not Mrs. Ludwig. But it never did. So after I’d—likely incorrectly—finished my math homework, I went downstairs and sort of hovered at the edge of the living room.
Mom and Keene were watching Survivor Steve, who was talking about primitive man’s survival instincts: “Primitive man did not use a pillow. He listened for danger with both ears while he slept . . .”
I waited for a commercial and then gave a little cough.
Keene looked at me like, Darn. Are you still here? and muted the TV.
“Mom, I’m sure the baby’s been born by now. Please drive me to the hospital, please,” I begged. “You don’t have to get out of the car or anything—you can just drop me off.”
“No, Fizzy. I’m sorry, but you can’t go wandering around a hospital by yourself. You’ll just have to wait,” Mom said. Then she went back to watching TV with Keene, just like she used to watch TV with me.
I took a bath and went to bed without saying good night to anyone, because somehow I knew that another interruption would irritate Keene—even more.
The next thing I knew, Mom was sitting beside me on the bed, saying lightly, “Fizzy . . . Fizzy, honey.”
I opened my eyes and propped myself up on an elbow.
Mom switched on the lamp on my nightstand. “Your dad called.”
I pushed the hair out of my eyes.
“You have a new baby brother. He came four weeks early but is going to be just fine. They named him Robert, after your father.”
I nodded. “So you’ll take me to the hospital now? Dad—or Aunt Liz—I’m sure somebody can meet me.”
Mom smiled. “No, visiting hours are over—it’s almost midnight. But I have a little something for you now.”
That’s when I noticed the mixing bowl in Mom’s lap. I leaned over and peered in: some kind of chocolate batter and two spoons.
I had to hand it to Mom: She really surprised me sometimes. I scooched over in the bed to make room for her. Mom handed me the bowl and climbed in, under the quilt.
We ate brownie batter and talked about the new baby and what it means to be a big sister.
“As he gets older, your baby brother will look up to you,” Mom said. “He’ll want to do everything you do—so you’ll need to set a good example.”
I nodded.
“And be patient with him. Be patient when he keeps hanging around and you wish he’d go away. Remember that he does this because he worships you and wants to be just like you.”
“I guess I could stand being worshipped,” I said.
We laughed. We laughed a lot. I felt happy and comfortable.
I felt comfortable enough to risk asking, “Do you really like the pukey recliner downstairs?”
Mom laughed again. “No, but Keene loves it, and I love Keene. Love means compromising. Compromising means sacrificing. For love.”
“Oh,” I said. “I thought compromising meant meeting somewhere in the middle.”
“It does.”
“Well, that chair doesn’t look like you met Keene in the middle,” I said. “It looks like . . . a big, sick sacrifice.”
Mom laughed some more. “We met in the middle, Fizzy. There are things of mine that Keene isn’t fond of either.”
Like me? I wondered, but I didn’t say it.
Mom stayed in bed with me until the oven timer beeped downstairs. We decided to save the actual brownies for tomorrow, so Mom got up, tucked me in, and kissed me good night.
As I drifted back to sleep, I realized that for the first time in what seemed like a long time, I didn’t feel like an interruption or an inconvenience, or a leftover or even a guest. Being home is a good feeling. But I knew it wouldn’t last.