Nora sat next to the Christmas tree, her legs splayed, her back aching, furious that she kept losing words.
“It’s not that hard,” she said in abject frustration. “It shouldn’t be.” She knew she’d lost words when she’d been explaining to them how to make the necklaces—she’d forgotten the word for “pliers,” and when she’d tried to laugh it off, Ellie had become unreasonably upset with her, telling her she’d been stuck again. “For ten minutes, Mom. We talked to you for ten minutes, and you just stared at us.” Ellie’s voice sounded like a child’s, plaintive and needful.
This was Christmas. Today should be perfect.
The lemon marmalade had been a bright, sweet start, but only that. Nora needed Christmas to fix the rest. And she had hoped that it would be the day Ellie finally accepted that Nora wasn’t going to get better (but that she would never love Ellie less, never, never, never any less, more with every minute that passed).
Instead, they were seated uncomfortably around the coffee table on the floor, all three of them staring at the bowl of beach glass that usually sat next to Nora’s bed, none of them wanting to make necklaces out of the pieces, not even Nora herself.
She was an idiot for thinking this would work. Knowing that didn’t make her feel less stubborn, though. “Ellie, you’re close. If you use the pliers”—she had the word back and she wouldn’t let it go—“to wind off that last piece of wire, you’ll have it, I think. Look at mine.” She held her piece of wire-wrapped green glass. “God, this is ugly.”
Mariana snorted. Even though it was a derisive snort, Nora held on to it like it was a kiss. Mariana had barely said a word since she’d arrived. She’d seemed almost . . . shy. She’d sat on her hands and, while she didn’t refuse to try making a necklace, she certainly didn’t try very hard. Soon it would be dinnertime. (Nora had bought the meal online and had gotten it delivered, a precooked roast and potatoes and the fanciest kind of vegetable dishes Andronico’s had. Good enough was good enough now.) Luke would arrive soon, and then Harrison would walk over from his house, and it wouldn’t be just the three of them anymore.
What if this was the last Christmas she would have with her sister and her daughter—the last one she would be truly present for?
The wire drew first blood, jamming itself under her thumbnail. “Well, dang it.”
“Mom, come on. Seriously. Who are we making these for? Do you think we’re really going to wear them?”
“Not if it looks like this pile of crap, we’re not.” On Pinterest, where she’d gotten the idea, Nora had found beautiful images of cloudy green and blue wrapped delicately—ornately—in silver wire, hanging from shining chains. Her beach glass looked like it had been crammed into a temporary steel cage, and it looked bulbously obscene hanging from the leather strap she’d attached it to. She’d made a bully necklace, something destined to hurt the wearer, to attack any friend who dared to go in for a hug.
It was just one more thing to add to the growing list at the back of her Moleskine of things she couldn’t do (that was, when she could make out what letters meant). Drive. Cook at temperatures over 400. She’d write Craft with hard objects at the bottom of the list, but she should probably just write Craft. The knitted sock, Ellie had recently pointed out, had gotten so long that it was now an unending tube. Nora had run out of yarn twice. She’d just attached another ball, so the “sock” changed from green to yellow and then to red. She’d laughed and told Ellie she’d changed her mind, that she was making a skinny stoplight scarf, but the truth was she’d forgotten how to bind off. She could look it up on YouTube, of course. But then she was pretty sure she’d forget how to cast on, or even to cast on at all. And her hands needed something to do. She loved her sock-scarf. It was something she could do, something that showed forward progress, even if that progress was technically wrong.
“Screw this,” said Nora. She swept all of it—the pliers, the metal snips, and the leather—into the box it had all come in. (Thank god for Amazon. On days she could read, she could still buy whatever she needed, and the mailman brought it to the house, right to her. It was practically like receiving gifts, since every second or third time she had no idea what she’d ordered. A few times she wasn’t even sure she had ordered what she’d received—an egg spatula, a laser cat toy even though Oscar had died when Ellie was ten—until she went into her order list and confirmed that, yes, the command to send her these things had come from her computer.)
Sometimes it felt like being a blackout drunk. Every time she came to, she had to hope she hadn’t done anything embarrassing, that she hadn’t danced on a tabletop or stripped off important pieces of clothing while in inappropriate places.
At other times, it felt like nothing at all. Everything was normal, except that now Harrison slept in her bed at night and was usually to be found somewhere inside her house, puttering around in exactly the same way he did in his own house. The morning after he’d stayed all night for the first time, Ellie had asked Harrison, “Are you living here now?” She’d been at the table, eating cereal. There’d been nothing angry in her voice, just curiosity.
Nora had watched Harrison freeze, the glass he was washing hovering in midair. Nora could have jumped in and answered for him (I gave him a toothbrush, a red one, he forgave me and believed me and got me one for his house, in yellow, we have two homes now), but Ellie had asked him the question, not her.
“I still live next door, but your mom and I want to spend more time together. Is that okay by you?” Harrison said it like he would have gone back home and stayed there if Ellie had told him that it wasn’t all right.
Ellie had nodded without looking up. “Sounds good to me.” She hadn’t said it with relief or even surprise. It seemed like it might, actually, sound good to her.
Nora had asked Harrison to give them this time before dinner, time for the Glass women to craft together using the beach glass they’d collected over the years. Now she wished he was there. He would make them all laugh. He would use his pliers to make a snowflake out of the wire and tell them the glass deserved to be what it was, just pretty. It didn’t need to be something bigger, better.
He’d be right.
“Let’s do presents,” she said. “No more of this crap.”
Ellie got her worried look. “Weren’t we just supposed to make one present each for each other? I thought that’s what we agreed.”
“We did,” Nora said.
“Well, you said presents. Plural.”
There are three of us, that makes it plural. But she didn’t snap it like she wanted to—Nora held her tongue.
Mariana nodded and stood, reaching for her bag. “Let’s get it over with before the guys get here.”
“Speaking of the guys,” Nora tried to say casually, “is Dylan coming?”
“No,” was all Ellie said.
That’s what she’d thought. Ellie hadn’t been playing her game at night; she’d been watching TV with her instead. It had been nice, catching up on Netflix shows, and Nora had tried not to remark on the novelty of it for fear of chasing her away. One weekend they’d binged on a Gilmore Girls marathon, something that had made her heart so hopeful it actually hurt. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Ellie said again.
“Are you okay?”
Ellie finally looked up. “Yeah,” she said. “I am.”
“Good.” Nora took a deep breath. “Okay, who’s first?”
Mariana, still sitting on her hands, said quickly, “Not me.”
“Me, neither,” said Ellie.
Nora tamped back irritation. It was Christmas. She had Bing Crosby on the stereo and a fake fire snapping on the flat-screen. She’d made mulled cider, but Mariana had refused a cup and Ellie hadn’t begged for one (she’d been prepared to say yes). She’d decorated the tree by herself the week before while Ellie did homework, saying she was behind in English.
A rush of grief that made her chest ache was followed just as quickly by the landslide of happiness of being here, with these two. These two.
“Okay, I’ll go. I kind of have to explain both of them, though.” She handed a flat box to each of them. Mariana’s was heavier. Both were intricately wrapped, with shiny bows that she’d made herself. She could still remember how to do that.
Mariana eyed hers suspiciously, as if it would bite her.
“Go on, open it.”
Inside was a photo album. Mariana opened it to a random page in the middle, and there was a picture of the two of them in college, sitting in that crappy little convertible Mariana had bought with the money she’d made at the coffee shop. They were both grinning at whoever was taking the picture of them. They looked identical. Nora herself had to look at their earrings to figure out that she was the one on the left. “You loved that car. That was the first car you ever bought.”
Mariana looked up. “It’s a photo album of us?” They had those already. Twin books. Nora had made them before.
“Keep looking. It’s a photo album of you.” She reached forward and flipped to one of her favorite pages. “Look. It’s all the postcards you sent me from India. And here’s the first place you taught yoga. Remember, this was your studio on Fourth, that tiny place you had. And this, this was from the day you came up with the idea of the BreathingRoom app when we were in Dolores Park. Look how big your smile was, like you couldn’t fit all your teeth in your head.” She turned more pages. “And over here, look. Remember that news show you were on two months ago? I got this still from them. Remember how nervous you were? And here, screenshots of the app. With quotes from users.”
Mariana shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
It was her apology. It was Nora’s way of saying, I see you. I know how amazing you are. You’re not a fuckup. I know you’ve been taking care of me.
Nora flipped to the front of the book. “Look. You and Mom. I hadn’t seen this one in forever. And here’s one of you and Ellie . . .”
Mariana stared. “Where are you?”
Fine. If Nora had to say it out loud, she would. “It’s to show you how amazing you are. In everything you do.”
“But where are you?”
“What?”
Mariana flipped the pages rapidly. “Besides that picture of us in my car, you’re not in here.”
“It’s not about me. This is about you.”
“But I need . . .” Mariana reached forward and touched Nora’s wrist. “But I need you.”
Nora felt heat hit her cheeks. “Oh.” Christ, what a stupid gift. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that.”
Mariana blinked and smiled, though it was weak. “It’s okay. It’s fine. Okay, moving on. Ellie, how about you open yours?”
Nora turned to Ellie, who was slipping off the bow. God, if she screwed up both of the presents . . . “This is . . . I’m not sure of this one.”
“I’m sure it’s very nice,” said Ellie politely.
Inside the slim box was a simple piece of paper. In a page she’d torn from her journal, Nora had written, “I, Nora Glass, give my permission for my daughter, Ellie Glass, to be tested for the PS1 gene mutation.”
Ellie gasped. She put her hand to her stomach.
God, was this wrong, too? Had Nora lost the ability to read emotion as well as keep track of time?
“Mom.”
“I know it’s what you wanted.”
“It is.”
“Now you can.”
Ellie’s eyes were huge. “Now I don’t know if I want to.”
A tide of relief swelled inside Nora’s chest. “Then don’t.” Goose bumps rose on her arms. “But you can think about it. You can make the decision for yourself. It’s not mine to make for you anymore.”
“I’m scared.”
Nora felt a sob swell in her throat, and she met Mariana’s eyes. Her sister raised her chin, as if reminding her to do so. Nora raised hers to match. “Me, too, Ellie.”
Ellie hugged her, a brief sharp grasp, and then she let go again. It was enough.
“I want to go next,” said Mariana. “Me next.”