Digger agrees to pick Fletcher up at the airport on his way to Oak Creek. I am very uncomfortable at the idea of sharing my space with others again, and I truly wish my parents would stop bringing in foreign dignitaries to stay at their house. But Abigail insists it’s not hospitable to make my friend and my brother stay at the Inn.
“Besides,” she says in the morning on Christmas Eve, rubbing her bare, icy toes up my leg in bed. “They’re on the other side of the duplex from us.” Abigail insisted that I buy furniture for my half of the townhouse, outfitting the two bedrooms with a bed, a night stand, and a dresser so our guests could at least feel welcomed.
“Is Digger bringing Fletcher in a helicopter again?”
I shake my head and pull her closer. “He has some sort of high security vehicle from the agency.”
Abigail sends me ahead to my parents’ house to help prep the meal while she works on a round of revisions for her novel. After months of declining Mary Pat’s book club, she finally agreed to join Enid’s writing club instead and has eagerly spent her free time pecking away at a draft she won’t let me read.
I open my parents’ back door and kick the snow off my boots as I hang my coat on the peg. “Ah! There’s my Wexler Prof,” my mother coos, sliding up and wrapping her arms around me. Ever since Asa Wexler agreed to support my research at Oak Creek College, funding a full-time research professorship in the biology department, my mother has been giddily notifying alumni around the world. Donations have apparently been flowing in as people want to congratulate her on attracting such prestigious faculty for the college.
I’m ok being a cash cow for my mother. It keeps me here, close to Abigail, and gives me total freedom to work on my computations.
“When do you go back to the tin can,” Diana asks, lining up her latest batch of winter ales in the ice bucket.
I smile, pulling her in for an uncharacteristic hug. “January,” I tell her. “So I need you to watch over Abigail for me while I’m gone.”
My sister snorts and shoves me away. “You better watch her yourself, asshole. Use your video chat feature how ‘bout it? I’m sure Digger can show you how it works.”
Soon after, my brother Fletcher and Digger burst through the door. Fletcher carries a case of wine from Napa, where he’s been on location most recently, and Digger brings a bag of chips he must have gotten at the gas station.
“Dr. M, Mr. C,” he says. “Thanks for including me.”
“Nonsense,“ my dad yells from the oven. “Hunter promised you’d bring a laser to slice the roast.”
After dinner, when my family gathers in the living room to exchange gifts, I feel a sense of contentment I hadn’t known was missing from my life four months ago. All of my siblings are together, which rarely happens, and my mom actually gets teary when Digger suggests a family photo by the tree. He pulls out a very expensive camera to take the shot, and when Dad tugs Abigail into the photo, I slip my arms around her shoulders and squeeze her close.
I still have to work to interpret others’ emotions. I am still surprised at the ease with which Abigail can communicate nuanced ideas, and I’ve kept my promise to care for the chickens and, thus, her alongside my research. I don’t know what force in the universe caused the confluence of our lives, but I am grateful.
Digger shows me the photo, where I am gazing down at Abigail as the rest of my family smiles into the camera. “I love you,” I tell her, as my siblings bicker and demand a retake.
She grins and takes my hand in hers. “I love you, too.”
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