The Endless Road to Sunshine - Nicky James Page 0,7
staying put for at least a year.”
“There’s that. Do you have time for coffee?”
“Not really. But I do have time for a quick dance with the birthday girl and for her to open her present.”
“Skylar, that’s silly, and you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I did so. Stop it. Now.” I set my phone on the counter and scrolled through my playlist, looking for the song I’d saved, already feeling out its groove inside my head. No music was off-limits for me. It didn’t matter what era it came from, as long as it was upbeat, it was mine.
I hit play and cranked the volume to max. The music rang through the house, and I grinned as I faced Mom who was blushing and holding her cheeks. “Skylar, no.”
“Can’t say no,” I shouted over Selena Gomez, who was yelling about partying like it was her birthday.
I snagged Mom’s hand, and she didn’t resist, laughing as I danced unencumbered while singing along to the wild and snappy birthday tune. Mom gave in and joined me, moving awkwardly and trying to keep up as I spun her and made fast feet from one end of the kitchen to the other, shouting lyrics and messing up the words, not caring one iota because Mom looked about as happy as I’d ever seen her.
All that mattered was the smile on my mother’s face and the glow in her eyes that took me back to a time when I was six years old. One of my first memories was when we’d danced to the radio on my first day of grade one. It was long before she’d met and married Walter. It was then when I’d first discovered just how much joy music brought to my life.
We were most of the way through the song when it stopped abruptly, the sudden blast of silence deafening. Mom and I both jerked around to find my fourteen-year-old brother sneering and holding my phone.
“Are either of you aware that it’s just after eight o’clock in the morning?”
Mom fixed her hair, her cheeks pink as she smiled at Jakobe. “Good morning, Jake.”
“Eight twenty-three, to be exact.” He shoved the phone display in my face as though I hadn’t heard his complaint.
I took my phone back and slapped my brother’s cheek playfully. “Did I ruin your beauty sleep? Sorry. Mom, the storm clouds have moved in, nothing but miserable rain in the forecast. I tried.”
Jakobe swatted my hand away from his face. I reached over to ruffle his hair, but he shoved me, and I shoved him back. It was playful, and by the time Mom announced, “Enough already,” we were both laughing, and I had him in a headlock.
Jakobe yawned as he pulled away. He glanced around the kitchen, eyes opened to slits and sleep weighing heavily on his whole body. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you moved out, like, years ago. You and your shitty music.”
“It’s Mom’s birthday, and I came to wish her a fabulous day with dancing and…” I spun and retrieved the gift-wrapped box from the counter, bowing low in front of my mother. “And to deliver this gift to milady.”
“Skylar, you shouldn’t have.”
“Ah-ah-ah. Open it. I have to run, so we don’t have time to argue.”
She didn’t kick up a stink like I knew she wanted to. Resigned, she accepted the gift and carefully unwrapped it after instructing my brother to start another batch of waffles.
Jakobe grumbled and shuffled to the counter, but he kept half an eye on what Mom was doing. He looked like Walter with his dark hair, blunt nose, and round chin. He was stocky and still held onto some baby fat I figured he’d lose once he grew a few more inches.
With precision, Mom removed the tape from the wrapping paper one piece at a time. She was the type who treasured every part of gift-giving. There was a drawer in her bedroom specifically for old wrapping paper. She remembered each occasion, who the gift had been from, and what had been wrapped inside. It was her thing.
Under the wrapping was an unmarked box. Mom opened it, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Skylar.”
“It’s from Peru. It’s alpaca. I bought it from the locals. They have vendor stalls right in the streets, and the ladies knit and chat with one another. They don’t speak English well, if at all, but they sure know how to strike a bargain with tourists. It’s a blanket.”