been rolling out cookie dough, cutting it into the shapes of eggs and rabbits, and placing it in the oven. I have the most muscle, so I roll the dough. Gram and Ryan sit at the kitchen table wielding cookie cutters. Gracie mans the oven, sliding in and pulling out trays. The room smells of sweetness and holidays and warmth.
Only our silence cuts through that aroma, running from each of us in pointed directions. Gracie hasn’t had much to say to me since I told her I was moving out at the end of the week. Gracie also seems to be avoiding Gram, not looking directly at her, not speaking to her. And Gram is keeping to herself, bent over the trays of dough. It is hard to tell if her silence is deliberate or if she’s just not in the mood to talk. And, as for me, what’s the point of opening my mouth?
I figure it’s to my credit that I’m at least aware that I am in a bad mood, and that it’s probably best that I keep quiet. I’m exhausted because I was on call last night and got only two hours of sleep. Things are getting worse at the hospital. I can’t seem to say the right thing to the patients, no matter how hard I try. And Belinda has been testing what little patience I have left.
Also, I am in no mood for the boredom and the stress of one of these gatherings. The fact that it’s taking place here means Gracie and I had to spend long hours cleaning and that I can’t even leave early. Besides, it’s best to come to these family events feeling focused and sure of yourself because together the McLaughlins tend to shake one another up. You have to be ready, and today I am not. I wish I was already in my new apartment, where I could close and triple-lock the door and enjoy some peace and quiet.
Mom stops just inside the kitchen and raises her hands dramatically in the air. We look over obediently. “Well,” she says, “here you are doing all this work and I found your father napping in front of the TV.”
“I was watching the news,” Dad says. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “What can I do to help?”
“Television is evil,” Ryan says.
My father seems to notice Ryan for the first time. His face brightens, and he says, “I just bought your building.”
“What do you mean?” Mom says. “The building Ryan lives in? When?”
Dad is smiling to himself, his arms folded over his chest. His posture is now straight, a change from a few seconds earlier. “I got the place for a song. The structure of the building is decent, but it needs a lot of work. The previous owner hasn’t put a dime into it over the last twenty years.”
“Vince is right,” my mother says, “you are buying up all of Ramsey. Why wouldn’t you tell me that you bought my own brother’s building?”
“That’s Dad’s business, Mom,” I say. “It’s not personal.”
“He’s doing really well,” Gracie says. “You should be happy for him.”
“Girls,” Gram says.
“Girls,” my father says, shaking his head.
Mom looks appropriately squelched. Her skinny shoulders drop and I feel guilty. But the temptation to knock her down comes on so strong, it is almost impossible to resist. I can see from the way Gracie is playing with her hair, twisting and pulling it, that she feels badly, too.
There is a sudden noise in the corner of the room, a tapping sound. Ryan is patting the arms of his wheelchair. As soon as the sound begins, Gram is on her feet and moving around the table toward him. Ryan’s lips have gone white from biting them.
“My building,” he says.
Gram leans over him. She says, “You can stay in your apartment, Ryan, I promise. Can’t he, Louis? Nothing will change. This is good news, actually. Your building will be owned by family. Louis didn’t mean to surprise you like that. Everything is fine.”
We all watch, frozen, as Gram soothes her son.
“Yes,” Dad says, “of course you’ll stay in your apartment. Sorry if there was any misunderstanding, Ryan. I’m just going to fix it up, that’s all. No need for you to worry. Just a little fix-up.”
“A fix-up,” Ryan repeats. “I won’t have to move?”
“No,” Dad says.
“I promise,” Gram says.
The tension in the room diminishes, just in time for the party to start.
THE FIRST hour or two of these