me a gummy grin.
Good morning, Earth.
“Do you want to hear something cool?” I whisper to her. “There is stardust raining down on us RIGHT NOW. And you’re made of stars. And named after one. When you’re a little bit older, I’ll show it to you. Then you can always find your way in the sky.”
She giggles and kicks her hands and feet.
I beam. “That is EXACTLY how I reacted when I learned that stuff, too. We’re obviously related.”
Nah stands as we reach her, and when my sister looks inside the stroller, she stares and stares, her face turning Karalis red, like it always does whenever she feels anything intensely.
“Do you think…” She swallows. “Do you think I can hold her?”
“Of course you can,” I say. “She’s our sister.”
Nah takes a breath. Reaches inside. Lifts Pearl out of the stroller.
“Hello,” Nah breathes.
Pearl reaches up with her little dimpled hand and rests it on Nah’s cheek. They stare at each other for a long, long time.
Nah leans down and brushes her lips against Pearl’s forehead. “Thank you,” she whispers to her.
I reach out and brush my fingers across Pearl’s dark hair. She has Dad’s eyes. I am so sad that my father doesn’t get to meet his daughter. That she doesn’t get to meet him.
The anger I’d been holding inside me against my dad melts away. I guess babies do that. They melt things.
Pearl is giving us back our dad. Bringing him back to life. I can feel him, can almost hear his soft laughter.
I turn to Nah. “We have to let it go. For her sake. And his.”
There is nothing more to say to Rebecca about what happened. And there is nothing we can do to change the past. My dad was a good dad. The best. And there is only now. Only love.
“Okay.”
“And. When Pearl’s old enough, we should eat it. The three of us. Don’t you think?”
Hannah knows what I mean. The last of Dad’s egg bake. Uncle Tony had had it specially frozen so we could take it across the country. We thought it was the last thing he made. But it wasn’t. The last thing he made is lying in my sister’s arms.
It’s time. To let him go. Wherever he is.
Hannah’s face turns splotchier. I don’t think that is a word, but it’s what happens on her skin.
“We’ll take pictures,” Nah says. “Get her a science nerd bib.”
I squeeze Pearl’s fingers. “Something to look forward to,” I say to my baby sister. “Solids are awesome.”
Hannah laughs.
I take our gift for Pearl out of my bag, and Nah settles her on her lap as I open it up to the part our little star in the constellation of us needs to hear the most, the part that is about our dad:
“I will live on one of those stars. I will laugh on one of them. And when you look up in the sky, it will seem to you that all the stars are laughing. Only you will have the stars that can laugh!”
Pearl grins.
We laugh.
And the stars keep shining.
An Ode To A Rose
Let the tigers come with their claws!
I am not afraid anymore
And neither should you be
You are loved
You ARE love
Don’t you know that, silly girl?
Bedroom Wall
The Pink House
Cambridge, MA
48
Hannah
The Pink House is unapologetically pink, a gorgeous Victorian three-story rambling place that looks like it could be a bordello, if it wanted to.
The wide, wraparound porch is lined with wind chimes. Every different kind you could imagine. Mom would have loved it. There are huge honeysuckle bushes lining the porch, too, so that the air smells like a good day.
I’ve never seen a house like this, where the kids are in charge. There’s graffiti on the actual walls, some of it very good, and crap everywhere: bicycle parts, abandoned craft projects, and the kind of random, busted-ass stuff you see in front of people’s homes on trash day, but lovingly or cheekily repurposed, such as the dog bowl that now serves as an ashtray on the porch. There’s an elaborate lamp with no lampshade near the stairs, and the scent of Nag Champa wafts from one of the rooms on the second floor, mingling with the scent of something spicy in the kitchen.
Over the fireplace mantel in the living room is a sign from the universe that I have made the right choice to move here: Someone has painted a quote by Yoko in beautiful calligraphy.
What is the most important thing? To love yourself and the world. In