They are clearly words she’s heard many times before, and I feel a stab of guilt knowing she is quoting me.
“What are you making?” I ask, sitting at the table beside her, and wondering why my mother didn’t put down a drop cloth or newspaper, glitter already working its way into the crevices of her rustic wooden table. I resist the urge to clean, waiting for her answer.
“A castle. And that’s you,” she says, pointing to an oval-faced brunette peering out of a half-moon third-floor window. I’m not quite frowning, but certainly not smiling, my mouth a straight, smudged line of red crayon.
“What’s Mommy doing up there?” Nolan asks, sitting on the other side of Harper.
“Just looking out,” Harper says. “At this tree. And this blue bird.” She points to each as I notice that her fingers are beginning to lose their chubbiness, becoming little-girl slender.
Nolan and I exchange a glance, as I wonder if he’s trying to psychoanalyze her art project as much as I am.
“And where are you?” I ask, even though it is clearly her standing in the front yard, wearing a pink A-line frock. Beside her is a strapping, smiling man that has to be Nolan.
“Right here,” she says, pointing to herself. “With Daddy.”
“That’s a mighty happy pair,” I say under my breath, but Harper hears me and quotes me back.
“A happy pair,” she says, smiling, nodding.
“So did you and Nana have fun?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yeah,” she says.
“You mean ‘yes’?” I say, gently correcting her.
“Yes,” she says, shaking more purple glitter into the flower bed in front of the castle.
“We had a marvelous time,” Mom says, gazing at Harper adoringly. “And how was your anniversary weekend?”
“It was great,” I say, forcing a cheerful tone. “Very relaxing…It’s such a beautiful place.”
Nolan quickly echoes my comments.
Mom looks pleased. “I’m so glad you had a good time,” she says.
“So what else did you two do?” I ask, glancing from Mom to Harper.
“Let’s see. We watched movies….Right, Harper?”
Harper nods and says, “Lady and the Tramp…and 101 Dalmatians. And Lassie Come Home.”
“Oh, a little dog theme, I see,” Nolan says pointedly, glancing my way.
In addition to a second child, he has been trying to get Harper a puppy for months now, but I have held out, knowing that I will be the one taking it out every morning, feeding it, and scooping up its poop from the yard.
“And speaking of dogs,” Mom says. “Aunt Josie came over with Revis for a late breakfast. You actually just missed her.”
“Drats,” I say, my voice completely flat.
Mom says my name as a warning.
“What?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“Be nice,” she says. And then—“Have you still not talked to her?”
“No,” I say, positive that this fact was discussed, and knowing how adept Josie is at making me out to be the bad guy.
“You really need to talk to her.”
“And why’s that?”
I know her answer before she says it: Because she’s your sister. She clears her throat, then adds, “And because she’s going to have this baby, and we need to support her decision.”
“Do you think she’ll really go through with it?” Nolan asks.
Mom nods and says, “Yes. In fact, she picked her donor.”
I flinch, but remain silent, determined not to ask any questions and indirectly validate what Josie’s doing. Of course Nolan doesn’t get this nuance and eagerly asks for the scoop.
Mom takes a deep breath, then starts rattling off the detailed bio of a complete stranger. “His name is Peter. He’s from the Midwest—Wisconsin, I think she said…but he currently lives in Atlanta. He’s forty-one. I think she said he’s five-ten or five-eleven….He has brown hair and hazel eyes.”
She takes a deep breath, Nolan looking rapt while I pretend to be completely disinterested. “And let’s see….He’s Irish and German by descent….He was raised Catholic, but isn’t very religious. He is spiritual, though. He believes in God. He likes outdoorsy things—camping and biking and skiing. He’s very fit. Very healthy. He went to college, then got a graduate degree in physical therapy, which he practices now. He’s very smart, especially in math and science….”
“If he does say so himself?” I say.
Mom ignores my snide comment and says, “Oh—and she says he has a cleft in his chin. Which Josie has always liked.”
“Well, super,” I say.
“Meredith,” she says sternly. “You really need to change your attitude.”
“Why? She never changes her attitude,” I say, knowing how immature I sound. “She never resists a single impulse.”
“Actually,” Mom says, her voice gentle. “That’s not true. She’s really trying lately.”
I cross my arms and raise my eyebrows. “Oh? How so?”
“Well, for one—she has agreed to go to New York with us. In December.”