“Postcard for you,” Dave said, holding it out to her. Her bare feet pitter-pattered against the kitchen tiles and she snatched it from his hand.
Julia read quickly, almost breathing the words out loud. Then she laughed and said, “She sends her love,” to Tom and Ethan. The postcards didn’t come often, so when they did, Dave knew, Julia read them over and over again, as if they were poetry. Then she’d put them up in her room connected by strings to pushpins on a map indicating where they’d been sent from. Ecuador, China, Australia, Belgium, Chile, Mexico. Julia traced her mom’s journeys around the world and used the few details she knew to imagine the days when she would be able to travel as well. Without question, the best night in Dave’s life was the night he and Julia sat staring at the map, splitting a bottle of wine stolen from the garage and planning travels the two of them would go on together.
“Is she still in Mexico City?” Tom asked, dipping a spoon into one of the sauces simmering on the stove to take a taste. “More ginger?” he said to Chef Mike, who shook his head.
“Yup,” Julia said. “Working at an art gallery and part-time at a bar-slash-restaurant-slash-art-house movie theater.”
“That sounds about right,” Tom said with a smile. “That’s gotta be the longest she’s spent in one place since you were born.”
“She says it might be her favorite place she’s lived in. Although I’m sure she says that about everywhere she’s been, because she only picks amazing places.” She slipped the postcard into her shirt pocket. “We’re gonna go upstairs to dye our hair. Call us when some of this amazing-smelling food is ready.”
“That’s funny, I thought I heard you say you were dying your hair,” Ethan said, looking up from his notebook. Julia nodded with a smirk and Ethan looked over at Dave.
“I’m going with green,” Dave said with a nod.
“Don’t you have to ask permission from us to do something like this?” Tom said.
“I’m a college acceptee,” Julia said. “That pretty much grants me freedom to do whatever I want, except for felonies.”
“How’d you get talked into this?” Tom asked Dave.
“Your daughter has a talent for corrupting the youth.”
“Don’t I know it,” Tom said. He crossed his muscular arms in front of his chest and appraised the two of them. “I don’t think I’m ready to let go of my iron fist of authority in this household.”
“Don’t worry,” Julia said, grabbing the CVS bag with the hair dye off the counter and kissing him on the cheek. “You can still tell Dad what to do all the time.”
“Hey,” Ethan called halfheartedly, his attention slipping back into his work, “I resemble that remark.”
“Resemble? What, are you having a stroke, old man? Don’t you mean resent?”
“It’s a Three Stooges reference,” Dave explained.
“There is hope yet,” Ethan said, giving Dave a smile as Julia dragged him out of the kitchen by the arm. “Don’t make a mess,” he called out after them.
“We are definitely making a mess,” Julia whispered to Dave as they went up the stairs toward her room.
“Which of us is going first?” Dave said, reading the tiny print on the side of the box.
“Let’s do yours first. Your hair’s darker, so we should probably let the bleach sink in longer for you.”
They grabbed some old towels from the linen closet and spread them around the bathroom in Julia’s room. Julia snapped on the gloves that came in the box, and Dave sat on a stool in front of the sink, watching Julia go over the instructions again. She had the most hilariously exaggerated reactions to every step of the process, and Dave sat back and watched, relishing each expression. Just as she was about to dab a bit of the dye on Dave’s arm to test for skin allergies, Debbie the cat jumped onto Dave’s lap, getting a green streak down her back.