Even Hall is teary. “Aww,” I whisper, smiling. “You big softie.”
He wipes his eyes, backing away. “Excuse me for a moment.”
The tape ends. Mom sifts through a stack of videos with labels like’03 Christmas Play,Sweetheart Pageant, andKaia Talent Show. Everyone is clamoring for videos in which they are the star. Mom has veto power, eliminating any video in which she doesn’t like her hairstyle. We’re all exclaiming that we’d forgotten about Diana, our cocker spaniel who passed away the day I graduated high school, when I realize Hall is still gone.
I find him in our room, perched on the edge of his bed, shoulders rounded to fit beneath the top bunk, staring at the floor while his hands idly play with a snow globe. His eyes are red-rimmed and bright, and my heart drops, a cold stone, down into the pit of my stomach.
I thought he was being sentimental, like the rest of us. This isn’t sentimental-sad. This issadsad.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hi.” The snow globe contains two miniature figures ice skating, holding hands, their scarves flying behind them.
I close the door behind me. “How are you doing?” As soon as the door’s shut, I’m pulled into the magic he’s cast over the room, and I see that he isn’t sitting on the bottom bunk after all. He’s sitting on a red bench at the edge of the ice rink, watching a memory of the two of us skating together. Whenever it ends, he hits replay, and we go round and round again.
“I have something to confess,” he says, still riveted on the snow globe. Inside it, there are two miniature people sitting on a bunk bed side by side.
I join him on the bench.
“I put an extra tablespoon of brown sugar into the cookie dough. I—I just really, really wanted you to like the cookies wemade together. I’ve been talking up cookie baking so much and the pressure got to me. I cracked.”
“Is that all?” I huff a relieved laugh. “Hall, you had me worried. I don’t care if you added an extra teaspoon of brown sugar.”
“Tablespoon. I’m diabolical.”
“I think we can get through it.” I offer a rueful smile that he doesn’t immediately reciprocate.
“I want to thank you for coming on this family trip with me.” I bump his knee playfully with mine, trying to raise his spirits. “It hasn’t been too bad, with you here. My family loves you—even Dad and Grandma have come around, and they’re the hardest to convince. Usually, this week is a disaster, but this year I’m enjoying myself.”
“I can see you’re a lot happier these days.”
“And it’s all your fault. Well done, you.” I say this last bit in my dad’s embellished accent.
He nods broodingly. His expression is so far away, making my heart pinch. “Watching you become happier, laughing with your family, is a spectacular thing, which I am proud to watch. Even if it does mean my time here is tapering off.” He cocks his head. “Humans are the most fascinating creatures. You’re all so intelligent and yet you often use that intelligence to accomplish the most baffling of goals. I’ve enjoyed being one of you, having the freedom to put my energy toward nonsense, more than you can know. Not having a sole, single purpose. Down here, you can have loads of varying purposes all at once. You’re not a...” He holds up his fist, thumb and forefinger pinched together. “Not, like, a—afunction, you know? What you are, is more than I am.”
I take his hand between both of mine. “You areeverything, Hall.”
“Now that I know what I’ve been missing, I feel like I’m onlyhalfway filled up with experiences. I’ll return to my old life knowing that I’m only half of what I could’ve been. I’ve got to live with that, not knowing what the rest of me should look like.” He pats my knee clumsily. “Sorry. My default used to be pure, unadulterated joyfulness, but now it’s shot through with dozens of other emotions. What a mess.” He tries for a smile. “Know any good jokes to lift my spirits, by chance?”
“Actually, I did make some jokes for you. Of a sort.”
I reach, and even though I can’t see the old rolltop desk, my hand finds it, along with a thin stack of folded construction paper. It appears when I pull it back.
“I made you a few more cards, since you liked the last one so much.”
He takes the first from me, the cover inexplicably illustrated with a camping scene. Inside, it reads:Surprise! Lacey Chabert is behind you.
A reluctanthmphemits from his nose. “I’m not going to look behind me. I refuse.” (Then he does, surreptitiously.) He reads the blue card, which I’ve drawn a pastoral scene for, with flowers and tiny cottages.Wishing you all the zest with your orange scones.
“Have I ever made orange scones?” he wonders.
“I tried to come up with universal sentiments, but everything came out very niche. If you ever meet someone who bakes orange scones, this one will really hit.”
He opens the yellow card, its front featuring all of the nutritional information on a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese for no reason whatsoever. The gem inside is:I might be your best option.The most crucial detail of designing my cards is that the artwork must be unrelated to the message, for maximum chaos.
“And one more, because I was on a roll.” I open this one up for him myself, giggling at my own joke.It’s time to move on, Chris.
“I love it!” he exclaims. “Who’s Chris?”
