He hugged me back extra hard. “I really think this is the right decision. It’ll be difficult, but I think it’s what we’re meant to do. And we’ll all grow from it. You most of all. Just promise me one thing,” he said.
“Anything.”
“No matter how crazy and hard things get, you’ll talk to me. We’re a team. If it’s too much, you need to tell me. No secrets.”
“No secrets,” I said, my fingers crossed behind his back as if I were a little girl—my mother’s girl, making promises I knew I couldn’t keep because they were already broken.
FOUR
THE FRONT DOOR BANGEDopen, followed by the sound of arguing.
The girls were home.
Moxie ran to greet them, tail wagging, nosing at them, but they were too caught up in their fight to pay much attention to her.
“The mice arenotstupid!” Olivia said as she threw down her pink kitty backpack on the bench by the front door. She gave Moxie a halfhearted pat on the head, then peeled off her winter coat and hung it on the coatrack in the entryway.
“I never said that,” Izzy retorted, tossing her own heavy backpack next to her sister’s as she clomped into the dining room in her black Doc Martens. Moxie and Olivia followed her.
“Did too! You said they were babyish and dumb and who would want to be one? That’s what you just said!” Her voice was high-pitched and squeaky—herI’m about to cryvoice.
“I was only saying the rats are better.”
“Only level fours can be rats,” Olivia reminded her, sounding beaten, desperate.
“The rat dance is better. And they get to fight in the battle. The mice just sit around watching.”
Izzy had played a rat inThe Nutcrackeronce. The local dance studio did a Vermont-themed interpretation each winter, including a Maple Sugar Fairy, dairy cows, lumberjacks—and rats as well as mice. That was before Izzy had quit ballet for good, despite her teacher saying she was one of the strongest dancers in her class, that she showed real promise.She still had the body of a dancer—tall and lithe, flexible and strong. She was a coiled spring ready to pounce with a strength and energy that often surprised anyone around her. Olivia, on the other hand, seemed to have inherited her father’s two left feet. Despite three ballet classes a week (her choice because she loved it so much), she still fell over while doing the simplest pliés and relevés. She had a hard time keeping track of the positions. Most of the other kids who’d been in her class, kids she’d started with, had moved up to level two. She was still in level one. Her teacher swore she’d get better, that grace was something that could be learned and Olivia just needed to “come into her own body.”
“But I—” Olivia began.
“That’s enough, girls,” I said.
“Mommy’s home!” Olivia ran toward me and took a flying leap. I caught her in my arms and hugged her tight, burying my nose in her hair. She smelled like apple shampoo and the winter air outside.
Mark set a plate of cookies on the heavy maple dining room table. An antique wrought-iron chandelier hung above the table, the little candle-shaped bulbs emitting a warm glow.
“Gingerbread cookies!” Olivia squealed, turning her attention away from me. “Is today going to be Decorating Day?”
Mark nodded. “Just like I promised. I said as soon as your mom got home, and here she is.” I gave a little bow, and Olivia giggled.
“Are we doing the tree and the cookies?” Olivia asked.
“Absolutely, little mouse,” I told her.
“Oh, joy,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes, which were rimmed with heavy black eyeliner.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling at my older daughter.
Her whole outfit was black: leggings, boots, a long tunic-style sweater.
“Where’s the icing?” Olivia asked. “And do we have those little hot cinnamon candies? The ones that are good for buttons and eyes?”
“Of course,” I said.
“We’ll decorate the cookies in a bit,” Mark said. “First it’s family meeting time.”
“Oh, perfect. How did we get so lucky? Christmas decoratinganda family meeting in one day?” Izzy said in the most sarcastic voice she could manage. She looked at her watch. “As long as we’re done by four thirty. I’m hanging out with Theo.”
