"It already has six cloves!"
"And it needs two more. We're not vampires."
"How do you know?" Allegra wiggled her eyebrows. "Maybe I'm a vampire and that's why I was sick. Vampire transformation."
"Vampires don't eat garlic bread."
"Maybe I'm a new kind of vampire. A garlic-loving vampire who—ow!" She'd nicked her finger chopping. A tiny bead of blood welled up.
June had band-aids on it before Allegra could even finish saying "ow," mother hen instincts in overdrive. Briar watched them, June fussing, Allegra protesting she was fine, both of them laughing, and dug her fingers into her palms to keep from crying.
"Bri, you're being too quiet," Allegra called. "Tell Mom I don't need Neosporin for a microscopic cut."
"All cuts need Neosporin," Briar said automatically, grateful that her voice didn’t betray the turmoil roiling just beneath the surface. "That's the rule."
"You're both terrible. This is child abuse. I'm calling—what's that number for child services?"
"1-800-DEAL-WITH-IT," June said, which startled a laugh out of all of them.
The sauce, finally finished, was left to simmer. They played cards while waiting, Allegra's choice, some complicated game she'd learned at school that seemed to have no consistent rules.
"That's not how you played it last time," Briar protested when Allegra set down a card.
"Rules evolve. Pokemon evolution but for card games."
"That's not how evolution works."
"You're just mad because I'm winning."
"No one's winning. I don't even understand what we're playing."
"Exactly!" Allegra slapped down another card triumphantly. "That means I win!"
June caught Briar's eye over Allegra's head, fond exasperation mixed with something heavier. Her expression said everything she couldn’t voice:Memorize this.
Briar looked away, afraid her mother might catch the subtle sheen of tears she had been fighting for hours not to shed.
“I bet the sauce is ready,” June said at last, setting her cards down on the table. “Let's go check on it.”
“I hope so,” Allegra replied, hopping up to follow their mother into the kitchen. “I’m starving.”
Dinner was loud and messy. Allegra got sauce on her shirt within minutes. June told embarrassing stories about Briar's childhood, like the time she tried to run away but only made it to the corner because she wasn't allowed to cross streets alone, or the time she'd convinced herself she could talk to birds and spent a whole summer having serious conversations with pigeons.
"I was six," Briar protested.
"You were eight," June corrected. "And you made them tiny paper hats."
"Those pigeons deserved fashion!"
Allegra nearly choked on her garlic bread laughing.
After, they did dishes together, assembly-line style. Allegra washed, badly, while Briar dried, and June put them away. Water got everywhere, soap bubbles ended up in Allegra's hair, and the kitchen towel was soaked within minutes.
"This is nice," Allegra said absently, hands deep in sudsy water. "All of us together. We should do this more often."
"Yeah," Briar managed around the lump in her throat. "We should."
The mark on her wrist pulsed, hidden beneath long sleeves and dish soap. It seemed to be reminding her that she had only hours left.
