I chuckle. “You don’t think they’re crazy?”
“Oh, they’re absolutely unhinged,” she tells me seriously. “But I think that’s why I like them. They’re so…much. Warm. Loud. Accepting. They literally just met me, and I feel like I’ve known them my entire life. Your Tita Tess invited me to her seventy-fifth birthday party right before we left.”
“Some would call that ‘disrespectful of boundaries.’”
“Ilovethat.” She looks wistful for a moment. “What I’m confused about, though, is how someone like you came from someone like them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you’re all… you,” she says, walking like a robot, or someone who is about to have explosive diarrhea and is trying to hold it in. “And they’re all….” She dances like a maniac, waving her hands in the air and kicking her feet.
“So I have IBS, and they are on PCP.”
She laughs. “Something like that.”
I ruminate on that for a second. “I’ve always been like this. Growing up, everything was just so… chaotic. My parents were both teachers. They always came home from school exhausted and kind of angry and loud and frustrated. My sisters… well, you’ve met them. I spent a lot of time holed up in my room. Reading, playing video games. I just wanted quiet.”
She nods. “You just wanted order.”
“Peace. Control, really. Yeah.”
We amble in silence for a bit. I walk closer to her, wanting to feel our arms brushing together.
“I picked up some positive things from them, too, though. They’re not all bad,” I say then, feeling the need to defend my family somehow. “Under all that chaos, they’re hyper competentpeople. They’re resourceful, clever. Quick to… seize command.”
Georgia smiles. “You’re totally right. You seem so different from them, but you definitely have that in common.”
Suddenly, I realize I know nothing about Georgia’s personal life. “How about you?” I ask, feeling like I need to rectify that immediately. “What are your parents like?”
“Dead,” she answers, matter-of-factly.
My heart sinks. “What?”
“They’re dead.”
“Sorry, I-I heard you the first time. I’m… really sorry.”
She shrugs. “They were in a really bad car accident a few years ago. I miss them every day.”
“I’m sorry. Again. Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope, just me. Eloise is basically my sister, though.”
I nod, remembering her friend from that time at the farmer’s market. “Where’d you two meet?”
Georgia smiles, then, almost a full wattage, and I am strangely relieved. “We’ve known each other almost all our lives. We grew up across the street from one another on Long Island. We went to college together, and then we moved into our place here in Brooklyn right after. We’ve been together ever since.”
“You really are sisters, it sounds like.” I get a full watt smile, then. “I should probably meet her for real. Seems like I should meet your family, since you’ve met mine.”
She grins. “Good luck. She hates you.”
“Probably fair.” We cross Atlantic Avenue and make our way into Prospect Heights. “What were your parents like?” I ask her, after a few silent blocks, wanting badly to take her hand, but settling for hearing her voice again.
It’s warm when she says, “They were the best people on the planet. Chaotic, messy, loud, full of love and hugs. I learned from the best. I’m just like them.”
“I can see why you like my family so much, then.”
“Yeah. They remind me of mine.” We reach a renovated corner brownstone on one of the side streets. “This is me.”
