I removed the dog’s nose from my crotch and doled out kisses, one on top of each smooth blond head, Amy, Daisy, DJ. A rush of protective love surged over me. I understood Momma’s desire to tell Amy personally about the separation. But the secret squirmed inside me, seeking to get out.
“Hello, my little monsters.” Jo snatched up DJ, making gobbling noises into his neck as he squirmed with delight.
“You look terrible,” Amy said to her.
“Gee, thanks.”
“It’s the shock,” Amy said sympathetically. “You’ll get over it.”
“What?”
“You’ve had the same hairstyle since high school,” our little sister said. “Losing your hair is like losing your identity. It’s like you’re in mourning for your childhood.”
“Sometimes you’re so perceptive, it’s terrifying.”
“I’m just saying, you’d feel better with a good haircut,” Amy said.
“I want haircut,” Daisy said.
“No haircuts,” I said automatically. What was that smell?
“But Iwant—”
“No haircuts now,” Amy said. “We’re doing pretty fingernails now.”
Ah. Nail polish, that was it. Daisy waggled her fingers in the air. “Pretty.”
“So pretty, sweeties,” I said. DJ pulled his thumb from his mouth. Both my babies had rainbow manicures. I eyed the bottles—eggplant, scarlet, navy in some brand I’d never heard of—spilling from Amy’s bag. “Is that...”
“Nontoxic,” Jo said, looking up from her phone. “And vegan. I Googled it.”
“Good job,” I said.
“Which one of us?” Amy asked.
So competitive. “All of you,” I said. Making peace. I started cleaning, tissues, cotton balls, purple smears on the kitchen table.
Jo made a strangled noise. I looked up. She was staring at her phone, her face red and stunned.
“What? What is it?” Amy crowded closer to peer over her shoulder. “Oh, him. The arm-porn guy.”
“Who?” I asked. “Where?”
“Eric.” Jo’s voice shook. “He commented on my blog.”
“I recognized his avatar,” Amy said. “That’s the same photo, right? With the tats.”
“Well, that’s good,” I said cautiously. Anything that took her attention off our father had to be positive. “Is that good?”
Jo’s eyes welled with tears. “He posted his mother’s recipe forpfeffernüsse.”
“Bastard,” Amy said. “What’spfeffernüsse?”
“Bat turd,” DJ said.
Amy shot me a guilty grin. “Oops.”
Jo snorted.
