Mom turns her attention to the SUV. “And you brought all the dogs! Oh, let me see them!”
The next ten minutes are a three-ring circus as we release five very excited dogs into my parents’ huge, fenced backyard. Moose and Lulu immediately start a game of tug-of-war with a stick. Scout herds Buster and Purdy into a corner like he’s managing sheep. My brothers are laughing, and Claudia has already claimed Purdy as her new best friend.
“Come in, come in!” Mom ushers us inside. “You must be exhausted. Dinner is warming—oh, which one is Purdy? She’s precious! And this must be Lulu?”
“Mom knows all their names,” I mutter to April.
She nudges me. “Because she follows your social media.” Then she narrows her eyes at me and, in a hush, asks, “Are all the dogs so she stops pestering you about grandkids?”
I shake my head. “What? No.” If only she knew the truth. The dogs are purely for April. To keep her close. To offer her what she loves. But I wouldn’t say no to marriage and kids.
I help dad with the luggage and my sister Claudia pulls out the hockey sticks for street hockey later. “Clark, when are you going to wife her up?”
I freeze, then through the open window in the kitchen, I hear my mother say, “Now, about sleeping arrangements?—”
Not wanting this to be awkward for April, I sprint into the house as Mom leads April down the hallway, and I brace myself. She and I made it through senior year without ever seeing each other’s bedrooms. Not that there was anything incriminating in mine, but still. It feels strangely intimate for her to see where seventeen-year-old Clark pined over her.
But it’s not there.
“We’re doing a remodel!” Mom announces brightly, opening a door to reveal a completely gutted bedroom with exposed studs, tools everywhere, and drywall stacked against one wall.
“What happened to my stuff?”
Breezing past my question, she says, “We’re also doing the master bath over. Finally. Isn’t it exciting!?”
“But what about my trophies and Legos?”
April giggles.
Mom says, “This means our only available space is the basement.”
“Is my stuff down there?”
My dear, beloved mother cups my cheek. “Of course, honey. You know I never throw anything out.”
It’s true—we could open a thrift store—but I’m surprised she didn’t tell me that my room is no longer there.
“Clark, you’re not the only daydreamer in this family. I always wanted a craft room. Now, this will be the perfect space for my scrapbooking.”
She leads us downstairs to a large, finished space. And there, against the far wall, are my brothers’ old bunk beds along with numerous plastic storage tubs, which are labeled with my name and must contain my belongings. I really hope the Darth Vader helmet is still intact.
“I know it’s not ideal,” Mom continues, oblivious to my relief and April’s uncertain smile. “But with five dogs, we thought the basement would be perfect. There’s a door to the backyard right there, see? And we set up water bowls and toys. The twins still come down here to play video games, so you’ll never get lonely. It’ll be like a sleepover!”
“Oh, goodie.”
April, looking slightly panicked, says, “Thank you, Mrs.—Cheryl.”
“Wonderful! Get settled, and come up whenever you’re ready. Don’t forget, tomorrow, we’re going to church at nine, then hosting Easter brunch, followed by our famous Easter egg hunt!” She disappears back upstairs, calling for Claudia to help make a salad.
April and I stand in the basement, staring at the bunk beds.
“Bunk beds,” she says.
“Bunk beds,” I confirm.
“I call the top bunk.” She clamors for it.
I playfully reach for her. “Absolutely not. What if you fall?”
