I grab my sister and lift her onto my shoulders. She squeals in a mix of terror and delight. As Coco grabs the tub of to-go ice cream, I bound from the store and down the street, staying a little ahead of her and Hercules, who we tied to a post outside the shop.
There are things Natalie and I need to discuss.
“Slow down, you’re making my head bob. It’s worse than brain freeze,” she yells.
I lift her by the waist and put her back on the ground. She glares up at me. “I didn’t say I was done riding on your shoulders.”
“That’s okay. I said it for you.”
She looks back and sees Coco slowly walking toward us with Hercules on a lead. “You want to talk to me without your girlfriend hearing.”
“First, she’s my fiancée.”
“If she’s your fiancée, why haven’t you ever mentioned her before? She’s not as dumb as the girls you normally date.”
A sound of terror escapes my lungs. “Excuse me?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” Natalie waves her little pixie hands. “She’s got brains. She’s smart. I kind of like her.” Then she sets herjaw squarely. “But I’m still not convinced Pane knows of her existence. Are you sure you’re engaged?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because you’re not being you.”
“Define not being me, because last I checked, I’m still the same guy.”
I glance back at Coco, brows drawn in what I hope translates into a look that says,Give us a minute. She catches my expression and steers Hercules toward a grassy patch in front of a gingerbread-style house. The lambicorn begins to munch happily, and I focus on my sister.
“You’redifferent,” she answers, emphasizing the word.
Does she know? Can my sister tell? She’s a pretty quick kid. It wouldn’t surprise me if she opened her mouth and sounded like a fifty-year-old sage. “I’m the same Stone I was when you last saw me.”
Sort of. It’s not technically a lie because Iamthe same person. I’m just moremenow.
“No, you’re not,” she argues.
“And what makes you say that?”
“You’re different. Nicer. Not mad at the universe every five seconds. Pane went through this whole anger stage about your dad, too. He’s still kind of there, but it’s not as bad as it was when he and Rowe broke up for a while. But you”—she slaps her forehead in a dramatic, Oscar-worthy performance—“you were just mad most of the time. Especially at Mom. And now it’s like someone pulled that Stone out of you and replaced him with someone else—like a body snatcher.”
She leans back, folds her arms, and assesses me. “Has someone stolen your brain?”
I bark out a laugh. “No, of course not. Look, about this whole thing with Dad—”
“Yourdad. Notmydad. Mom didn’t tell me my dad wanted nothing to do with me so she could keep us apart for twenty years.”
It feels like I’m standing on a tectonic plate while an earthquake hits. But I’m able to keep my legs steady, my feet planted on the ground.
My mother kept my father away from meon purpose? I search for this core memory, this piece of me that’s missing, the seed of resentment, of anger I know would’ve sprouted like a weed, but it isn’t there.
Of course it isn’t. How can it exist when there’s no place for it to? When there’s no earth for it to be rooted in?
It’s hard to explain, and I know Ishouldbe feeling something, but I can’t. It’s like that part of me is gone. No, not thatpart.
ThatStonedoesn’t exist anymore.
I’m not the same man I was a few weeks ago.
And it’s all thanks to a hard hat.
