"Except, they don't. Not really."

"Morgan does. Her dad's parents are totally normal and don't know the first thing about teardrop tattoos or making license plates."

I had to smile. "I'm pretty sure that's not dad's reality either." His glare blew the grin off my face. "Eric. Listen to yourself. You are into this girl. Megan. Give her a chance. Telling somebody your dad is incarcerated is scary and you know it. And? You're making excuses." That earned me a more intense glare. "Well, you are. Take it from a girl whose spent the last ten years making excuses for herself. You're just scared because you liiiiiiike her," I sang in a kindergarten-y tone. My brother rolled his eyes as if he were so much more mature. I knew better

"Eat your pancakes. Crash on my couch. Go back and make things right with her. Then fall down at my feet thanking me for saving your life."

"I thought you'd be on my side," he muttered.

"Nope!" I said, cheerily. He fed Barbara the stabbed pancake bite.

*

Abby was over fifteen minutes after we called. We talked and laughed in my apartment ("Would it kill you to hang a picture?!" Eric chided) until we were starving. "I'm taking my little siblings out to eat!" Abby announced. She took us to an Italian place I'd never been, but was heavenly. Except, "the eggplant is just a piiiiinch overdone," I announced.

Abby and Eric shook their heads at me, but they were grinning. "She's back!" Abby announced.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"After mom died it was like you couldn't taste anything anymore. You never complained about the food. I missed that."

"If you want complaints, I'll give you complaints!" I smiled.

We had the obligatory conversation about dad. "I can take him!" Abby cried. "I have more space. It makes sense for him to live with me."

"Your house is too nice. He wouldn't be motivated to leave. At least at my apartment, he'll want to get a job and get off my couch ASAP." I was only half-kidding. Sitting here with my siblings, there was no conflict, no agonizing over this decision. I would take dad. End of story.

After dinner, we spilled into the street, drunk with togetherness and memories. We walked around the cold, lit, city and for the first time in ten years, had an impromptu, oddly-timed celebration of life for our mom. We'd had a funeral of course, but we were too broken at the time to say anything more about her then "Thank you. She was wonderful. We'll miss her so much." At the time, I had to suppress every memory of her in order to put one foot in front of the other, in order to blink, in order to breath.

But now we affectionately listed all her quirks ("I don't think she ever could say 'specifically!'") her legacy, big and small (The scholarship in her name at the community college and our embarrassing love for peanut butter on a hamburger.) We laughed over our mom rather than crying for the first time ever, celebrated her in the streets together, the way she would have wanted. It was the happiest I'd been in years. Maybe in my whole life.

The happiness didn't last.