Fall by Winter

“Oh my God,” I wheezed out in laughter. “She didn’t.”

“Oh, she did,” he told me. “I’ve never felt older physically, Lis. That could be me soon. My knees already sound like firecrackers when I get off the couch.”

I gigglesnorted. “Well, I didn’t get glasses last year because it’s cool. We’re not twenty anymore.”

“I’ll say.” He tossed and caught his car keys, taking the step off my tiny porch. “Anyway. She might be with Jess. She talked about hanging out with him earlier today.”

“Okay, thanks.” I nodded and smirked, still amused by Aurora’s rambling. She’d wanted to study medicine since she was little and researched random topics in the field for kicks.

“By the way,” William said as he opened the gate, “why didn’t you tell me my brother’s getting divorced?”

I gave him a strange look. What the hell? “Mason’s getting divorced?”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I assumed you knew. Yeah, he called me before the weekend, said he was done and moving out.”

Huh.

I didn’t know what to say. I’d seen Mason mere weeks ago. I’d been to a spa retreat in Phoenix to celebrate a promotion of sorts—and to treat myself to a getaway—and he lived there. Maybe it was why William assumed I’d know something. When we were married, it had been my job to keep track of family members, and whereas the brothers had never been particularly close, I’d maintained contact. Birthday cards and holiday greetings and such. So, we’d met up for dinner in Phoenix. He’d even flown back here with me for a quick visit; he wanted to reconnect with William.

“I had no idea,” I said, at a loss. “He made no mention of things being bad at home when I saw him.”

“Same here.” William frowned. “He seemed happy when he came up to visit.”

“Get to the bottom of things,” I encouraged. “I’m glad you two are trying to get closer, so make sure you don’t ignore this.”

He nodded and closed the gate behind himself. “I will,” he replied. “Clever as always.”

I offered a two-finger salute.A couple hours later, I found myself on the floor in the living room, surrounded by boxes, trash bags, and beef stir-fry.

“What about this one?” I held up a Barbie doll. “You used to play with it all the time.”

“Mom.” Okay, Aurora was getting frustrated with me. “No more friggin’ toys, all right? I haven’t played with dolls in, like, five years.”

“Fine.” I sulked as I tossed it into the bag of items to donate. Then I picked up my bowl of stir-fry, shoveling a spoonful into my mouth, and forced myself to face the truth. My daughter had officially left childhood behind.

She’d even rejected the stuffed animals she used to share her bed with.

“Are you gonna mope this weekend when you ask if Brady wants to throw out his action figures?” Aurora countered.

“Probably.” I shrugged.

Despite the countless boxes of shit I’d thrown out before the move, I’d known there would be more once I got here. William and I had marveled at the forgotten items we’d had in our attic.

“I was serious about my request, though,” I said. “I want you to save five things for your future children.”

I’d already stowed away a box of baby clothes and toys I wasn’t ready to part with.

Aurora bit her lip, surveying the sea of toys between us. The floor would be empty by tomorrow, because that was when our new furniture arrived. At this point, we only had our beds, nightstands, the kitchen stools around the island, and, right behind me, the couch.

We had shelving covered, which was one of my favorite features of the house. Built-in shelves in each room. The living room had two units I’d already filled with books, pictures, and knickknacks.

Aurora picked up one of her old dolls and combed down its hair with her fingers. “Brady says he’s never having kids.”

“Well. Your brother can be full of shit sometimes.” I took a swig from my water bottle and nodded at the doll. “You should save that one. Remember what you named her?”

She grinned wryly and set it aside behind her. “Trixie. Dad hated it and asked if she was a stripper.”

I chuckled, remembering it. In William’s defense, Aurora had been eight at the time. He hadn’t thought she would know what a stripper was.

Oh, this was making me nostalgic. Every damn toy came with a memory, and it saddened me that those days were over.

I pouted to myself and picked up a slingshot that must’ve ended up in the wrong box. It used to be Brady’s.

My two beautiful children. Brady was looking more and more like his father with each year that passed. Same dark hair and kind, slate eyes. Same features, though where William was tall and bordering on lanky, Brady was a few inches shorter and carried more bulk. Aurora took after me more, but she had William’s eyes.