Our Year of Maybe
And I guess I haven’t either. Or, well, ever. Sleepovers with Peter—which are now Forbidden—were usually spent playing board games or w
atching movies. I didn’t even care that one time Peter wet the bed. There was nothing Peter could do that would disgust me. His body was working against him. I couldn’t judge something he couldn’t control.
So we order pizza, find a recipe for homemade face masks, and line up our entire nail polish collection on the bathroom counter. Then we sit on the floor with our face masks on, show tunes playing from Tabby’s phone. I don’t complain, though there are about a million other songs I’d rather listen to, even Peter’s mopey piano music.
“I’ve missed things like this,” Tabby says wistfully, and though this isn’t something the two of us have ever really done, I’m sure she’s missed doing it with her friends. It makes me think about everything else she’s probably missed since having Luna, which, admittedly, isn’t something I think about very often.
“I could watch Luna for you,” I say, thinking back to what Josh said on Halloween. “If that would help.”
“Really? You’d do that?”
“Why are you so surprised?”
She shrugs. “You’ve never expressed any interest.”
“She’s my niece. I want to get to know her.”
“She’s a cool little person.”
“That’s arrogant, considering she came from you.”
She elbows me, and a timer goes off, indicating it’s time to rinse off the masks.
Afterward, we make our way into the living room with the intention of watching some bad TV, but my sister’s in a talkative mood.
“Tell me things about your life,” she urges as we flop onto the couch. “Please?”
Before Luna, on Friday nights Tabby would be getting ready for dates with Josh or going to a theater-kid party. I’d be listening to Peter play the piano, hoping he’d look at me differently from how he’d looked at me for the past few years.
If I was ever jealous of Tabby’s friends or her relationship, I haven’t felt that way in a while. I tell her about dance team and Montana and Liz and Queens of Night. “Oh! I read the first one,” she says.
And I tell her about Peter and the complete lack of anything happening there, our continued attempts at normal. Though she doesn’t have any sage advice, she just listens, and it feels like enough.
“You could still audition for shows,” I say. “When Luna’s older?”
“Oh, I will. I’m not done with theater, but it’s hard to see everyone else doing the same regular things and me . . . not. And don’t give me some BS about how this is what I chose and I should—”
“I wouldn’t,” I say quickly, because I’ve never thought that. “I would never say that. You’re allowed to be sad about it and still be a good mom.”
“Thanks,” she says, and I can tell she means it.
When Josh gets home later, he and Tabby do their nighttime routine with Luna. It’s strange how suddenly lonely I feel after having my sister to myself the whole night. But it’s there, once the bubbly warmth of our evening together wears off.
My parents don’t get back until after midnight.
“Out this late on a school night?” I ask them incredulously when they walk in the door.
“We had such a great time,” my mom slurs. “Sophie, sweetheart, would you believe how delicious rum is?”
“Oh my God, did Peter’s parents get you drunk?”
“They all got drunk,” Dad says on his way to the kitchen. “I was the designated driver. We went to a jazz club, and the drinks were much stronger than any of us thought.” He pours Mom a glass of water. “Drink this.”
“I haven’t been drunk like this since . . .” She giggles at my dad. “Our honeymoon. Remember that night in Hawaii?”
“File this under information your daughter did not need to know,” I say with a groan. But I’m glad they can still have fun like this.
I imagine that three very drunk people was a bit much for my dad to manage tonight, though, so I wait in the living room while he helps my mom get in bed.