Apples Never Fall

“Why didn’t you bring your toy boy along today?” Troy removed a piece of red tinsel from Amy’s hair. He himself had a fetching dusting of gold glitter on his cheekbone, but Amy didn’t tell him. She thought it suited him. He looked like a rock star.

“He’s just a friend,” said Amy.

“Sure he is,” said Troy.

Simon’s parents lived in the country, on a cattle farm, of all the horrifying places to live, and Simon had gone to spend the Christmas break with them. He had invited Amy to come, but meeting his family at Christmas would obviously give him the impression she was a normal girlfriend, and she very nearly had a panic attack just imagining all that endless space.

“I feel like we’re missing someone.” Troy looked about him with dissatisfaction, holding his champagne glass by the stem. “It doesn’t feel like Christmas, in spite of all this … horror.” He gestured at the decorations.

“I know,” said Amy. “I was just thinking the same thing. I keep looking about for the missing person.”

“I think it’s Indira who is missing,” said Troy. “I miss Indira.”

“Me too,” said Amy. Indira was a great Christmas guest, because she hadn’t celebrated it growing up and therefore had no rules or expectations or baggage about the holiday. She always got a little drunk and sang carols beautifully. None of the Delaneys could hold a note, so they were rapturous in their appreciation. Also, she would have found a way to convince Joy to let her into the kitchen to help.

“Did you hear that?” Troy called across the room to Logan. “We miss your girlfriend!”

Logan ignored them as he unscrewed the old light globe.

“Get Indira back!” cried Amy. “I command it, peasant!”

One of their favorite games when they were kids involved Amy’s siblings agreeing to be her “peasants.” Well, it was one of her favorite games. They all had to do what she commanded and fetch her things. She could never quite believe she got away with it. She could still remember the sick, delicious feeling of power as she watched Brooke obediently make her bed.

Logan didn’t even bother to respond. Her power was long gone.

Troy lowered his voice. “I don’t especially miss Grant.”

“I miss his roast potatoes,” said Amy.

“He was so fucking proud of them,” said Troy.

“Deservedly so,” said Amy. “Hey, have you noticed how Brooke is—”

“I can hear you both,” said Brooke from the floor next to the couch, where she was lying flat on her back on the purple floral carpet doing some weird kind of pretzel-like stretch. Brooke had worn a summer dress to please their mother, who said, “Oh! That looks nice, although I thought you’d wear your lovely green one today.” Amy had at least made an effort to get the color code right by wearing a vintage green miniskirt and a red singlet top. Her mother said, “My goodness, you look like a gangster’s girlfriend!” The boys wore the same clothes they always wore, and their mother told both of them they looked gorgeous.

“Eavesdropping peasant.” Amy kicked her sister with her foot.

“You’ve forgotten the revolution.” Brooke stretched one hamstring and then the other. “We are no longer your peasants.”

She was Brooke again. That’s what Amy had been going to say. Have you noticed how Brooke is Brooke again? She was back doing random yoga poses and floor stretches. She snorted when she laughed. She talked about lowbrow stuff like The Bachelor. She actually looked taller. Maybe she’d been subconsciously hunching for Grant. “Girls, you must never hunch for a boy!” their mother used to cry, which was all very well for her.

Brooke sat up, her dress bunched up around her knees.

“Bum shuffle,” ordered Amy. “Be cute. Like you used to be.”

“She’s still cute,” said Troy.

Brooke tried to shuffle along the carpet on her bottom but couldn’t do it. “I’ll get carpet burn,” she said. She put her hands flat on the monstrous carpet. “When Dad dies, how fast do you think Mum will tear this up?”

“His body will still be warm,” said Troy.

Amy shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“Mum should just get people in and do it,” said Troy. “Imagine how much better this room would look with beautiful floorboards.”

“Dad keeps saying he’s happy to tear it up,” said Logan. “I’ve said I’ll do it but then he always changes his mind at the last minute.”

“It’s because Grandma was so proud of it,” said Amy. “They used to call this the Good Room. She worked all those hours to save up to get this carpet after Dad’s father left, and she thought this color was so fashionable.”