peaceful. Regardless, I did the best I could to keep the family together and under the roof where we’d lived all our lives.
“Vivvie, I have to. You can’t keep working yourself to the bone like this.”
“I’m fine.” I put together Mary’s lunch and tossed in an extra cookie to brighten her day. “We’ve been going strong for three years now. Why change it?”
“Maybe because you haven’t gone out with a friend or been on a date in…” He lifted his gaze to the kitchen ceiling while he tapped his chin. “I don’t even remember the last time I saw you with a guy.”
I braced myself against the tile counter. “That is none of your business. Besides, I see guys all the time.”
He snorted and chuckled. “Yeah, in your yoga class. And cutting their hair doesn’t count, either.”
I scowled. Forcibly turning him around, I led him toward the front of the house. Our family home was located in the heart of Berkeley, California. The house had been my parents’ pride and joy. Mom had always been a homemaker, and Dad was a lawyer and worked in downtown Oakland. The house was paid off, thank God, or I’d never have been able to keep it. Even so, the property taxes and home repairs were piling up. Shaking off the worry that always came with wondering what would break next and take the little bit of extra money I’d saved, I nudged Rowan toward his backpack.
The wood floors throughout the house had seen better days, but I kept them clean and waxed as often as I could. The kids helped, of course. We all had our chores. The house hadn’t changed much over the three years since Mom and Dad passed. We’d kept as much of them alive within it as we could, like our own personal shrine to them. All the pictures they’d hung, their books, even the figurines they’d treasured all stayed where they’d been lovingly placed over the years. That was one thing I was determined to preserve. My brother and sister would always have this home to come back to when they left the house each day.
Rowan picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. His shaggy dark-blond hair fell into his brown eyes. I lifted my arm and moved the stubborn strand away before caressing his cheek. All three of us had our father’s brown eyes, though Row and Mary’s were more of a caramel brown, and mine were so dark they looked almost black.
“Take care of yourself out there, okay? Come back home safe,” I said.
“You can count on it.” Rowan smiled and saluted before walking out the door.
Mary shuffled into the living room, her shirt on backward.
I laughed. “Honey, your shirt’s on the wrong way.”
She held her hand out. “I know! It’s backward day at school. Everyone has to wear their clothes like this.” She rolled down the front of her skirt. “See, the tag’s in the front.” Her eyes sparkled, and her white-blond hair fell in a flat sheet down her back.
“Well, that’s silly, but okay. You got the brush?”
Mary held up Mom’s old hairbrush. The paint around the handle was chipped and flaked off in tiny specks. I didn’t say anything. If Mary wanted to use Mom’s brush until there were no more bristles left, that’s what she’d do. Far be it from me to take away something that made her comfortable. Mary and I had our own little morning routine. She sat on the ottoman, and I sat in the cushy lounge chair that had been Dad’s favorite reading spot, and I brushed her hair every morning and each night, the same way Mom had done for me.
“Braid today or ponytail?” I asked.
Her pink lips puckered. “Two braids, tied together at the back.”
“Oooh, I see we’re getting fancy. Have you been looking at my books again?” I’d received the hairstyle books when I signed up for cosmetology school before our parents got into the accident. When they passed, I had only three months left. Only problem—besides the fact that I was a grieving—I was twenty-one and suddenly head of the household. The
“Vivvie, I have to. You can’t keep working yourself to the bone like this.”
“I’m fine.” I put together Mary’s lunch and tossed in an extra cookie to brighten her day. “We’ve been going strong for three years now. Why change it?”
“Maybe because you haven’t gone out with a friend or been on a date in…” He lifted his gaze to the kitchen ceiling while he tapped his chin. “I don’t even remember the last time I saw you with a guy.”
I braced myself against the tile counter. “That is none of your business. Besides, I see guys all the time.”
He snorted and chuckled. “Yeah, in your yoga class. And cutting their hair doesn’t count, either.”
I scowled. Forcibly turning him around, I led him toward the front of the house. Our family home was located in the heart of Berkeley, California. The house had been my parents’ pride and joy. Mom had always been a homemaker, and Dad was a lawyer and worked in downtown Oakland. The house was paid off, thank God, or I’d never have been able to keep it. Even so, the property taxes and home repairs were piling up. Shaking off the worry that always came with wondering what would break next and take the little bit of extra money I’d saved, I nudged Rowan toward his backpack.
The wood floors throughout the house had seen better days, but I kept them clean and waxed as often as I could. The kids helped, of course. We all had our chores. The house hadn’t changed much over the three years since Mom and Dad passed. We’d kept as much of them alive within it as we could, like our own personal shrine to them. All the pictures they’d hung, their books, even the figurines they’d treasured all stayed where they’d been lovingly placed over the years. That was one thing I was determined to preserve. My brother and sister would always have this home to come back to when they left the house each day.
Rowan picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. His shaggy dark-blond hair fell into his brown eyes. I lifted my arm and moved the stubborn strand away before caressing his cheek. All three of us had our father’s brown eyes, though Row and Mary’s were more of a caramel brown, and mine were so dark they looked almost black.
“Take care of yourself out there, okay? Come back home safe,” I said.
“You can count on it.” Rowan smiled and saluted before walking out the door.
Mary shuffled into the living room, her shirt on backward.
I laughed. “Honey, your shirt’s on the wrong way.”
She held her hand out. “I know! It’s backward day at school. Everyone has to wear their clothes like this.” She rolled down the front of her skirt. “See, the tag’s in the front.” Her eyes sparkled, and her white-blond hair fell in a flat sheet down her back.
“Well, that’s silly, but okay. You got the brush?”
Mary held up Mom’s old hairbrush. The paint around the handle was chipped and flaked off in tiny specks. I didn’t say anything. If Mary wanted to use Mom’s brush until there were no more bristles left, that’s what she’d do. Far be it from me to take away something that made her comfortable. Mary and I had our own little morning routine. She sat on the ottoman, and I sat in the cushy lounge chair that had been Dad’s favorite reading spot, and I brushed her hair every morning and each night, the same way Mom had done for me.
“Braid today or ponytail?” I asked.
Her pink lips puckered. “Two braids, tied together at the back.”
“Oooh, I see we’re getting fancy. Have you been looking at my books again?” I’d received the hairstyle books when I signed up for cosmetology school before our parents got into the accident. When they passed, I had only three months left. Only problem—besides the fact that I was a grieving—I was twenty-one and suddenly head of the household. The
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