Skye Penderwick missed her sisters. Of all the Penderwicks, she was the least susceptible to weepiness and general angst, but even she had her limits. And no one had ever accused Skye of loving her sisters any less, despite her apparent lack of sentimentality.
The truth was, Skye had gone out to California to study Astrophysics, and she didn't regret it. She had wanted to be an astrophysicist with all her being. But after seven long years, Skye was finally starting to feel the distance. Jane and Rosalind were both working in Boston, Jane as a waitress and, of course, an aspiring writer. Rosalind was running her urban farm. The two of them could pop home for a visit anytime.
And they did. They had family dinners, and attended Lydia's dance performances and Ben's birthday parties.
Batty, meanwhile, was in school in New York. When the Penderwicks were young, New York City had seemed like a great unknown. It had seemed terribly far. But it wasn't, not really. Batty could go home for weekends whenever she wanted. It wasn't like California.
If Skye wanted to go home, she had to take a six hour flight. She had to get herself to SFO from Palo Alto, then she had to suffer through a crowded long flight, usually a red-eye, and Skye could never sleep on planes. Then she landed in Boston and had to take the train then a bus out to Cameron, where at last she could be ensconced in her family's arms. For a few days. Then she had to do the whole thing again, in reverse.
She knew that her family missed her as well. When they were young, Jane and Skye had been so different, yet always together. They were practically attached at the hip. They played soccer together, walked to school together, did chores together. Jane peppered every day with her outlandish comments or conspiracy theories about magic or elves, and Skye told her to shut up. Jane would be stricken with the fear of facing down some great and terrible enemy – a teacher or a mean neighbor or the Mrs. Tifton of old – and Skye would ask her if they were men or mice. And every time, Jane would stick out her chin and straighten her back.
Both Jane and Skye had been excited to be on their own. Jane wanted to be an independent artist. She wanted to be the Penderwick, not the younger (and often stranger) Penderwick sister. And Skye had wanted to be left alone with her numbers and her stars. Skye wanted a break from all of Jane's drama and boyfriends.
For a while, they had both enjoyed being freed of the sisterly shackles. Skye had studied and studied and been top of her class. Jane had been wildly popular at her small liberal arts college. She had written for the school magazine, and she had even acted in a few plays. Everyone on campus knew about the curly-haired and vivacious Jane Penderwick. Jane told Skye one Christmas break that Jane had been wanting to be called "vivacious" her whole life. Not "excitable," not "spacy," not "over-dramatic." Vivacious. What a word, Jane had said.
Now Jane was a year out of college, and the road was bumpy. Jane said she had always known that being a great writer would be a "trail of trials and tribulations," but Skye figured Jane was taking things harder than she even let on. Skye couldn't imagine Jane was all that good at being a waitress, and Jane had recently sworn off love since it was too distracting. If Jane was giving up on love and romance, something was surely wrong.
Skye walked through the clear California air one February, and she thought about her options. She had gotten her masters, and she had been working on a research team for a while. Now she was ready to go for her doctorate, and she was qualified enough for a lot of programs. She didn't have to stay at Stanford.
Skye walked into the lab and waved hello to Gretchen and David. They were both quiet. Skye liked them. She had spent too little time with quiet people in her life.
She sat down at her usual table, and she sipped her coffee (black with milk). Skye had gotten the same exact coffee from the same exact Peet's every day for the last two years. She tried to focus on her work, but Skye kept thinking about MIT. It had a great program. And it was in Boston. Back when Skye was applying for doctorate programs, she had submitted an application to MIT. Her advisor told her it was good to have options, just to see where she got in. Skye had gotten in. She had been sure she would stay in California. But that was then.
Skye had always thought that she loved routines. Her whole life, she had craved order. And her sisters had ran wild through Skye's desperate attempts at agendas and discipline. Skye had longed for the day when she could design her routine without sisterly interference.
But now, Skye gazed out the window at the blue California sky, and she couldn't help but think maybe her routines had gotten boring. Maybe her sisters were the only thing that made her life interesting.
And maybe, Skye didn't know who she was without Jane and Rosalind and even Batty. Maybe Skye wasn't anyone without them.