It came nearly four months later, a cryptic message from Amber saying that she wanted it, a little blue pin that had been their mother's. He was sure he'd seen it in one of the bags, and he went to retrieve it later that evening. It was packed, the spare bed room, now that Abbey kept most of her photography stuff in there, and they'd been waiting for it, for the girls to decide that they wanted their own rooms.
April swore it would be coming any minute – she knew it, she assured him, because she had four sisters – but it wasn't working out like that, exactly. It was a slow migration, instead, as Katie spent more time with her fish tanks and the pond and the kids up the street, while Abbey spent more time with her photos and her computer and the little girl next door, and it was being over-run he noticed with a smirk, since the room already had her comforter on the bed and her Little Mermaid lamp on the table and the photo print cut outs that followed her everywhere.
He should move it all out, he imagined as he scanned the corner shelves, his old trophies and his mother's stuff, since she'd need the space at this rate, and he'd already dug it out by the time she'd returned, the little blue pin, and he mentioned it to Abbey casually, that he'd move the rest of it out that weekend, and it confused him when she stared up at him, baffled and scowling.
"I like it," she insisted, shaking her head. "I polished them," she pointed out, running her fingers over one of his old trophies.
"You don't like wrestling," he smirked. "And it'll give you more space. I'll just put them downstairs."
"I like these, too," she whispered, tugging the faded old photos from a nearby bag.
"You don't even know them," he pointed out. "Well, most of them," he added gruffly, since he was in one of them, with Amber and Aaron, which had been taken back before they were all split up the first time, or maybe the third, he couldn't quiet tell.
"I make up stories about them," she admitted sheepishly, shrugging. "That's your mom, right?" she asked quietly, a moment later, pointing to the box with the gold engraved name.
Alex nodded, sighing. "It's creepy, huh?" he added.
"You still miss her?" she asked, staring down at the bags again.
He nodded silently, shuffling his feet.
"I miss mine, too, sometimes," she whispered. "But I like it here better."
"You do, huh?" he laughed, "In the creepy room with all my old junk?"
"It's not junk," she insisted, shaking her head. "It belongs here, like me."
"It does?" he frowned skeptically.
"It does," she repeated, sitting down at her desk and calling up her photo editing software. "She's my grandma, right?" she added. "I've never had a grandma."
"You have grandma Keppner," he reminded her, almost wincing.
"I don't think she likes us," Abbey frowned seriously, and he couldn't quite tell if she meant her and Katie, or her and Katie and him, or just her and him, since Katie was always the center of attention when they went to Ohio, but he wasn't inclined to argue either way, really, even if they really would love Abbey if they just gave her half a freaking chance.
"She doesn't really know you, yet," he pointed out, returning the bag to its shelf, after pocketing the pin.
"Maybe," she agreed reluctantly. "And yes," she added, rolling her eyes as he glanced over her shoulder. "I know. Don't copy it, don't forward it, don't print it out for mommy," she repeated, echoing previous instructions she'd heard many times.
"That's not leaving your little memory chip," he insisted again, pointing sternly at the photo she'd taken of him and Minnie Mouse splitting a strawberry milkshake at Disney Land, as he moved toward the door. And it had better not, he grumbled to himself as he walked down the hall, or he'd never hear the end of it.
It figured, April thought, as she hung up the phone, Beth's first Christmas in Seattle, and of course their parents were coming to visit, and of course they'd stay at Beth's, since it wasn't like April hadn't lived in Seattle for years, and it wasn't like they'd trek across the country just to visit her, well, her and her vegetable hating husband.
Not that they had much extra space, she admitted, since Katie had Atlantis 2.0 bubbling in one of the spare bedrooms, and Abbey had spilled over into the other, and Eric's blocks were taking over the basement.
It wouldn't be a problem, she grumbled, if certain people didn't insist on spoiling her children, and it wouldn't be a problem if Abbey wasn't a pack rat, and the family historian, and apparently determined to save everything for posterity, even photos of the baby Koi's first swim, and Eric's first fire house, which, really, looked like it had already suffered a natural disaster, though not a fire, to be fair – more like an earthquake, and it wouldn't have been a problem, if Abbey wasn't winning swimming trophies left and right, and Katie wasn't cornering the market on fish magazines and aquarium décor, and if Eric wasn't building a Lego Empire in the basement – though he was barely two years old – and if Winston and Gracie and Tobey and the rest of zoo weren't dragging home their own bizarre memorabilia.
Abbey was going to be a museum keeper someday, she imagined, as she poked into her new room – since she loved the old Victorian day bed and the fancy bronze picture frames the house's previous owners had left behind, and she stashed Alex's old pictures in the antique writing desk that had been lingering in the attic – possibly for sixty years – which he hauled down for her, after she'd insisted that it was supposed to be in the room, too, with the day bed, and it was all frilly lace on the sheer floral curtains and tassels on the Mermaid lamp and it was almost like a step back in time, if you ignored the computer gear and the cell phone charger she had, since Santa had already gone over-board again that year, even though it was still a week before Christmas.
Not that that mattered, she reminded herself, rolling her eyes – since all the other girls on the swim team had one, and she got it, she did – that he'd always been the kid who didn't have it, whatever it was that all the other kids had – and she got it, she did, that kids like that grew up to buy utterly impractical cars that were no match for Seattle winters. But it was the principle of thing, not that she could believe she'd actually said that to him, that it could at least wait until Christmas, even if it was loosely associated with another semester of straight A's, and perfect conduct, and something else that April was sure Abbey had on Alex, since it usually wasn't that easy to con him, even for Abbey.
It was another matter altogether with Katie, and they actually agreed on it for a change – no ice skates, unless she pulled up her reading and history grades – and she should've been able to do it in her sleep, but she didn't, and she just needed to try a little harder, but she wouldn't, and it would just simmer between them, because it wasn't fair to Abbey, if Katie got everything she wanted despite it, and it had to be that way – April insisted – because otherwise it would just fester between them, all of them.
It was another matter, altogether, she agreed, rolling her eyes as she peeked into Atlantis 2.0, since it was just a zoo with her – whereas Katie was running a mini-Sea World – and it would probably be all her fault someday, when Abbey dragged Katie onto Oprah, and complained about the incessant bubbling that was the background soundtrack of her childhood, and how it was all her adoptive mother's fault.
It still jarred her sometime, the term, and she didn't know how to answer it, at first, when her mother asked her what the girls would call her now, and it was awkward and uncomfortable, when she was asked about what they liked, and what they wanted, since it wasn't like any of them knew each other very well, yet, and it wasn't like her family had taken all that well to Alex at first, either, but she certainly didn't want to see any signs of it, that Eric was somehow more important to them, even if it was a minor miracle – as her father said – that a Keppner woman had finally had a baby boy.
It figured, she grumbled the next day, that her pantry was a mess, and it figured the following day, too, that pine needles covered the floor, as tree decorating was finally completed, and it figured, that the refrigerator door was smeared with maple syrup and Gracie and Tobey tracked mud through the hall and Eric dumped peas all over the table and of course she'd have to work two days before Christmas, while her parents flew in from Ohio, and were whisked off to Beth's perfect house, with the grand two story entrance and the gleaming, polished wood floors and the pristine, stainless steel kitchen.
It figured, too, she rolled her eyes halfway through her shift, glaring at Alex as she called up to X-ray, while he insisted it was just a sprain.
"I told you so," April muttered, calling impatiently to the X-ray technician, and it was crazy, because kids fall off sleds all the time, and kids sprain things all the time – and he'd know a freaking sprain when he saw one, being a Peads surgeon and all – and he just folded his arms over his chest as Katie chattered happily with the nurse and selected an electric red and green cast, in case it was broken, which it wasn't.
It was another half an hour, until the Ortho Resident on call confirmed that it was just a sprain – as if she'd trust a Resident over a freaking Attending – and it wasn't even a hard cast, just a silly removable thing and some ice, and it wasn't even tears or stitches, either, and it wasn't like they could wrap the girls in bubble wrap or anything, and it wasn't like they'd stop using the Super Saucers because, really, had she seen it out there, it was a freaking winter wonderland, and it wasn't his fault that Katie hit it at just the wrong angle, the ice patch that pitched her halfway down the hill in one big thud.
It wasn't like kids didn't heal fast, anyway, he insisted, and it wasn't like Katie wouldn't get right back out there, since, really, hadn't she met Katie before, and it wasn't like he was dragging them over to Beth's house without her – since how boring would it be, anyway, when there was choice snow on the ground – and it wasn't like they weren't going over there the following day, anyway.
She didn't want to hear it, since she'd told him so – and she'd seen it in her mind a thousand times, the girls hurtling down icy hills on those death traps, and it always ended the same way, with full body casts and ambulances and sirens and shredded red plastic as far as she could see. She didn't want to hear it from them, either, about how daddy was "fun," since he was always flinging them down mountains and hunting dinosaurs in the back yard and clamoring onto Ferris wheels with them, while she nagged about neat homework and room cleaning and the importance of a well-organized refrigerator vegetable bin for optimal health.
She didn't want to hear it at Beth's two days later, either, about Cari's great discoveries and Dani's busy lunch schedule and Jenny's looming partnership vote, since it was still racing through the grape vine, rumors about the on-going merger and the hospital's research program and whether it was a top choice for in-coming Residents anymore.
She didn't want to hear it at home, either, about how Katie really didn't need the soft cast and really didn't need to skip sledding for a week or two – much less the whole freaking Christmas break – and she didn't want to hear it that night either, about how Santa thought ice skates were acceptable since her last history exam was a "B," and about how Santa concluded that a fancy new lens was practical, as if Abbey wasn't obsessed enough with her photography, and she really didn't want to hear it, about how toddler Eric "obviously wanted" the three thousand piece Lego Wild West Adventure set, complete with the working stage coach and the whole herd of wild horses and the complete crew of cowboys.
She didn't want to hear it the next day, either, as she went shopping with her mother and Beth, about how much fun the kids had with Alex – when he wasn't trying to kill them, apparently – and about how much fun they used to have sledding on the farm – back when Beth was dropping snow down her coat and Jenny was tying her boots together, back when her sisters all raced off ahead of her because she never could get the hang of it – the whole ice skating thing – and about how it was all falling into place for her, as if they hadn't heard a word she'd said about the merger or Katie's accident or pack rat Abbey or the junior architect with more Legos than an entire village of Santa's elves.
She didn't want to hear it, either, as she picked up her ornaments, about how Beth was still tired from traveling, and she didn't want to hear it, as they sat at the food court sipping their hot chocolate, about how exhausting it had been for her mother, with five girls, and a farm to run, and a house to clean, and traditions to maintain – traditions she hadn't been all that fond of, she insisted, when she got right down to it, but which her mother-in-law had insisted she keep up – and she was almost sure she hadn't heard it all, when her mother commented on how sweet her girls were, as if they were actually hers.
It echoed through her for hours afterwards, her mother's words, and she hadn't said any of it – that Alex was irresponsible with them, that April was working too hard, that Katie was too mouthy, or that Abbey was too clingy, or that Eric was somehow perfect, or that her home was a wreck, or that sleds were too dangerous, or that she was doing it all wrong – the tree decorations or the girls or the house or her job or the syrup on the fridge – and it all slowed to a trickle, her racing thoughts, as Abbey paged through her pictures and Katie polished her ice skates and Alex and Eric surrounded her neatly tended manger, set just perfectly under the twinkling tree, with little Lego cowboys and Indians.
She'd had it all planned differently back in late August, their first real Christmas together as an official family – it would be stockings lining the fire place, which she still hadn't gotten around to, and perfect Christmas cookies, which she hadn't had time to help Abbey with again this year, and a tree which didn't shed pine needles all over the carpet, and a special event that each of the children could remember – and not Katie's trip to the Emergency room, she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.
It was nothing like that, though, it was an over flowing bath tub and squabbling sisters and Eric fussing over a new tooth, and it all collapsed into a heap hours later, after the kids were in bed and the worst of the wrapping paper had been rounded up and the cats had been untangled from the tinsel and it had started snowing again and she finally had a moment to breathe.
It might even have been calm and peaceful just then, but it was stirring under her fingers as she teased him and it was making him gasp again, after she'd finally unwrapped him, and it was stiffening in her hands as he moaned beneath her and it was already erupting after she straddled him, and it was tightly pressed against her afterwards, as he trembled beside her, and it was a polished golden sheen in the dim light of the fire, his body, as she traced it carefully, and it was all he could do to catch his breath again, too, as her hands slowed into a steady rhythm, while she curled lazily around him.
"You're good at it, you know," she teased, giggling as he gasped again, in response to her soft strokes.
"I am, huh?" he smirked, groaning again as she rolled her eyes.
"I meant the dad thing," she corrected smugly, shaking her head.
"I though you said I broke your daughter," he muttered warily, echoing her own sharp words from the emergency room as her hands continued to wander.
"Sprained," she admitted, giggling as she stroked along his spine.
"I told you so," he noted, moaning again as she found just the right place.
"No," she insisted, tracing her hands lazily back over him again. "That was broken. I have the pictures of our honeymoon to prove it, remember?"
"Whatever," he mumbled, dozing peacefully as she tugged him closer.
It was supposed to be different, she thought with a smirk, as the snow danced faster outside the huge window, and the tree lights blinked slowly beside them, and the fire crackled, and an exhausted Santa slept peacefully in her arms, on a sea of over grown sea weed shag carpet; then again, it was supposed to have been different, too, their honeymoon, and it wasn't like his damned stubbornness had done it any permanent harm, she smirked again, pulling it closer to her as she drifted off to sleep herself.
It was all over the grapevine that spring, news about the merger, about who was coming and who was going and he hated it, since it meant big changes, and it was already chaos, as new interns poured in and established Residents left and Attendings quietly applied for jobs elsewhere, and it was madness all through February, and it was insanity in March, and it all hit the fan in April, and by May the whole staff had had it, with the rumors and the policy changes and the controversy over who'd be the new Chief.
It was Bailey, he assured April later that week, it would always be Bailey, had always been Bailey – could only ever have been Bailey – and it meant things would finally simmer the hell down and order would be restored and it would be… better… better, he insisted almost breathlessly, and he hadn't even noticed it, really, the fraying of his nerves as the merger had proceeded, until the NICU and Peads and the Trauma units were all up and running smoothly once again.
It was that time again, too, and he frowned as he rooted through his closet, digging out a tie and the world's most uncomfortable shoes as he heard April rustling around for hers. He didn't see the point of it, since it wasn't like all the other guys wore ties, or that he'd embarrass her or something, and it wasn't like all the other mother's dressed like, well, her, and it wasn't like they didn't know what to expect from the parent teacher conferences by now, that it would all be straight A's and smiles with Abbey's teacher, and something else entirely with Katie's, as if it was her fault she was so freaking energetic.
It was getting late, too, he reminded April, jiggling the keys as she switched shoes again, and he just didn't get it, either, why it was such a project to pick out a dress, and why she gave him that look again when he told her it was hot, as if it was a bad thing, and it just set him sighing as he dropped back onto the bed again, while she ditched it for the skirt and sweater she'd had on six outfits ago.
It was about what he expected, and Abbey grabbed his hand and led him right through the classroom and introduced him to Mrs. Clarkson, again, and told her he'd be perfect for career day, and eagerly pointed out her work, a model she'd helped her group build of the Roman coliseum, and an illustrated essay she'd written about life during Pilgrim times, and a series of elaborate drawings she'd made, of flowers and buildings and the creek behind their home and their house from every angle.
It was all very impressive, the teacher agreed, and Abbey was one of the best in the school at drawing and picture taking and anything with the visual arts, and she should try painting or sculpting, the woman suggested, to see what other talents she might have, and it was a pleasure to have her in the class, since she was bright and hard-working and cooperative and always helped the other kids, too.
It made Abbey blush, he noticed, and she just nodded shyly when the teacher talked about summer art camps, and she just clutched his hand harder when she asked him if he could stop by some time, to talk to the children about what it was like to be a doctor, and it was out of her mouth before he could even say anything, that her daddy was an awesome doctor who saved kids' lives, and it almost made him blush, too, when the teacher insisted that he must be very proud of his daughter, too.
It was still lodged in his throat ten minutes later, when April stalked down the hall with Katie in tow, and she demanded that he go and speak with Mrs. Miller, too, and it was a different story altogether, about sloppy work turned in late and penmanship that was barely readable and her general attitude toward anything she wasn't interested in, which included most anything involving school, apparently, and it was just an on-going problem, the woman insisted, and it was absolutely exasperating.
It would have to be dealt with, too, she insisted, eying him sternly as she shoved a pamphlet into his hand, and they had a special program for kids like her, with smaller classes and more staff and more focused attention, and it was not a learning disabled class, she insisted, it was for behavioral issues and it wasn't like she couldn't do the work, it was that she wouldn't, and it would help her get more focused and she might fit into it a little better and she could start it in the fall and it might be her best chance.
It was a long ride home, too, with the girls in the back, and they stopped by Beth's to pick Eric up and it was stormy silence from Katie's room later that evening, as Abbey bubbled happily about her projects, and it was awkward and terse as they poured over the brochure and it was like they were writing her off, Alex grumbled, and it might be her best option, April countered, and it was an awkward stalemate.
He'd seen it before, all the time, kids like her, dumped in the stupid classes when they really just needed more time, dumped in with the losers when they just needed more patience, dumped into a black hole when they just needed more attention, and it pissed him off that the school just wanted an easy way out, just because she wasn't sweet and cooperative and charming like Abbey was.
He was being completely unreasonable, and it wasn't a bad idea, and they still had time to register her for it for the fall, and it wasn't like anything else they'd done had worked – not threats, not bribes, not punishments – and it wasn't like she had any better ideas, and it wasn't like the counselors and the social workers were being much help, and it wasn't that she didn't get it, that Katie was still angry about all of it, but it wasn't like she could keep acting out about it with no consequences, not and risk it derailing her school career entirely, not when she was much too smart for that.
It festered between them, all through the June heat, and it simmered into July, and it was angry and surly and furious, since it meant being separated from her friends, and it meant that the teachers were somehow right about her, and it meant that it was unacceptable, somehow, that she was unacceptable somehow, and however she explained it– he insisted through gritted teeth – it meant that she was being sent away again, even if it was just a different bus and a different building and a different roster of classes.
It was too many "differents," April agreed, for a kid who'd already had more than her share, but it couldn't be helped and it was for her own good – and she cringed as she said it, and she filled out the forms herself and it was a last minute again, the registration, almost like those years before, before it had been made all official, their family, and it would be like that all over again, April frowned, since she'd be the new kid, again, and the late kid, again, and the kid who hadn't been cutting it, again.
It would mean splitting them up again, April noticed reluctantly, and it wouldn't bother Abbey, she knew, since she'd been that sister herself, the one that just got pushed aside while the loud one or the opinionated one or the busty one or the brilliant one got all the attention, and it would probably thrill her, April imagined with a smirk – that Katie was being shipped off where she could have the whole damn school to herself – and it wasn't like Katie couldn't handle it, either, since she was anything but clingy, and it just made her shake her head again, the whole sister thing.
It might even be a good thing, she imagined a week later, as she reviewed their new bus schedules, that one would go to one school, and the other to another, since it might cut down on the squabbling she'd noticed all summer, and it might do them some good, to have different friends and different activities, and it might be the best thing for both of them, if Abbey joined the swim team and the photography club and maybe took art classes, while Katie played soccer and did group activities with her new class.
It was just as well, Alex imagined, that Katie over slept and missed the bus on her first day, and it was just as well that she sat steaming beside him as he drove, arms crossed angrily on her chest, and it was probably just as well that she was pissed, because it sucked that they were sending her to some crap new school, and it sucked that they just didn't see it, that she could do whatever the hell she wanted if she just put her mind to it, and it sucked that she was on a different bus, since it had always been her job to take care of Abbey, and she was basically being told that that was one more thing she sucked at.
They didn't get it either, he imagined, that Abbey was clingy because she could be, because she'd always had sometone to cling to, and Katie wasn't because she hadn't, and it was just one more reminder that she never would. He tried to get it out, too, in words, that he got it. But it wouldn't come, and it wasn't like she'd believe it, anyway.
He tried to get it out with the school counselor, too, after the first note came home two weeks later – to April's chagrin – and he finally dragged in to meet with another teacher, and to see if there was anything else they could do about it.
It was another brochure this time, about another special school, and it was freaking 15 thousand bucks a year, and it was hard to get into, but it was all about science, and it was all about fields trips and fancy labs and scuba diving and it was all about taking each individual kid's interests and working with them and it was the kind of place that might appreciate Atlantis 2.0., or Katie's ability to identify every North American crustacean by name.
It was a long shot, the teacher explained, and expensive, and a gamble, and it might just set her back further, if she kept going the way she was, and she'd never get admitted with her current behavior, and it wasn't like it wasn't competitive, since all the kids there were smart, and it wasn't like they had any tolerance for nonsense, since they took it all very seriously, reading and writing included.
It was a lot to digest, and it earned him a baffled scowl from April, as if he'd lost it completely, and a bored frown from Katie, who stalked off not to do her homework again, apparently, and it just sat on the counter for two weeks, getting covered with mashed peas and pancake syrup, as Abbey excelled in her cooking and art classes, too, while Katie collected more hours in detention.
It was pointless by then anyway, he imagined, since she was well on her way to ruining this school year, too, and he got it – that sometimes it was all you had left, the impulse to fight back, when it seemed like it was all being taken away from you bit by bit, anyway, everything else – and it wasn't like it was anything but damn depressing, to watch it happen all over again, sure he couldn't do anything about it.
It was ridiculous, anyway, and it was coming up on Halloween, again, and he'd just come back in from hanging another six spider skeletons in the trees, one of Abbey's art projects, apparently, when Katie slipped it under his fingers, a smudged sheet of note paper, scrawled over top to bottom.
"It wants an essay," she said, eying him closely as she motioned to the brochure. "The school."
"It's kind of late," he noted gruffly, pointing to the rapidly closing deadline.
"It's good," she insisted, glaring back at him and daring him to read it.
"I thought writing was for dorks?" he snorted, repeating her frequent point back to her.
"It is," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest again.
It had nothing to do with the school, and it didn't really answer the assigned essay question, something about what it meant to be an American, and it was all about dolphins, instead, about how she'd gotten to swim with them, once, and how she wanted to study them, and how she wanted to save them; about how it was hurting the oceans – too much fishing and too much garbage and too many people who just didn't care about it – and that she wanted to take care of it herself.
It was supposed to be typed, too, like the rest of the application – which she'd already filled out, in green ink – and it was supposed to address why she wanted to go to that school in particular, which it didn't – and it was supposed to be reviewed by a teacher, one of the teachers that she wouldn't do her homework for anyway – so he just shrugged back and told her to stick it in an envelope and they'd take it to the post office the next morning, and send it first class.
It was probably a waste of time, anyway, he reminded himself the next morning, as he watched her go to the post office window, and she was probably nothing like what they were looking for in a student, really, with their expensive equipment and their perfectly maintained grounds, and it would probably be another disappointment – another reminder that whatever people were looking for, she wasn't it – but it wasn't like she could stop trying, he imagined, so it wasn't like he could, either.
It was another blustery November, another birthday party for Eric, another Thanksgiving meal at Beth's, another flood of trauma patients – as the holiday rush picked up, with the first hints of sleet and ice – and it all spilled into December, a tidal wave of decorations and cards and ornaments and picture post cards from far off relatives, and a thickly sealed envelope that landed on the door stop with a thud.
April opened it puzzled, vaguely recognizing the school's name – Mayfield Academy - from the thick, glossy brochure Alex had left on the counter, and it puzzled her, the opening letter – something about requiring an interview and making up classes and arranging for a visit and it made less sense the further she read until it hit her all at once, that it had been some sneaky plot, the steady "Cs" Katie had been coming home with, and the relative silence of her teachers, which April had taken as the calm before Katie's ever brewing storm.
She phoned him at work, and she just rolled her eyes as she heard it, the rest of the story, and it occurred to her that they were both crazy, Katie for thinking she'd ever get into a place like that with her grades, and Alex for thinking it made any sense to spend that much money for seventh grade – even if that seventh grade happened to meet at Harvard.
It was insane, she told him on the spot, and it would never work, and it wasn't like he was prone to this particular type of irrationality – not that the big boobed Martian thing had ever been rational, true – and it just made her nauseous, as Katie eagerly scanned the papers when she got home and noted she'd gotten a B- minus in history that week, and that she'd done plenty of interviews before.
She had, April granted, with social workers, and she wondered wildly if that would be part of it too, the problem, since Katie was nothing like the kids they probably accepted and it wasn't like her sketchy childhood would help her with it –not that it was her fault – and it was obvious that Alex hadn't thought it out at all either, or he'd have put a stop to it, and it wasn't like it was happening anyway, and she wondered what he'd been thinking, exactly, if he encouraged her to pursue any of it, since she'd just end up disappointed again.
She had it out with him later that evening, and she tried to be understanding and she tried to get it, but it just made no sense at all, and she still couldn't believe it the next morning, when they were setting up Katie's interview and making plans to visit it – as if it wasn't nearly an hour away – and it was just making her head throb and her stomach churn since she could already see how it would end, with Katie in tears and Alex all surly and more D's on her report card and more notes home from the place that was supposed to be helping her and which still might, if they'd just let it.
It was crazy, she muttered to herself again a few days later, as the pinchy shoes and the crooked tie came out, again, and they set off looking for who knows what, and she heard all about it later that night, about the giant fish tanks in the biology lab and the microscopes at the desks and the summer sailing adventure camps and the dorky kids who actually wore uniforms – as if that could ever be Katie, in any possible universe – and it sounded like a great school, for anyone but her.
Katie wouldn't talk about it when they got home, though, the interview, and it made her grow quiet and sullen again, when Katie retorted that it was too far away, anyway, and it made her face darken over, the glossy catalog they'd given her – with all the rules and requirements – and it just sent her sulking to her room, when April mentioned the price of it, again, and it had been a bad idea from the beginning, she reminded Alex again, even if it did look nice in the pictures.
She was sure they wouldn't hear much more about it, anyway, and she hoped Katie would just forget about it, and it wasn't like she was trying to discourage anything she insisted to Alex later that evening, as he frowned and rolled over and refused to discuss it, too, and it wasn't like they should've done it behind her back, anyway, and it was about as practical as a convertible car in a Seattle winter.
It was just as well that he was pouting the next morning, too, she grumbled, so long as he hung her candy canes right side up, and she might even have time for some baking this year, and she'd do it this year, she promised – stockings above the fire place for the kids – and she was planning it all when the phone rang, and the admissions office from the school asked if they were still interested in it, in an alternative path to entry that they offered a few students each year.
It was unusual, they warned her sternly, and it wasn't ideal, and it was no guarantee, far from it, and it would require Katie to take one of their summer courses at a reduced fee, and it would offer no academic credit, and it would be pass or fail, and she would have to prove it, that she could do the work expected of their students, and that she could do it while behaving appropriately, and it would be entirely make or break, the man insisted, and it would be entirely up to her not to blow it.
It was crazy, April thought wildly, and it was the opportunity of a lifetime – the kind Beth or Cari or Jenny or Dani might get – and it would never work, and Katie would never be able to do it, and it would be a complete waste of money, and it wasn't like it would do her any good, and it would completely disrupt their summer plans, and it was all about false hope, and it was the last thing Katie needed, another big failure on her record, and it was the only thing she could do about the offer, accept it on the spot.
It would be Katie's Christmas present, April had insisted firmly – as Katie nodded wide eyed – and April had glared at Alex, too, as if daring either of them to protest, and it wasn't like it was cheap, the summer program, and it wasn't like he didn't see the point – about Katie having to earn it – but it still left him grumbly and flustered as he loped down the stairs later that evening and peeked in on it, the sleek new snow board he'd already gotten her, with the dorsal fin design and the shark teeth lining the edges.
It was her, he'd thought the minute he'd seen it, and it was twenty bucks more than any of the others but it was definitely an original, like her, and it wasn't like any of the other kids would have anything like it, and she would've loved it, he imagined, running his fingers over its glossy surface, but he agreed to it, too, so off it went to the rafters lining the garage ceiling, where no one would see it.
It wasn't fair, either, he grumbled, that it was all just because she was stubborn and strong willed and said what she thought, and didn't really care about it, if people liked her for it or not, and it wasn't her fault that she was nothing like Abbey – that she wasn't sweet and bubbly and friendly and popular, and every teacher's dream kid, just like April, he thought with a smirk – and it wasn't her fault that she just wasn't into it, the whole history and reading and English thing, since it wasn't like she couldn't get her point across when she wanted to, and it wasn't like she didn't read plenty about fish and snow boards and soccer, and even space aliens – even if she laughed at him about it, the pyramid building Martians thing – and it wasn't like anyone knew what the hell happened back then, anyway, really, since it wasn't like history was a freaking science like medicine or alien archeology.
It sucked, too, he thought the next day, that she wouldn't have anything under the tree to unwrap, while Abbey tore into her new photo lenses and the editing computer program she wanted, and Eric started on his Lego Emporium Deluxe set, with the revolving escalator and the hinged plastic windows and the satellite dish, and he thought April would get it, that they shouldn't be treating them differently just because Abbey was sweet and Eric was the happiest kid anyone had ever met and Katie, well, Katie just wasn't like that at all.
She was shocked he stuck to it, their deal, and she was almost relieved, sort of, that her parents and her sisters finally got it, that they actually had nieces and granddaughters, too, and it didn't extend to them, their deal with Katie, and she figured it was progress at least, that her family had decided to spoil them all equally now, and it wasn't exactly her dream holiday, she frowned again, since it was still at Beth's and it was still maple syrup on her own refrigerator and smeared peas on the table and Abbey's craft projects everywhere and soccer balls rolling randomly through hall ways and sticky Legos in the least likely places she could imagine, and it wasn't like she could host them all there, not with her pantry in disarray and cat hair on the couch and an over-grown cactus above the sink and, of course, the dirty glasses that collected constantly in the sink, apparently from serving all of Santa's elves.
She hadn't even gotten around to it again, she noticed, as she pulled Alex closer, lining the fire place with Christmas stockings, and it was already near dawn the morning after, and the cats were already purring beneath the lighted tree, and Alex had been purring beneath her for hours, she reminded herself with a giggle, and at least that tradition was still intact, since it seemed to be inevitable, not that it was a family activity she'd ever mention to her mother, doing it under the Christmas tree with her husband, after the wrapping paper had been cleared away and the children had gone to bed.
She hadn't even noticed it this year, she realized with a smirk, that they'd done it in front of her manger, which was now over run with skiers and construction workers and shop keepers from Eric's huge Lego Emporium, and she rolled her eyes as she glanced over at it draped neatly on the couch, the beautiful silk robe he'd given her, shimmering a delicate blue grey green in the fire light – possibly to match the sea weed shag rug, she imagined with another smirk.
It was shorter than any she had, and it clung to her in places she'd never imagined anything clinging before, and she really could fill it out, she admitted to him after she'd tried it on – even if he had smirked that he'd "told her so" all along, and it surprised her, really, her reflection staring back, because it was something she could imagine Dani or Beth wearing, since they'd always had it, whatever it was guys looked for – besides them, of course, the Martian boobs – and she never really thought about it, that she might have it too.
It never really occurred to her, especially lately, but she'd finally accepted it, that it was staying the way it was, her body, complete with the boobs that still drew speculation on the grape vine, and aunt Edna's hips, and it wasn't like she'd need to hide it, anyway, since it wasn't like he hadn't seen it all already, and it wasn't like he'd been complaining, she reminded himself, since it was always under his hands and his lips and it was all right there, in his eyes and his touch, even if he never said a word about it, except that it was "hot," she thought, rolling her eyes, again, the way that the shimmery silk clung to it all.
It was high praise, she reminded herself with another giggle, and it wasn't like he'd ever say it if he didn't mean it, and it wasn't like he could sugarcoat it if he tried – if he didn't like it – and it wasn't like she was arguing, she reminded herself, and it wasn't like she wasn't used to it, the ripple of his warm skin against hers as it curled lazily, wedged between them, and it wasn't like she'd expected it to be, back when she was still furtively glancing through the pretty young nurses' discarded magazines to see how to handle it, and it wasn't like she hadn't learned, she reminded herself with another giggle, that it liked that…and that… and definitely that, she'd noticed long ago, judging by the deep moan – and it wasn't like she hadn't gotten a handle on it, even when it was wet and slippery and quivering and covered in smooth strawberry shampoo, or slightly warmed cool whip.
It was high praise, she reminded herself again, the quivering and the moaning and the lazy curling around her afterwards, even if it was the early dawn after Christmas, technically, and Santa was always exhausted then, she imagined, and she tugged a blanket down from the couch and wrapped it around them, running her hands over him again as he nuzzled against her in his sleep.
It wasn't like she had to hide it, she reminded herself, or like kids would come storming down the stairs any minute, but it wasn't impossible, either, and it wasn't like she had any desire to explain it, even if it was wedged comfortably against them, purring sleepily, and it wasn't like it had scarred Winston or the cats or the little Lego people for life, really, but it was the last thing she ever wanted her children to think, that she and Santa regularly did it under the Christmas tree, and that it was actually a tradition.
He was good about it until late March, amid a flood of C's and B's from Katie's schools, and a few notes about sloppy work, and one about something he dismissed immediately – since it was obvious the other kid on the soccer field had started it, just because Katie was faster and a better passer and wouldn't put up with it, being tripped just because she was better and blew right by the kid, even if the ref missed it.
She was doing it, too, mostly, holding up her end of the deal, and it was typically her, that she'd take her frustrations out on the soccer field, and it was typically her that she wouldn't say anything about it – the summer program she was working for – and it was typically her, to act like it wasn't really that a big a deal if she screwed it all up, even if it was the only thing that mattered to her.
He got it, and he just left it casually on the counter – the description of the course she'd be taking over the summer, and how she might prepare for it, and what she should probably know ahead of time, before it even started. It looked intense, something about ocean life and maritime history and trade routes and marine ecosystems and it involved sailing, too, and kayaking, and learning to tie fancy knots.
It was puzzling, some of it, even to him, and he read it over again the following morning, hastily wiping off the maple syrup he'd accidentally smeared on it, as Abbey refilled his plate with pancakes and chattered about her oil painting class. That puzzled him, too, the whole different paints thing, since she had separate stands for each kind, and they all needed different papers, as far as he could tell, and it was all about light and angles and something she called composition – which he'd thought was just another word for essay, until she'd demonstrated what it was to him with some of her printed photos, and it all just jumbled together until she showed him her latest masterpiece, which had every color of April's spring weeds pegged perfectly, lining the path to the creek.
It was nothing like the one she'd shown him two months before, the watercolor of the view outside her bedroom, her room, not the one she still occasionally shared with Katie – though they'd been going in opposite directions for months – and it was pretty much her, even though it was a painting of the yard, it was pastel pinks and yellows and greens and light purples and it was glittery and flowing and it was flowers and summer breezes and it was what she saw every time she looked out that window, he imagined, even in late fall, since it was just how she saw things.
It was just her, he'd noticed, just like her drawings of people, which always made them look better than they really did, and it was like what she did with those old photos of his mother's – or the ones they found in the attic, when they'd dragged that old antique desk down for her – it was like she made up stories about them in her head, better stories than they probably had about themselves, and just painted or drew or photo shopped them right into her projects, as if they were people she knew.
He wondered where it came from, sometimes, too, and how she'd kept it, after her own mother just left her, and it was nothing like Katie, who could always just look right through you – whether you wanted it or not – and it pissed him off that afternoon, too, that she'd probably see right through it, and snark on him, even if it was just meant to help her – even if she'd hate it, just because it was meant for that, when really, he was sure, more than anything, she wanted to prove that she could do it herself.
"This is a bribe," she pointed out, taking the huge donut from him.
"Its food," he corrected, unwrapping his own as he received it from the vendor. "I'm allowed to buy you food."
"Its high fructose corn syrup," she countered, eagerly taking a big bite. "Mom wouldn't consider it food."
"You want it or not?" he asked, gnawing on his own, and snickering as she clutched hers tighter.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the first exhibit as they walked into the darkened aquarium.
"It's a big fish tank," she retorted, rolling her eyes at him as he pulled out the visitor's guide. It had all the exhibits numbered, and detailed descriptions of the ecosystems and the fish and the plants they included, and she'd know most of them already just from her magazines, even if they hadn't visited it several times already, whenever a new exhibit came.
"Keep it up," he agreed, nodding avidly. "That's just what Mayfield wants."
"Maybe I changed my mind about it," she retorted, scowling at the glass.
"You chicken?' he snorted. "Afraid you can't do it?"
"I am not," she snapped. "But it's stupid. Who cares about the history of sailing?"
"You want it or not?" he prodded, finishing his donut. "It's a lot of money if you're just going to blow it, you know."
"Who said I'd blow it?" she grumbled, eying him skeptically.
"What is it?" he asked again, pointing to the curious blue creature peering out at them from behind the glass. "Looks like an alien," he added, tapping cautiously at the tank.
"Don't touch it," she insisted, swatting his hand away immediately. "They can hear with their feet," she announced, as if it was perfectly obvious. "You'll scare it."
"Thought you didn't know what it was?" he snorted.
"Whatever," she muttered, walking ahead to the next exhibit, of electric pink and green jellyfish, shimmering against the darkened background of the hallway around them.
"Definitely not food fish," he commented, studying them closely. "Scrawny."
"Poisonous," she added, motioning to their tentacles.
"Cool," they agreed in unison, before moving on through the rays, which had barbs, and the sharks, which hailed from the Indian ocean, and the sea horses with the pregnant males – and, no, they weren't discussing it, and she could just ask her mother if she was curious about it – and it all wound around to the book shop where they found it, a guide for tying sailor's knots, with starter rope included, which she sized up with a puzzled frown.
"Think you can't do it?" he taunted, as he pulled out his wallet.
"I could do it better than you," she retorted, snatching the bag from the cashier.
"No way," Alex countered, snickering at her again. "I'm a surgeon, remember. It'll be too easy for me."
