—such as it is—
lies in a heap on my desk
a pile of paper leaves
raked up
not looking much like a project
at all
more like a mess.
I pick up the pile
straighten the leaves
so they all line up
flip through them
one
after
another.
My thoughts drift
to the dining room
Mom’s anger
Alan’s hurt.
Drift farther
to the new room
purple walls
girls happily clinging
to Alan.
Drift outside
to a garden plot
fresh earth
turned
for me.
I see Alan signing
remember when he and Mom met
he didn’t know any signs at all.
And I think
if he can try
to understand my story
maybe
possibly
I can try
to understand his.
That seed
that perhaps was telling me
not to do it
not to go after Alan
not to wreck Mom’s wedding
was actually telling me
Alan
is okay
and he might even turn out to be
a good stepdad.
Maybe even
a good
dad.
It’ll be nice to know
my dad’s name.
My gaze falls
to the paper leaves
in my hands.
I set the pile aside
reach for three sheets
of green construction paper
trace outlines
cut new leaves.
With a black marker
I write Alan’s name and birthdate
on the first one.
I add tomorrow’s date
—the wedding—
fill in story threads
along the vein lines
stepfather
garden digger
not a kidnapper
On the other new leaves
I write Bethany’s name
Kaitlin’s name
realize I don’t know
their birthday
don’t know really
how they fit into my story
except for one thing.
I write carefully on each one
with purple marker:
Sister
Chapter 38
Saturday comes
like I knew it would
sure as the sunrise
on a summer day.
The sky is forget-me-not blue.
It looks like a perfect day
for a perfect wedding
except that everything
is going wrong.
I’m not as sad about that
as I should be
because the truth is
I can whip through chapter after chapter
of a good book
but starting a new chapter
of my own story
is not
my specialty.
Mom slept in
missed her hair appointment
because she lay awake for hours
worrying
and probably stewing
about me
what I said last night.
She pins her hair up
takes it down
tries again
glances at the clock
and frowns.
The florist should’ve been here
by now.
She’s finally happy
with her hair
looks again at the time
phones the florist
her face reddening
as she listens, talks, listens some more.
By the time she hangs up, tears
are running down her face.
They messed up.
she tells me.
They’ve got no record of my order
even though I checked
and double-checked.
What does that mean?
No bouquets for us girls
no boutonniere for Alan.
They said they could put something together
quickly
from whatever they have
but it won’t be
what I ordered.
Does it have to be?
I wanted white roses.
I know, but—
I yelled at the poor florist
said I didn’t want a bouquet
of leftovers.
Mom sinks onto the couch
face in her hands
shoulders shaking.
I put a hand on her back
wait
unsure
what to do.
I stare out the living-room window
clear blue sky
marred only
by the long white trail
of a jet.
Marjorie.
All these things going wrong
might seem like signs
bits of story
that don’t belong
that say we’re going
the wrong way.
But if we listen to those things
to setbacks and disappointments
if we let fear or worry
stop us from trying
from turning the page
we’ll never get to meet
the Marjories of life
never find out
how great our story
could be.
Mom and Alan first met
at the supermarket
when Alan bashed Mom’s ankle
with his shopping cart.
Forgetting to be mom-like
she swore
then saw the twins
apologized
got chatting with Alan.
She never planned
on meeting someone at the store
never planned
on getting her ankle slammed
but now
they’re getting married
their stories coming together
like a plot twist.
Mom wipes her eyes
smudging
her mascara.
It doesn’t matter
I tell her.
The hairdresser, the florist.
What matters
is that you and Alan
are getting married.
A feeble smile
pulls at her mouth.
You’re right
she says.
I don’t even care
about the flowers.
It looks like she cares
more than she’ll admit.
She goes to put on her dress
and I slip outside
to my garden
gather a handful
of long stems
—daisies, larkspur, mallow—
take a long bit of lavender ribbon
left over from the centerpieces
wrap it
around the stems
tie a bow
and leave the ends
trailing.
It’s not
exactly white roses
but when I hand it to Mom
stress falls away
joy blooms
on her face
and I know
I’ve done something right.
Chapter 39
Alan and the twins
stand at the front of the church
Alan shiny clean
beaming
as he looks past me in the aisle
to Mom, behind me
with her not-long dress
not-fancy hairstyle
not-white-roses bouquet.
I feel a little invisible
until I see Bethany and Kaitlin
in their lavender dresses
bouncing on their toes
grinning madly
hands flapping in my direction
in a too-excited wave.
I take my place at the front
turn a little
to watch Mom approach.
She looks beautiful.
Radiant.
Extravagantly
happy.
I don’t know why
I scan the church
my gaze flitting across pews.
Gran, Grampa, and Uncle Caleb
Macy and Duckie
Desi’s mom, from sign language group
Alan’s family
and strangers who must be friends
of my family-to-be.
I look again
more carefully
stomach knotting.
Mom reaches the front of the church
Alan takes her hand
they face the minister
but I catch Mom’s attention
sign to her
worried now
because late
is not something I’d expect
from Iris.
Mom glances out at the people
gathered in pews.
I look too.
Iris is definitely not here.
Iris
is missing.
Maybe she just wasn’t up to it
Mom says.
Don’t worry.
No
I sign back.
She said she’d be here.
Something’s wrong.
I have to check on her
have to find her.
But it’s time—
I have to find her!
I don’t wait for her to respond
move from my place
hurry down the aisle
ignoring the puzzled looks
on people’s faces.
I pull open the big door
sun streaming in
don’t look back
and run.
Turns out, it’s hard to run
in a lavender dress
and sandals with heels.
I stop to pull off my shoes
and Alan catches up to me.
Wait
he says.
I’ll help you look.
He gets his car
and we drive to Pemberton Street
not far at all
but we don’t see Iris
along the way.
I push the button for her doorbell
bang on the door
try the handle—locked.
Back in Alan’s car
drive to the end of Pemberton
turn right
turn again
drive down the next street
and the next
my heart thudding
in my chest.
Something’s wrong
I know it.
What if she’s actually in her house
but couldn’t make it
to the door?
What if she needs an ambulance
again?
Her story can’t end
like that.
It just can’t.
Another corner
another empty street.
We’ve covered
almost the whole neighborhood.
Alan glances at the clock
on the dash.
He wants to go back
get married
forget
about Iris.
We have to keep looking!
He nods
turns down the next road.
Someone is up ahead
on the sidewalk
—and that someone
is wearing an orange skirt
floral blouse
comfortable shoes
dragging an oxygen tank behind her
in a little cart.
I let out a breath.
Alan pulls up alongside Iris
and I hop out.
Iris turns
and the enormous Tupperware container
under her arm
threatens to tumble
to the ground.
I lurch forward
catch it
before it falls.
“Did I miss it?” Iris asks.
“I got lost.” She lets go of the handle
for the oxygen cart
fingerspells
l-o-s-t
signs
sorry
and my heart
nearly bursts.
It’s okay
I tell her.
You didn’t miss it. It’s okay.
settles the oxygen tank beside her
holds the Tupperware container
while I buckle up
and we all head back
to the church.
Chapter 40
We gather at the front of the church again
Mom clutching
her slightly wilted wildflower bouquet
twins wiggling
Alan beaming
and Iris
sitting back-straight in the pew
beside Gran.
James interprets as Mom and Alan
say their vows
and the minister prays
blesses them
and all of us
—our newly formed family—
and then there’s the kiss
and it’s all official
all
so
real.
Wow.
There’s a streak
of lavender
a flash
of ponytails
as Bethany and Kaitlin mob me
fling their arms around me
in a giant
bouncy
hug.
When Kaitlin lets go
she looks me in the eye
raises her closed hand
to the side of her face
slides it down to her chin
then brings her index fingers
together
Sister.
A tight lump forms
in my throat.
I repeat the sign
blink
look away
catch a glimpse of orange
—Iris.
She’s standing now
enormous Tupperware container open
holding it out
to the family behind her
offering cookies to friends
and strangers
right there in the church.
When Uncle Caleb catches my eye
he grins
holds up a large brown sugar-sprinkled cookie
and takes a bite.
Sugar & spice cookies.
I can almost hear them whispering
—You are loved
you belong.
Chapter 41
Mr. Tanaka collects our projects
—posters
scrapbooks
fancy family tree charts complete
with photos.
Olivia created a stand-up display
with exquisite
lettering.
Jennifer Blister hands in
a computer flash drive.
Movie
she signs
when she sees me looking.
Grandmother
Then she mimes
talking into a microphone
and I’m guessing
she made a video of her grandma
telling family stories.
Suddenly my leaf-shaped booklet
looks lame
like something I might’ve made
in second grade.
But the truth is
these leaves
these pages—me and my mom
my grandparents
Uncle Caleb
Olivia and Iris
Alan
and the twins
—even the blank one—
these pages tell the story
of my family
and that
was the whole point.
Maybe Mr. Tanaka will like it
and maybe he won’t
but it’s me
telling myself the story
of my family.
It’s a story
I needed to tell.
Mr. Tanaka perches on the edge
of his desk
begins talking to the class
so I turn my attention
to Ms. Eklund.
Ms. Eklund’s been my interpreter
for three years.
Now we’re both done
at Hamilton Elementary.
Next year I’ll be at Lloyd Edison Middle School
with a new interpreter
and Ms. Eklund is transferring
to another elementary