Page 17 of Old Money
Simon relaxes his choke-hold grip around my neck and slithers off my back, giggling.
“We always do piggy attack,” he shouts.
“But we alwaysaskfirst, right?” Theo calls from the kitchen sink, hollering over the clatter of dishes. I’ve arrived on Dad’s Spaghetti Night. The house is steamed up with garlic and pasta water.
“Right!” Simon hollers back, flopping onto the couch.
“What else do we do?” Jules asks patiently.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Alice, and are you okay?” Simon says, his head dangling above the carpet.
I’ve been kneed in the kidneys by a flying six-year-old. I may never stand upright again, but I’ll be damned before I lose my reputation as Cool Aunt Alice.
“Yeah, buddy! Just give me a warning next time.”
I extend my palm for an upside-down high five. Simon slaps it, then falls off the couch on his head.
Simon is the baby of his family, and it suits him. He’s like agolden retriever puppy: jumpy and destructive, but you simply can’t get mad at him. Isaac, his older brother, is just as sweet, but in the opposite way: a sensitive, thoughtful kid—the kind who notices everything.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Aunt Alice?” Isaac asks. “You’re sitting kind of funny.”
He pauses by the dining table, dirty plates in his hands, watching me. Isaac is also a bit of a worrier.
I straighten up and smile back, nodding. I feel a hand patting my foot and look to see Simon beaming up at me from under the coffee table.
“Aunt Alice, may I please have a piggy attack, please?”
Jules and Theo’s house is always a mess, but it’s ten times nicer than the condo we grew up in. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms and an honest-to-God basement. It has a brick walkway out front, and a driveway where the boys are always leaving their bikes, even though the garage is right there. It has a frontandbackyard, and a kitchen floor with not one single missing tile.
It also has a massive mortgage and a roof they’re always staring at. Whenever I see Jules and Theo on the front lawn, hands on hips, muttering about shingle, I simply swell with pride. I can’t help it. Theo’s life is far more modest than the one our mother wanted for him, but it’s also better than she could’ve dreamed of. I just wish she’d gotten to see more of it.
“Hey,” says Theo, stepping out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dishcloth. “You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yep.”
This is how we talk about mom. She died three years ago—cancer, quick and awful. By the time she was diagnosed, the disease was so entrenched that surgery was ruled out and other treatments were deemed too great a strain for her body to endure. She was in hospice ten weeks later, and died four weeks after that. We hadn’t even adjusted to the fact that she was sick,and suddenly, she was gone. Years later, Theo and I still haven’t found actual words to talk about it.
Instead, we stand in the messy, loud living room watching Simon and Isaac flick LEGOs at each other while Jules checks emails at the dining table, sipping peppermint tea and reminding them not to aim for the eyes. I give Theo the mom-would-have-loved-this nod. He gives me the don’t-I-know-it clap on the shoulder. That’s that.
“Let’s get you settled.” Theo nods toward the hall, where my bags sit heaped by the basement door. “Big day tomorrow.”
I peer at him, knowing full well that “get you settled” means “carry your bags to the basement, then hold you hostage with a lecture.” But I do have a big day tomorrow—and a busy night tonight, though Theo doesn’t know that part. If I’m squeezing in a lecture too, I’d better get it out of the way.
“Say goodnight!” Theo calls to the boys, waving me to the basement door.
“What?! No!” Simon bellows. “We were gonna do the puzzle she brought!”
“She has a job now, buddy,” Theo calls, heading downstairs. “She’ll be here all summer.”
My neck goes hot and prickly as I descend the carpeted steps. All summer. Unless I get fired first.
“It’s nothing fancy,” says Theo, hitting the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. “But Jules did jazz it up a bit. And I know everyone says this, but the foldout’s actually very comfortable.”
I look around, once again knocked out by the suburban domesticity. It’s a classic shag-carpet basement, complete with a plastic tub of Christmas decorations and a dehumidifier moaning in the corner. A tinny drip echoes from the narrow bathroom, and the wood-paneled walls look identical to those in Jamie’s closet-office. But the room has indeed been cozied up. The foldout’s made up in crisp white sheets and a set of jewel-toned throw pillows. There’s a nightstand on each side where Jules has placed two table lamps that light the room with a buttery glow.
“It’s wonderful,” I say, and I mean it. “Thank you, Theo. I’m glad I’m here. This was the right call.”
