She bristles and her nostrils flare. “You make me sound cold and heartless.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “If the shoe fits,” but I bite it back. Behind the flash of anger toward me is hurt and pain. I’m being a pain in the asterisk.
“Sorry,” I mutter out instead. “I’m hangry.”
Our waitress drops off a basket of fried clams. All irritation and weirdness is erased the second we taste the savory goodness. Nora groans happily. They really are the best in all the land.
“Anyway,” she says around a mouthful of clams, “I have an updated ta-da list that’s more than just a to-do list.”
“I thought there wasn’t any difference other than a snazzy name.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Snazzy. Not sure I’ve heard that word out of anyone under the age of eighty’s mouth. Ever. Until now.”
This ribbing between us, when we’re being playful and joking, is nice. I have to wrangle in the snappy retorts when I’m feeling resentful.
“Tell me your snazzy ta-da list,” I say before shoving another fried clam sliver into my mouth.
She wipes her fingers on a napkin and then leans closer as if to let me in on a secret. “House. Budgies. Book. All by the end of the month.”
Her ta-da list seems ambitious. Especially considering Dad can’t even get to the repairs until next week.
“I can tell you don’t believe me,” she says quickly, “but I’m good at project management.”
I eye the empty basket full of crumbs with longing for more before turning my gaze up to hers. “I’m not sure what all that entails, but my to-do list regarding Goldie’s house is going to take longer than a few weeks. Likely the whole summer.”
She nods as if she were expecting this response. “All the hard stuff, yes. But all the cleaning and going through her things can be done in that time period.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “And the budgies?”
“It’ll be more than enough time to rehome them properly.”
Sourness settles in my gut. There may have been a time after Goldie died that I considered giving them to someone else, but then it quickly passed. It’ll be one less thing off my plate, but it doesn’t sit right with me.
They’re not your birds, man.
You’re not her grandson.
“Before you panic,” she rushes out, “I’m not going give them to BudgieFest visitors. I’ll personally vet each person interested. Locals only. No Harkers allowed.”
My lips twitch with a hint of a smile. “Spoken like a true Everhart.”
“And, for the best part,” she says, leaning forward and grinning eagerly. “The book.”
“You want to do something with your grandma’s budgie care book? I know she has loads of them in a storage unit. She liked to pass them out at BudgieFest.”
“Not that book.”
Our waitress returns with our entrées and we’re both momentarily distracted. I’m halfway through my brie and bacon bay burger before she continues with her plan.
“I want to document their love story,” she says, eyes shining with excitement. “Officially. Maybe then Mom can understand Grandma’s feelings a bit better. I’d love for her to find a way to forgive her.”
This plan of hers is more than ambitious. It’s a bit insane. Just the book alone might take forever. Goldie left no shortage of notebooks, and her computer is crammed with more.
“What do you think?” Nora asks before nibbling on a curly fry.
I finish swallowing the last of my burger and shrug. “It’s a lot to be honest. I think you need to give yourself more time.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “Work won’t wait forever. At some point I’ll need to head back to New York.”
