“Piece of junk? That’s a little harsh,” Sophie mutters.
Emma laughs. “It’s cute. It just needs some work. Like, a lot of work.”
“I’m willing to work hard for the things that matter, and you know what . . . that piece of junk out there matters because it’s part of the dream,” Sophie says defensively before she smiles and adds, “And it’s all I could afford.”
“Then how do you plan on fixing it up?” Emma asks.
Sophie just quotes, “‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’”
“Or maybe there’s a sister.” I lightly elbow her. “I just sold my house and could give you a bit to at least make sure the engine runs smoothly.”
Sophie’s eyes widen. “Really? I mean, you don’t have to, but it was a bit of an iffy drive from Dallas.”
I chuckle. “I’m sure.”
“But Sadie, you don’t have a job and you’re about to leave the country,” Emma reminds me.
“I can’t believe you’re going to Europe!” Sophie squeals.
I kind of can’t believe it either, but tomorrow, I leave for Venice. I’ll explore Italy and Spain, then Switzerland and Austria, and spend my final month in the UK and France. I want to walk places I’ve only read of and touch history in a way I’ve only dreamed.
I’m doing it for the plot.
“I’ve got plenty, especially if it’s investing in a place my little sister really wants to go.”
And I do. One thing about being an accountant for the last seven years of my life is I lived by numbers more than experiences, and the numbers in my account grew while the experiences in my life stayed stagnant.
“There’s my girls!” our mom exclaims as she opens the back door. “I am so excited for this little shindig to celebrate my babies who are definitely not babies anymore.”
She squeezes her way in between all of us, tears already streaming down her face as she grabs for our arms. We wrap her up.
“Mom,” Sophie says. “The party hasn’t even started. Why are you crying?”
“Because I just love you all so much and want the best for you,” she answers, sobbing.
“Your version of best or ours?” Sophie questions.
Sophie has always been the bolder one of us three—not afraid to ask the hard questions or take the hard answers.
“I mean . . .” our mom trails off.
Emma swoops in. “We know, Mom.”
“It’s just, I guess when you were babies, I imagined these big, beautiful lives for each one of you, and I’m realizing it wasn’t mystory to write,” Mom says quietly as she uses her cotton shawl to wipe at her face. “It’s hard to let that go.”
“Well, you’re going to have to, Mom. I bought a van,” Sophie announces.
“Oh, I know. Your dad is out there right now looking at what it’s going to need.” Mom laughs between her tears. “He said you picked a real clunker.”
We all join her in laughter.
I don’t have a perfect family. I don’t think anyone really does. But I love the way our imperfections complement and challenge each other. I know I’m going to do things that might disappoint them, but I think, for the most part, they truly just want what’s good for me, just like I want what’s good for them.
56
SADIE
THREE MONTHS LATER. . .
