“CJ,” I warned.
“What? I support your efforts to woo Winnie.”
I almost blacked out from embarrassment. “There will be no wooing. Only cleaning.”
Winnie pressed her lips together.
I pointed at the couch. “Go relax.”
Winnie rolled her eyes, which was so utterly out of character that it delighted me, but she retreated into the family room while the rest of us tackled cleanup.
Well. The kids tackled cleanup. I mostly supervised and prevented catastrophic outcomes. Billie attempted to wash Senator Crunch in the dishwasher despite very loud warnings from her siblings. CJ insisted that plates should be organized by the amount of scraps left on them, which Bianca rejected, then shoved him out of the way to reorganize the dishwasher with terrifying precision.
At one point, I glanced toward the family room and caught Winnie watching us. She wasn’t laughing, or judging, or getting ready to intervene. She just sat, looking content. It was as if this scene meant more to her than dishes and children arguing over forks probably should.
Once the kitchen was set to rights to an acceptable standard, Bianca wandered toward the speaker system near the bookshelves. “Winnie, what kind of music do you like?”
Winnie looked genuinely startled by the question. “Oh. I like all kinds.”
“That’s statistically impossible,” Bianca replied.
Winnie smiled. “Would you like specifics instead?”
And somehow the evening turned into music night.
Bianca chose orchestral scores, because of course she did. Something dramatic filled the room while she explained instrumentation with the seriousness of a university lecturer. CJ followed with his choice of aggressively theatrical eighties synth music. Billie selected novelty Halloween songs without hesitation or shame, which was how I ended up watching my youngest daughter perform interpretive goblin dancing to “Monster Mash” while waving Senator Crunch over her head.
“This song transcends generations,” CJ argued.
“It should have remained in one generation,” Bianca replied.
Winnie laughed openly at that one, then chose a warm, old folk song that threaded through the air.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s an old Irish song.”
Something in her tone made me pause. There were moments when Winnie sometimes became untethered from the present. Tiny slips in phrasing or expressions that it seemed like she carried more years inside herself than should fit.
I didn’t know how else to explain it.
Billie interrupted my thoughts by grabbing Winnie’s hand. “Dance!”
“Oh no.” She tried to pull her hand away.
“Yes.” Billie pulled Winnie toward the center of the living room.
“I truly don’t think anyone wishes to witness that.”
“We absolutely do,” CJ declared.
And just like that, everyone was dancing. CJ performed the robot. Bianca tried very hard not to dance before eventually giving in and swaying awkwardly. Billie, ever the wild child, was channeling a convulsing raccoon.
I laughed harder than I had in ages. Real laughter that loosened something within me I hadn’t realized stayed clenched most days.
Then Billie spun too aggressively and crashed into CJ. CJ stumbled into me. And I collided directly with Winnie.
I caught her waist instinctively. Her fingers grabbed my arm. Everything narrowed, especially my awareness of her.
