Page 86 of Nixon’s Promise

Now it was back. In full view.

I forgot about finding my siblings and hightailed my ass to my bedroom. I shut the door behind me, and for good measure I locked myself in my bathroom. There I sat on the closed toilet lid and cried.

Correction, I bawled my eyes out. I had my family back. Mandy had given them to me. She was coming around, finally. I didn’t know what to do with that or if I should do anything at all. I was afraid if I made a big deal out of it, she’d retreat. But I needed her to know, I was thankful.

It took me a long while to get myself sorted before I washed my face and left my room. By the time I made it downstairs, Mandy was in the kitchen and I heard the TV on in the other room.

“Hey, Micky, where’s…” Mandy stopped speaking as she took me in. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, you know how my allergies act up in spring.”

It was a lame excuse why my eyes were puffy and my nose was red, but it was the best I had.

“Hamburgers?” she asked, holding up the huge package of ground sirloin.

“Yep. Wanna help?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure.” I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath, waiting for her response. But when she answered with a smile on her face, I felt the sting in my eyes come back.

I quickly gave her my back and fished out the rolls, needing a few seconds to recover.

“Hey, where’s Duke?”

“Nixon’s bringing him home,” I told her.

“Cool. How was work? I know you guys explained you couldn’t talk about it, but in general, how’d it go?”

Holy hell, my sister was asking about my day. This was totally new.

“It was good, just set up the network,” I told her as I set a pot full of water on the stove.

“Bet he was impressed.” She chuckled.

“Don’t know about impressed. But I think he was a little surprised I finished as quickly as I did.”

“Dad was always impressed,” she said, not looking at me but at the bowl of sirloin. “He used to brag about you to all of his friends. Especially after you made him that app to track the hours on his plane and projected maintenance.”

I stilled at the mention of my dad. Mandy had avoided the topic for so long, just her uttering his name was painful. I never knew my dad had bragged about me. I knew he was proud of me; he was generous with his praise, but I didn’t know he’d talked about me to his friends. That knowledge warmed me.

“You know he was proud of you, too,” I gave her, and with effort forced myself to move. “He would text me pictures of your paintings all the time. And remember when you won that school-wide art contest? Dad emailed me the video of you accepting your award. And like a thousand pictures from that night. He loved watching you paint.”

“He did?” The emotion was thick in her tone, and with more concentration than needed, her hands kneaded spices into the ground beef.

“Oh, yeah. All the time. I still have the texts and emails if you want to see them. I have some from your mom, too. You know how every Sunday she’d spend emailing or handwriting notes? Without fail, I always got an email telling me what you and Zack, and even Dad, had done that week.”

One of the many, many things I loved about my stepmom. Even after I moved out and across the country for school, she still made sure I felt connected to my family. Sometimes her messages were short, just a paragraph or two. Sometimes they were long and included pictures. But they were always full of love and pride for her family. And they all ended the same way, “And how are you doing, my darling girl?”

“I forgot about that.”

“Have all of those, too. I can print them out for you, if you want them.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll do it after I get the pasta salad done. You think you can cut up the burger fixings? All the guys are coming over.”

I dumped two boxes of tri-colored rotini into the boiling water. I was doing that, trying my best not to burst into tears. I didn’t know what had brought about the change in my sister and why today was the day she was ready to open up, but I was grateful.

It was time, beyond time.