Weather Girl(19)

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I should have known. My pizza knowledge is sorely lacking,” I say as he scurries to collect the dreidel. “You’ll have to make them for me next time.”

“Let’s make them now!” Cassie bounds up to me, her curly dark hair springing in all directions. The oversize menorah sweater hangs to the knees of her blue-and-white striped leggings. “I’m going to make you the best one, but Papa will have to put it in the oven.”

“Kiddo, we’re not making anything. We just ate,” Javier says, running a hand through Cassie’s wild hair that matches his. “And I think that’s enough dreidel. Why don’t we save some for the remaining seven nights? Aunt Ari has to be up early in the morning.”

“And that is entirely because the station doesn’t respect Jewish holidays.” I consider that for a moment. “Although frankly, sometimes neither do I. It’s a fine line to walk.”

“One more round.” Cassie gives her dad these pleading eyes that are impossible to resist. “Please?”

“They don’t teach you how to say no to that face in parenting classes,” Alex tells me as he heads into the room, drying his hands on his jeans.

With glee, the twins grab the dreidel again. I have a little dreidel, I made it out of Aunt Ari’s existential angst.

Until Alex had kids, I was convinced I didn’t want them, certain my genes would make me a terrible parent. But spending time with them has changed my mind completely. I’m not sure how many and I’m not sure when, but all I know is that I want this kind of family. I want this joy we didn’t always have growing up.

“You look beat,” Alex says to me as he settles into an armchair, stretching out his long legs. The shammash light on his sweater keeps flickering on and off, though he changed the batteries before dinner. “Dreidel too intense for you?”

“I’m fine,” I insist. It’s been my mantra lately. Fine that Garrison dumped me. Fine that Torrance would rather resurrect petty arguments than be a real boss. Again I summon that here’s your weekend forecast smile. But even fine sounds forced when you have to insist that’s what you are. So I amend it. “I’m great. Really.”

And I’ll be even better once I meet up with Russell tomorrow evening to discuss our plans. A couple hours before my usual bedtime, but it’s definitely worth staying awake for.

“You lose,” Orion informs us as the dreidel lands on gimel and he takes all my gelt and Cassie’s. “You all lose!”

I pretend to pout. “Oh no, again? You’re a real high roller!”

Both Orion and Cassie burst into giggles, their little-kid laughter soothing my soul just a fraction. It’s always been a toss-up whether a holiday or birthday or other celebration would include my mother, depending on her mood that week. I assume Alex invited her, and it’s almost a relief that she didn’t show up.

“That’s game.” Javier collects the dreidel and transfers Orion’s winnings to the coffee table. Cassie must be too hopped-up on sugar—I brought a lot of gelt—to contest Orion’s victory. “I’ll take them upstairs if you two want to keep talking.”

“That would be great, thanks,” Alex says.

The twins throw their arms around my neck, and I pretend they’re hugging me too hard. “You’re too strong! I’m not sure how long I can last!” I groan as if I’m in pain. This of course makes them laugh harder, hug tighter, and eventually I give in and squeeze them back. “Happy Hanukkah,” I say, ruffling their hair and dropping the kind of too-loud kisses they pretend to hate on top of their heads.

“Make sure Cassiopeia has her water in the purple cup,” Alex calls, and Javier holds it up, grinning.

“How do you even bring yourself to discipline them?” I ask as the trio clomps upstairs, Cassie already telling Orion how she’s going to get him back at dreidel tomorrow night.

“Oh, somehow we manage.”

I’m pushing my own bedtime again, but I think I needed this. Alex disappears into the kitchen and returns with two glasses of wine, watching as I gulp down half of one.

“Should I get you the whole bottle?”

“I’m cutting myself off,” I say as I pour his glass into mine. “After this one.”

“I was about to ask if it’s been a long week, but it’s only Monday.”

I wave my hand. “Long week, long month, long year.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“My boss. As usual. When isn’t it my boss? And thank you, but . . . I’m dealing with it.” Or I will be, with the ever-polite but still mysterious Russell Barringer. Tomorrow.

“Well then,” Alex says, sliding onto the couch next to me, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” He plays with a frayed edge of a blanket, and—oh. Javier must have taken Cassie and Orion upstairs to give us some time alone. “It’s about Mom.”

I wish I could undo the visceral reaction this sparks in me. I hate that those three words conjure up the kind of anxiety that makes me want to sprint upstairs and hide in a child-sized bed. “Okay.”

Alex takes a deep breath. “She’s at a psychiatric treatment center.”

A cold front rushes in, filling my brain with static. “She—what? Is she okay?”