Page 116 of Such Sharp Teeth

“Are you ready now?”

“No. Not really.”

I go over and sit beside her, take in the view of snow-covered headstones, markers of lives, of bodies. Memories. The known and unknown.

“Well,” I say, “that is pretty bad.”

She buries her face in her hands. “I know.”

“Understandable. Don’t get me wrong. I get it. I get where you were at. Big life change. Physical change. It’s a lot.”

“I’m sorry I kept it from you. I tried to tell you sooner. I just . . . couldn’t get the words out.”

I shrug. “It’s all right. But I’ve sure been a dick to Matty for no reason. He still doesn’t know?”

“I told him. The day I got out of the hospital. Seemed an opportune moment.”

“Smart. How’d he take it?”

“Okay. Better than he should have,” she says, standing. “We’re working through it.”

“Is that what you want?”

She squints at the sky. “Once I stopped thinking about what my life wasn’t going to be, I started to see what it could be. And I can still go to Barcelona someday. Let’s head back. My ears are freezing.”

When we get home, we go upstairs to her room and lie on her bed, not saying anything, just being together. My life might not be what I thought it was going to be, what I pictured. But I have my sister. I have Scarlett.

After a long time, she turns to me and says, “Morris sisters sure are having a year, aren’t they?”

I take her hand and squeeze it. “Total shit show.”

—

It’s Christmas Eve. I know because when Scarlett wakes me up, instead of “Good morning,” she says, “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Is it really?” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Damn.”

“Get ready. We’re baking cookies,” she says. “And wearing ugly sweaters.”

“Nooo!” I roll over.

“I’m kidding about the sweaters,” she says, pulling off my covers. “Up!”

We spend the day at the kitchen counter, our hands covered in flour and powdered sugar, fingertips dyed with food coloring.

“Did you give this Santa devil horns?” she asks me. “We’re bringing these to Joann’s tomorrow. Don’t make them satanic.”

I pout.

After we finish icing what feels like ten thousand cookies, we FaceTime with Mom and Guy, who are skiing in Aspen.

“We’ll see you soon!” Mom says. “So close, Scarlett! I can see it in your face. Almost there.”

Usually, Mom and Guy come here for the holidays, but with Scarlett giving birth so soon after Christmas, it didn’t make sense for them to come twice. Despite our strained relationship, I’ve never spent a Christmas without Mom, and her not being here has me feeling soppy and sad.

“Miss you,” I tell Mom. And Guy, I guess. Guy’s fine.

“We miss you,” he says. “How’s the weather? Get any snow?”