Page 6 of On the Ropes
“Hi, babe,” I said, coughing a little at the strength of her hug. She and my father had remarried when I was in my early twenties. She was a fierce defender of her stepdaughters, my biggest champion, and my most ardent social media follower.
“I sent your last video to everyone in my book club, you know,” she said in her low, expressive voice. “They loved it. They love you. They want you to come to our next meeting because they’ve never met a real live internet celebrity before.”
Alexis and I shared an amused look. “Oh yeah? Sign me up. I’ll give them all the hot gossip as long as they provide the alcoholic beverages. And don’t care that I’m not actually an internet celebrity.”
“Oh, the girls will be so excited. And we’ve been drinking something called adult water ice at book club, which is mostly tequila,” she said, squeezing my hands with a happy smile. Kathleen was my father’s age and came from a mixed Italian and Polish family. She had big, curly black hair; an addiction to hot-red lipstick; and glasses she wore on a chain around her neck.
And then she was turning and pushing me up the stairs while ordering my dad to make me a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee. I pulled Alexis against my side for another hug. For sisters, we looked almost nothing alike—she’d inherited our mother’s blond hair and blue eyes and had not a single freckle to her name.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, sighing. “I miss you so much.”
“How is that possible?” I said with a laugh. “We talk every single day.”
“I know we do,” she said with a sheepish smile. “But it’s different when you’re home. Don’t you think?”
I kept the breezy grin on my face. The people in this house comprised the biggest fans of my scrappy career as a freelance videographer, always on the road. And we were in almost constant communication, from phone calls to video chats and a continual stream of text messages. When they wished I was home more—or home permanently—I didn’t let it bother me. Because it didn’t. And because they knew staying here wasn’t my destiny.
“I think I love being around my family in all different ways,” I said lightly. “And that includes video calling you from the Las Vegas strip or showing you the sunset in the Grand Canyon.”
Alexis wrinkled her nose. “Okay, that is pretty fun.”
I squeezed her close. “But I hear you, and that’s actually why I’m—”
“Aunty Tabby is here.”
The tiny force of nature that was my niece, Juliet, barreled into my midsection. I stooped down, hefted her up as she laughed.
“Is this my favorite person in the whole wide world?” I asked, kissing her cheek.
She pointed at her chest with a serious look. “It’s me.”
“It is you,” I said with a wink. “And who taught you to call me Tabby? This is new.”
My brother-in-law, Eric, stepped out of the kitchen. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He grinned. “Aunty Tabby.”
“Ha, so it was you.”
“Kids these days,” he said. “Who knows where they pick up annoying yet cherished nicknames for their aunts?”
“Mm-hmm,” I smirked. I shifted Juliet higher on my hip as she began telling me a story from the day before and walked into their brightly lit kitchen. Their fridge hadn’t changed much since my last micro visit except that even more of their daughter’s art hung from an assortment of mismatched magnets. There were a few faded pictures of Alexis and Eric when they were younger; a few random postcards I still loved to send from the road; a happy picture from my graduation from UCLA, which was my dad’s first time on an airplane.
Eric and Alexis had been together since their senior year of college at Temple University, and over the years he’d become more of a close friend than an in-law. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Black man with a shaved head and a perpetually kind expression. He and Alexis were both teachers at the public elementary school nearby—he taught kindergarten and Alexis taught third grade.
Juliet had a smile like Eric’s and a laugh that sounded just like my sister’s. She had thick, curly hair; light brown skin; and, at five years old, already loved dressing herself in mismatched patterns.
“Here, I’ll take Juliet and you sit,” Alexis said, indicating the small patio out back. “We can eat breakfast and catch up on your glamorous life.”
I peeked at my jet-lagged appearance in the reflection of the toaster. “I don’t know about the glamour part. But I can tell you all about the fun part.”
Dad hauled my pack against the wall and brushed his hands together. “Is this all you got? No suitcases coming, right?”
We all trooped out to the patio. I sank back into a chair, tipped my head up toward the sun, and let out a huge, I’ve been traveling for twelve hours straight sigh of relief. “That’s literally all that I’ve got. I still have that little storage unit in LA with some of my furniture and gear. But I only need my camera, my microphone, and my laptop.” I nodded at the bulging pack. “And a whole lot of dirty laundry.”
I was twenty-seven and knew from various social media accounts that my friends were pursuing the exact opposite path from the one I was wandering along—moving in with romantic partners, getting married, putting down roots in a million different ways.
At some point I’d have to get my shit together and stop living out of a backpack. Except just thinking about white picket fences and two-car garages tied my stomach into knots I wasn’t sure how to unravel.
My sister plopped a giant plate of French toast, oozing with syrup, directly in front of me. “I don’t deserve you,” I said and immediately shoved a giant bite into my mouth. “Oh my God, this is amazing.”
