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It was just like me to miss this monumental moment because I’d overindulged with a venti pumpkin spice latte and nature had called.
Mom continued. “The feather felt meaningful, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Well, yesterday, in my dream, your father told me it was a stork’s feather. And that storks represent new beginnings. Like the one I should have. I googled stork feathers and compared the one I kept. It matched.”
We both stopped on the corner of the street. We were still a few feet away from the crowd milling around the square. Food trucks, generators, and people were everywhere. There was a big red button hooked up to a generator barricaded by orange construction barriers.
“What are you saying, Mamushka?” I squeezed her fingertips.
“I’m saying I want to quit and sell my mittens. I’m saying I’m opening an Esty shop. If you could help me, that is. You know I’m useless with technology.”
“Etsy.” I grinned. “And it’d be my honor. We’re going to open you one first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ll even take pictures of your inventory. Make it look legit.” I was pretty good with Photoshop. Had taught myself in college. I was sure I could make her something presentable.
“Thank you. What about you?” She frowned. “When will you record your podcast?”
“Soon, Mom,” I lied. Again. “Very soon.”
“You know, when I was your age, I really wanted to be a news reporter.” She smiled grimly. “Your father and I had already moved to Staindrop. I got accepted as an intern for a local newspaper. I said no.”
“What? Why?” I hadn’t even known Mom had wanted to be a reporter. It fit her much more than being a math teacher, though.
Mom shrugged. “The possibility of failing scared me more than the prospect of succeeding thrilled me. I was a scaredy cat. I didn’t want to get hurt. Another opportunity didn’t come along. In fact, I was too scared to even apply to anything else. So I just took the job I thought I deserved and went along with it. If there is one thing I can guarantee to you—your dreams don’t wait around for you to get to them. That’s why it’s called chasing a dream. We keep running out of time. Don’t postpone for tomorrow what you can do today. You’re brilliant, passionate, and hardworking. Run after your dream, Callichka. Or you’ll never catch it.”
She opened her arms, and I stepped into a Litvin hug. Usually, it was a three-way hug with Dad, but for the first time since he’d been gone, the space he had left didn’t feel like a wound between us.
“Lookie here! It’s my BFF and her MILF!” Dylan’s voice singsonged from behind my shoulder. I turned around to look at her. She was wearing a huge, rainbow faux-fur coat I had made for her when we were teenagers, hot pink heels, and a pair of skinny jeans. She approached us with her mom holding her hand to keep her balanced.
“What’s a MILF?” Zeta frowned with suspicion.
“Mother in lovely fur!” I said with flourish, gesturing to Mom’s coat.
“Now, that’s a nice abbreviation.” Zeta snapped her fingers, pointing at me. “I think I’ll use that.”
Dylan’s eyes lit up further. “Please, Mom, feel free to. Any chance you get.”
The four of us exchanged pleasantries before I dove into the thick of the crowd to find a chair for Dylan to sit on. When I came back with one I’d stolen from a vendor, Kieran was there. He was wearing one of those long, preppy coats, his hair tousled to perfection, chatting with Dylan, holding the small of her back casually to support her posture. She looked up at him, her smile so blindingly bright, my heart was ready to explode, and I realized…
Dylan was truly happy without Tucker.
I didn’t want to see her smile dim when he returned.
Mom and Zeta were deep in conversation, cradling steaming cups of chai. Kieran was holding little cardboard plates with food samples. As soon as I put the chair on the sidewalk for Dylan to sit, he handed one to me. It looked like a human liver. Red and grainy, swimming in its own blood.
“Are you, uhm…in the organ trafficking business?” I quirked an eyebrow.
Kieran smiled, but his eyes were still trained on Dylan’s face as she took her seat. “Beet kofta. Supposed to be really good.”
“Beets, you say? Well, they were my father’s favorite root vegetable.” I shoveled some onto a plastic fork and took a big bite. It was delicious. “Hey, Dylan, remember that time we had beet salad and you peed in the public pool—”
“Cal!” Dylan shot me a murderous look. I stared at her mid-bite, confused. Dylan wasn’t familiar with the notion of shame, not to mention mortification. Yet she was precisely the color of the kofta I was eating, jerking her head toward Kieran with arched brows.
Oh.
Oh.
Kieran looked between us. “Care to finish that story?”
“I…uhm, it’s a gross one.” I smiled, still staring at Dylan.
“Don’t hold back on my account.” He chuckled. “I like a good gory story.”
