It would seem weird to their high school friends to see Wren without Cath. Their college friends would think it was weird if they showed up anywhere together.
Somebody should stay with Dad, Cath said.
Go, Cath, their dad said after a few days of this. Im not going to lose control sitting here watching Iron Chef.
Sometimes Cath went.
Sometimes she stayed home and waited up for Wren.
Sometimes Wren didnt come home at all.
I dont want you to see me shit-faced, Wren explained when she rolled in one morning. You make me uncomfortable.
Oh, I make you uncomfortable, Cath said. Thats priceless.
Their dad went back to work after a week. The next week he started jogging before work, and thats how Cath knew he was off his meds. Exercise was his most effective self-medicationits what he always did when he was trying to take control.
She started coming downstairs every morning when she heard the coffeemaker beeping. To check on him, to see him off. Its way too cold to jog outside, she tried to argue one morning.
Her dad handed her his coffeedecafwhile he laced up his shoes. It feels good. Come with me.
He could tell she was trying to look in his eyes, to take his mental temperature, so he took her chin and let her. Im fine, he said gently. Back on the horse, Cath.
Whats the horse? she sighed, watching him pull on a South High hoodie. Jogging? Working too much?
Living, he said, a little too loud. Life is the horse.
Cath would make him breakfast while he ranand after he ate and left for work, shed fall back to sleep on the couch. After a few days of this, it already felt like a routine. Routines were good for her dad, but he needed help sticking to them.
Cath would usually wake up again when Wren came downstairs or came home.
This morning, Wren walked into the house and immediately headed into the kitchen. She came back into the living room with a cold cup of coffee, licking a fork. Did you make omelettes?
Cath rubbed her eyes and nodded. We had leftovers from Los Portales, so I threw them in. She sat up. Thats decaf.
Hes drinking decaf? Thats good, right?
Yeah
Make me an omelette, Cath. You know I suck at it.
What will you give me? Cath asked.
Wren laughed. Its what they used to say to each other. What will you give me?
What do you want? Wren asked. Do you have any chapters you need betaed?
It was Caths turn to say something clever, but she didnt know what to say. Because she knew that Wren didnt mean it, about betaing her fic, and because it was pathetic how much Cath wished that she did. What if they spent the rest of Christmas break like that? Crowded around a laptop, writing the beginning of the end of Carry On, Simon together.
Nah, Cath said finally. Ive got a doctoral student in Rhode Island editing all my stuff. Shes a machine. Cath stood up and headed for the kitchen. Ill make you an omelette; I think weve got some canned chili.
Wren followed. She jumped up onto the counter next to the stove and watched Cath get the milk and eggs from the refrigerator. Cath could crack them one-handed.
Eggs were her thing. Breakfasts, really. Shed learned to make omelettes in junior high, watching YouTube videos. She could do poached eggs, too, and sunny side up. And scrambled, obviously.
Wren was better at dinners. Shed gone through a phase in junior high when everything she made started with French onion soup mix. Meat loaf. Beef Stroganoff. Onion burgers. All we need is soup mix, shed announced. We can throw all these other spices away.
You girls dont have to cook, their dad would say.
But it was either cook or hope that he remembered to pick up Happy Meals on the way home from work. (There was still a toy box upstairs packed with hundreds of plastic Happy Meal toys.) Besides, if Cath made breakfast and Wren made dinner, that was at least two meals their dad wouldnt eat at a gas station.
QuikTrip isnt a gas station, hed say. Its an everything-you-really-need station. And their bathrooms are immaculate.
Wren leaned over the pan and watched the eggs start to bubble. Cath pushed her back, away from the fire.
This is the part I always mess up, Wren said. Either I burn it on the outside or its still raw in the middle.
Youre too impatient, Cath said.
No, Im too hungry. Wren picked up the can opener and spun it around her finger. Do you think we should call Grandma?
Well, tomorrows Christmas Eve, Cath said, so we should probably call Grandma.
You know what I mean.
He seems like hes doing okay.
Yeah Wren cranked open the can of chili and handed it to Cath. But hes still fragile. Any little thing could throw him off. Whatll happen when we go back to school? When youre not here to make breakfast? He needs somebody to look out for him.
Cath watched the eggs. She was biding her time. We still have to go shopping for Christmas dinner. Do you want turkey? Or we could do lasagnain Grandmas honor. Maybe lasagna tomorrow and turkey on Christmas
I wont be here tomorrow night. Wren cleared her throat. Thats when Lauras family celebrates Christmas.