“Who are they?” Marlow whispers loudly.
Her question makes my heart race. Because I’ll have to make introductions. How to put Max and Marlow into neat labels?
My neighbors, I’ll say. My friends.
No need to tell them more than that.
“How was your summer?” Rory asks, smiling pleasantly. Too pleasantly, maybe. Edging into fake territory. “You look like you’ve been… busy.” She stares pointedly at the streak of paint running up my overalls.
“Ha. Yes. Just doing some painting. It’s been a good summer. Actually”—I step back, gesture to Max and Marlow—“these are my new neighbors, Max and Marlow. We were doing some work on their house this weekend.”
“Oh, how nice! I’m Bea,” Bea says, waving animatedly. She’s the people pleaser of the two. That’s always been their dynamic. “And this is Rory. You live out there in the deep woods, don’t you, Calliope? I think I was there once for a birthday party when we were little. I remember playing hide-and-seek and pretending there were forest fairies chasing us around the trees.”
I nod. “That sounds about right. Ginger and Noah and I were always running from those fairies.”
“Sounds like I missed quite a childhood,” Marlow says, smirking.
Rory laughs. “I was there for that birthday, too. But I thought it was old man Jackson we were running from? That’s before the newspaper delivery boy had to call in the search party for his decaying body.”
I gasp.
I can’t bring myself to look at Max or Marlow, but I feel them stiffen beside me.
“He was a person,” I say, gritting my teeth, “not a monster or a character from a story. A real person. You shouldn’t talk about him—or anyone—that way.” Though I’m thinking about all the times I probably talked about him that way, too. Old man Jackson. More lore than human. But I was wrong to do that. We all were.
Rory flinches and steps back, like I’ve slapped her. “Um. Okay. Sorry?” She doesn’t look sorry. She looks annoyed. Ready to pick up her food and move along.
“You’re right, Calliope,” Bea says, jabbing Rory’s side with her elbow. “You know she didn’t mean anything by it. This whole town jokes about that house.”
“We actually live in that house,” Max says. “Calliope’s neighbor, remember?”
“Oh,” Bea starts, “I’m so—”
Marlow cuts her off. “Old man Jackson was our grandfather. By the way.”
Even Rory has the decency to turn bright pink.
He was my grandfather, too, I want to say. Even though it’s only partly true. Biologically, yes. But that doesn’t make him family. He’s not mine to claim. And neither are Max and Marlow. Especially not in public.
“I was just kidding,” Rory says. “I didn’t know.”
“Obviously.” Marlow rolls her eyes.
Bea turns to Max. “Let’s all start over. Are you a senior, too?”
He nods, looking disinterested. His eyes flash up to the extensive menu hanging above the register.
“Cool. It must be so sad and weird, moving senior year. Rory and I can help show you around, if you want.”
“Thanks.” He looks back at Bea. “But I think I’m set. I’ve got my big sister here to show me the ropes at Green Woods High.”
“Big sister?” Rory says, squinting as she turns to Marlow—bare faced today, looking exactly her age. Four years younger than Max.
“Nope. Not her. Calliope.” He smiles as he says it, a mischievous, shit-eating one, like he’s delighting in the fact that this will implode Rory’s and Bea’s minds.
Big sister.
My mind is imploding, too.
I laugh so loud every last person in the restaurant turns to look at me. Even the two busy line cooks behind the counter.
Max and Marlow laugh, too. Doubled over. Gasping.
We all have tears in our eyes.
“So. I’m assuming that’s a joke then.” Rory frowns, like she doesn’t like being outside of whatever this great prank might be.
“Nope,” I say, wiping my cheeks. “It’s true. We’re half-siblings. I have two moms, remember? I was a science experiment.”
Bea’s mouth, which has been hanging wide open during this whole exchange, finally shuts. “Oh.”
“Yep. Well. Good to see you both! I think we’ll order now.” I smile sweetly and step around them, motioning for Max and Marlow to follow me.
“Come over anytime—my grandfather’s ghost would love to meet you,” Marlow says, glancing back at them. And then she takes my hand.
“I’m sorry I blew up your spot,” Max says later, as we’re sprawled out on top of the hill with our food. “Telling those girls at the Chinese restaurant about our sordid family tree. I didn’t exactly plan on it. Something about Rory just made me want to shock her tiny little brain.” He bites into an egg roll, closes his eyes.
“What colors do you see?” I ask. I take a bite of my egg roll and close my eyes, too.
“Orange. Bright orange. Tangerine. And a nice light green. Tea green, maybe.”
I consider this. “I get what you’re saying. But do you only think green because of the cabbage? Does knowing what color the food is affect your opinion?”
“I try not to think about the food color,” Max says. “But it’s not a perfect science.”
“Weirdos,” Marlow says, “both of you.”
I open my eyes. It’s getting dark up here, the sun almost completely hidden behind us. I brought one of our camping lanterns, though, and there’s more than enough light to see the happy look on Marlow’s face as she digs her fork into more fried rice.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I say. “About earlier. I’m glad you told them.”
“Yeah?” Max opens his eyes, too. He turns to look at me.
“Let’s never tell people about earlier this summer.” I cringe. I’ll probably always cringe, thinking about that. Max, too. We cringe together—and then we move on. “But I’m okay with people knowing that we’re related by science.”
Maybe more than science, too. Or we will be, after
