She laughed and hugged me, my big sister, and for a minute, it was just like when we were kids and I felt safe and special because of her. Hannah, who’d come back to me after all this time.
“Are you sure you didn’t pay off my loan?” I asked.
“I told you, no. I wish I had. But no, it wasn’t me.”
“What are you girls talking about? How abused you were as children?” Mom came into the kitchen. “Do tell.” She looked at us. “Are you crying? You really were talking about me, weren’t you?”
“Believe it or not, we weren’t,” I said.
“I’m moving to Paris,” Hannah said.
Mom raised her eyebrows. “How very exciting. I’m sure Beatrice will be thrilled. Go tell your father. He, on the other hand, will be heartbroken.”
Hannah went upstairs, and Mom looked at me critically. “Does it ever get old, channeling your dead grandmother, sweating over the stove and martyring yourself?” she asked.
I laughed out loud. “No, Mom. It never gets old.”
“You are a mystery,” she said, sipping her wine.
I turned down the heat and looked at her. Yep. There it was, a little twinkle. “Thanks for paying off my mortgage,” I said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she answered.
“Mm-hmm. Thank you anyway.”
“Well, Liliana, if you’re going to stay in this ridiculous, dank little house, you may as well own it free and clear. When are we eating? I’m famished.”
And that was that. Nevertheless, I took off my apron, came around the island and hugged her.
“Okay,” she said. “That’s enough.” She patted me on the shoulder, as a person who feared dogs would pet a Great Dane. “Always so sentimental, Liliana. It’s a wonder you can make it through the day.”
Maybe paying off the mortgage was an apology. Maybe it was simply a gift. Probably, it was love. You never could tell with Mom.
Dad took Hannah’s news harder and cried a little, but told her he was proud and yes, he’d visit. Dylan was psyched that he’d have a place to crash in Paris （！）， and Ben told her it was fantastic.
Life would be so different in the next year. I’d be working in Boston, Hannah would be on another continent, and my parents were talking about living together at Mom’s house on Commercial Street. Dylan had a job lined up in Yellowstone next summer, and as for me . . . well, I had a really nice guy who I think probably loved me.
“I think you probably love me,” I told him later, after Dylan had gone out with his pals and the family had left and we were alone on the porch, listening to the birds.
“I think you probably love me, too,” he said easily.
“Oh, no. You go first.”
He looked at the ceiling. “You got me. I’ve loved you since you were seventeen and all busted up and broken and brave.”
“Wow. That’s a long time not to make a move,” I said.
“I didn’t know you’d run off and get married.” He glanced at me. “Or if you’d want to marry some smelly fisherman like your dad.”
“Smelly fishermen are my favorite,” I said. “Ask me in a year or two.”
“Will do.”
Sometimes, your life shatters when you least expect it. Car accidents, lost pregnancies, divorce, loneliness. People you loved could disappoint you, and other people came through when you never expected it.
And sometimes, happiness just rains down on you out of the clear blue sky.