LITMIR.BIZ

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that I will follow. “ is twenty-four now, you know. He’s big and strong, just like his father and brother.”

      Half-brother, I think. I like you, Rosa, but you stole my dad from my mom. I haven’t forgotten that. Just like I haven’t forgotten that Mom died while I was overseas, with no one to check in on her.

      But I keep my thoughts to myself. Besides, the whole situation with my mom is too messy to even begin to unravel. Those are threads I’d rather sweep under the rug than pull at, just now.

      Rosa opens the front door and steps aside, ushering me in. The living room hasn’t changed one bit since the last time I was here. There are the same sagging gray recliners and the same sad brown suede couch, all clustered around an ancient TV set. The same family photos, arranged on the wall in a cluster, like a shrine to my brother.

      The big surprise is that my dad isn’t sitting in his recliner, with all his empty Budweiser cans piled high. Then again, it is the morning. Maybe I just need to give him time.

      “Dale! Jax!” Rosa calls. “Come and see who I found outside!”

      We go through to what used to be the dining room… except it’s not a dining room anymore. It’s…

      A little yoga studio.

      I gape as I take in my father and brother sitting cross legged on matching green yoga mats. The whole room used to be covered in the most hideous organic shag carpeting, but that’s been replaced with new Pergo flooring.

      “Charlie!” my dad says, surprised. He stands up. “What are you doing here?”

      It’s easy to see just where and I get our height and looks; looking at my dad is like looking at a funhouse mirror. He has dark hair and green eyes, though his hair is shot through with gray. Now that I look at him, he’s actually thinner than I am.

      And Jax is his clone, our clone, albeit with a slightly duskier complexion.

      “I just came to visit,” I say. Not strictly true. But I’m no longer the center of attention, because my dad has laid eyes on Sarah.

      “Ohhhh…” he says, his jaw dropping more than mine did when I saw the yoga room. He looks at me. “Is this…?”

      I juggle Sarah, who is squirming, wanting to be put down. “Yeah. Sarah. I don’t want to let her down, or I’m afraid she’ll tear up your whole house.”

      “Let down!” Sarah shrieks. She’s starting to get red-faced, which isn’t a good sign. Usually a tantrum is about to follow. “Let down!”

      “Put her down. Let her explore,” Rosa says.

      I glance at my dad, and he nods in agreement. I bend down and put Sarah’s feet on the ground. She immediately runs to the window and gets on her tiptoes to look out.

      “What’s that?” she says, looking to Rosa.

      Rosa, glad to be included, goes over to kneel by Sarah. “That’s a tree.”

      “Tree,” Sarah says, her brow knitting.

      “Well,”Jax says, standing up. “Hi.”

      Jax walks over and embraces me. Again, it feels a little weird to be hugged.

      “Hey, man,” I say. “Nice to see you.”

      Jax pulls back and looks at me. “I’m so sorry about Britta. I tried to call a couple times…”

      It’s true. He tried, my dad and Rosa tried… probably a hundred other people tried to call. I just shut off my phone, eventually changing my number.

      “Yeah… that’s… that’s on me,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Things got pretty bleak for a while.”

      That’s all I can say about the last two years, at least without my eyes tearing up. Sarah is the only reason I chose to keep living; even then, living is a relative term.

      I don’t quite know what to call the cycle of waking, working, tucking my kid in, and then sobbing desperately into my pillow as soon as I was sure Sarah wouldn’t hear.

      My dad just reaches over and claps me on the back. “We’re glad you’re here now, Charlie.”

      I smile grimly. “Actually, I just rented a place in town.”

      Dad and Jax both stare at me.Jax is the first to speak. “Like… to live in?”

      “Yeah, I thought you were just visiting.” My dad looks puzzled.

      “I misspoke,” I say with a shrug. It’s hard not to get defensive, but I try my best. “We’re here for a few months, at least.”

      “That’s just great, Charlie,” my dad says. “You two should come around for Sunday Supper.”

      Sunday Supper sounds like a great excuse for my dad to get drunk and yell at anyone who has the unfortunate luck of being nearby.

      I glance over at Sarah, who has now abandoned the window in favor of exploring the yoga mats. She picks one of the corners of the mats up, looking underneath as if there might be a surprise. When there is only the floor, she frowns.

      “Yeah… I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t really like Sarah to be around drinking.”

      My dad’s face flushes. “I uh… I’ve been sober for nearly a decade, now. We don’t drink at Sunday Supper. It’s the Lord’s day, after all.”

      I’m so stunned, you could knock me over with a feather. I honestly can’t remember my father ever not drinking.

      “Yeah, we usually have some people over from church,” Jax says. “You really oughta come.”

      Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rosa hugging Sarah. Sarah looks uncertain at first, but then she rests her head on Rosa’s shoulder.

      “We’ll think about it,” I say.

      “Shoot, I gotta go,” Jax says. “I have to shower before I head into work.”

      I lift my brows. “Yeah?”

      “Yep. Gotta get home. Listen, I’ll call you, and we’ll go get something to eat.”

      I have to say, whatever dad and Rosa did with Jax, he turned out okay. He strides through the living room with confidence. I nod noncommittally to his back.

      “We should go too,” I say.

      “So soon?” Rosa protests, looking crestfallen.

      “Yeah, you know. Work,” I lie. I’m a remote business analyst, which is nerd speak for ‘I work my own hours’.

      She tsks again, but doesn’t make a fuss. She just gives Sarah a final hug. “Good bye, reinita.”

      “Bye?” Sarah says, looking a little sad when Rosa stands up.

      My heart twists in my chest when I realize that Sarah hasn’t had much female attention in her short life.

      “Think about Sunday,” my dad says. “It’s a pot luck, so bring a dessert from the grocery store.”

      He winks at me, and I have to work to keep my expression neutral. Who is this thin, yoga loving, non-drinking hippy and what did he do with my dad?

      “Ay!” Rosa says to him. To me, she says, “You don’t bring anything other than your little pobrecita.”

      “Alright. We’ll think about it,” I repeat, bending down and scooping Sarah up.

      “Here, I should walk you to the door,” Rosa says, clucking over me like a mother hen.

      “Bye,” I say, turning and walking out of there.

      Sarah mumbles a bunch of gibberish, waving

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