Page 15 of The Starfish Sisters

“Okay,” I say as mildly as possible. She’s stressed to the gills and I am almost sure to make it worse.

We all clatter back down the wooden stairs, Maui leading the way, pausing every few steps to look back over his shoulders. “We’re coming,” I say, exasperated. “Go.”

He races the rest of the way down and whirls around, waiting for Jasmine, who falls to her knees and scrubs his chest. “Such a good dog, yes, you are.”

Stephanie hesitates in the living room, her manicured hand tapping her smart watch. Her gaze is on Jasmine, and I glimpse a rare snippet of uncertainty.

In the pause, I offer, “Have a cup of coffee.”

“Sure. I can do that.”

I head into the big kitchen. It’s dated, with ’80s oak cupboards and a dropped ceiling I’d love to get rid of, but the light is good from a giant window that looks toward the forest. A big island makes the space usable. It’s a homey room, meant for a serious cook. A couple of years ago, Stephanie gave me a Keurig for Christmas along with a bunch of compostable pods, and although I had resisted for ages, I have to admit I love the damned thing. I take her favorite mug, hefty with a seafoam glaze, from the shelf and start the machine. “Everything ready to go?”

She slides onto a chair at the island. “I hope so. The movers are coming to box it up next week and I won’t be here, so—”

“I’m sure it’s perfection,” I say, and slide a saucer with cranberry bread toward her. She waves a hand in refusal, but I leave it there. “You must be so excited.”

She glances at Jasmine, playing tug-of-war with Maui. “Yes. It’s a really big opportunity and I’ve always wanted to live abroad.” She pinches off a bit of sweet bread. Shrugs. “Just—I don’t know.”

I don’t dare touch her hand and send her skittering off behind her walls. When she was a teen, I learned to talk about important things in the car or while I was doing some other task. This afternoon, I give her coffee, the packets of sweetener I keep for her, and the milk. “It’s a big thing. You’d be inhuman if you didn’t have a few nerves.”

“I didn’t say I was nervous,” she snaps. “It’s a lot.”

I nod mildly, casting about for something safe that might also help her express her feelings. “Such an adventure! London!”

She prepares her coffee precisely and takes a sip. Then: “What if I hate it?” More quietly: “What if Jasmine hates it?”

“I don’t think either of those things will happen,” I say, “but if they do, you can make a different decision.”

“I feel like I’m ripping her away from you.”

I let go of a soft laugh. “Well, because you are. But we’ll all be okay. I’ll come visit. By then, you’ll know where all the best pubs are.”

“But I don’t even drink! What am I going to do in pubs? In a culture that revolves around pubs?”

Finally, she’s getting real. “You go to bars with your friends here. What do you do then?”

She sucks her upper lip into her mouth, a habit she’s had since youngest childhood, and sighs. “I know. I’m worried that I’m being rash.”

“You’ve never done a rash thing in your life.” This time I do touch her hand. “What if you totallyloveit?”

Jasmine climbs into the chair beside her mother and leans on her arm. “I’m going to miss you,” she says. “It’s so far away.”

“Aw. My girl.” Stephanie lifts her arm so Jasmine can lean into her shoulder, and kisses her head. “You can call me anytime, okay?Anytime. I will pick up.”

“What if you’re asleep?”

“Call back.”

“Can we have a cat when we get there?”

Steph chuckles. “Maybe.”

Jasmine smiles and lifts her face for a kiss, which Steph drops on her nose. In this, she is not like my mother at all. Sylvia was not affectionate. She wasn’t hostile, but she didn’t like to cuddle and I did. Luckily, my father and grandmother made up for it.

The doorbell rings, and Maui leaps to his feet, barking.

“Come in!” I call.