Crap! I totally forgot I was supposed to check in.

ME: How mad? Mad like when we broke the front window when we tried to turn Barbie’s car into a rocket ship?

MARGOT: Hahaha! He wasn’t that mad. He called Nonna and she said you were in the shower.

I owe Nonna one. She totally covered for me.

ME: I don’t want to admit this because you’ll never let me live it down…but I kind of wish I was there with you and your sausage toes.

I wipe at my face, brushing away the tears. I could still get in my car and drive down there this morning. Even though I’ll never hear the end of it, at least I could crawl into bed with Margot and not come out until Christmas is over.

MARGOT: I wish you were here, too. But you would be miserable. I’m miserable. Brad’s miserable. Even our dog is miserable. You were right to stay with Nonna and Papa.

I try not to feel disappointed. I know she would welcome me if I outright asked to come down. But my sour mood would no doubt make her more miserable than she already is.

MARGOT: Are you okay?

ME: Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll text you later.

I’m not sure why I didn’t tell her about Griffin. Maybe I’m afraid if I tell her about what happened it becomes irrevocably true. Or maybe I know Margot’s got enough to worry about right now. She’s trying to play it tough, but she’s worried about the baby.

I power off the phone, ignoring the rest of my messages and missed calls, and drop it in the bedside table drawer. Can’t deal with any more of that right now.

My reflection is scarier than I thought it would be by the time I make it to the bathroom. I’m not a pretty crier. The red around my eyes makes them look darker than normal, and my normally tanned skin has a sickly pale look to it. All my tossing and turning last night ruined the soft curls I spent forever perfecting when I thought Griffin would be excited to see me. Now my long black hair is a dingy, tangled mess.

Once I’ve showered and dried my hair, though, I feel a little better. On a scale from normal to complete disaster, I’m somewhere around pathetically passable. At last, I inch my way down the hallway, toward the chorus of voices coming from the kitchen, and prepare myself for the onslaught.

The family is here.

My family is a wild bunch. My grandfather was born and raised in Sicily. He was supposed to go back home after spending some time in the United States, but he fell in love with my grandmother. As the story goes, my grandfather’s mother almost started an international incident when she found out he was staying in Louisiana. The only thing that stopped her was the fact that Nonna’s family was originally from a town near his.

Dad always struggles when we come here. He’s an only child and has no extended family, so sometimes he says it feels like entering a war zone. I’m not as bad as him, but since we are the only group, besides my uncle Michael, that doesn’t live in Shreveport, I feel somewhat like an outsider.

I didn’t always feel that way, though. When I was younger, I spent most of my summers and every holiday here, surrounded by my cousins and the neighborhood kids. It was like summer camp. I was closest with Olivia, our cousin Charlie, and Charlie’s best friend, Wes, who lives next door. Uncle Bruce, Olivia’s dad, even named us the Fab Four. But the older we got, the more it felt like we drifted apart. The three of them all went to the same school and were part of the same clubs and cheered for the same team. So I threw myself into my clubs and my team. It wasn’t long before my visits became shorter and further apart.

Aunt Maggie Mae catches sight of me the moment I enter the kitchen.

“Well, there she is! I declare, you look more like your mama every time I see you!”

You know those people who make fun of how Southern people talk? They must have gotten their source material from my aunt. Maggie Mae, who is married to my mom’s brother Marcus, was one of those true Southern belles back in the day, complete with the big white dress when she was presented to society. And she won’t let you forget it.

She pulls me against her chest and I’m afraid I’m going to suffocate in her overly endowed boobs. “Bless your heart, sweetie. I heard about your heartache. That boy ain’t got the good sense God gave a rock.”

“Um…thanks, Aunt Maggie Mae.” I think.

I’m passed around the kitchen and kissed on the cheek, the forehead, and even the lips (by Aunt Kelsey, who does not understand personal space at all) in a matter of minutes. I slide onto one of the bar stools as the aunts resume their argument over whose ambrosia salad is better — Aunt Kelsey’s, made the classic way, or Aunt Patrice’s, made with Jell-O — and which one should be served for lunch on Christmas Day.

I’m firmly in the anti-ambrosia camp, but I keep that opinion to myself.

Aunt Maggie Mae has two sets of twins — twin daughters who are close to my age and twin sons who are much younger. The twin daughters, Mary Jo and Jo Lynn, give me an awkward wave from across the kitchen, and I give them a more awkward wave back. When they were young, almost all of their clothing matched except for the monogram. Even now at eighteen, they coordinate. It’s ridiculous. They’re a year older than Olivia, Charlie, and me, but we’re all in the same grade. Charlie’s been calling them the Evil Joes since we were twelve, when they locked him out of the condo we were all sharing in Florida in nothing but his Star Wars briefs. Truthfully, he had no business still wearing those. Think: small. And tight. A group of teenage girls he had been flirting with all week saw him, and you’d have thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Those girls giggled every time Charlie got anywhere near them for the rest of the week.

He never got over it.

My aunt Lisa, Mom’s twin, and her son, Jake, are here, too.

“Sweet Soph! So glad to see you!” Aunt Lisa looks so much like Mom, it’s hard not to cry when I see her.

“I’m happy to see you, too.” I hug her a little longer than normal. She even smells like Mom. “Where’s Olivia?”

“Already at the shop,” she says. “I hear Nonna volunteered you to work there over the break.”

“Of course she did,” I answer with a smile.

Jake nudges me and says, “Dang, girl. You look like crap.”

Aunt Lisa smacks him in the back of the head. “Jake, don’t be a jerk.”

He laughs as he hobbles off in search of an open seat at the table. Jake broke his foot doing something stupid, probably involving heights and visions of grandeur, at his fraternity house at LSU, and now he’s wearing one of those boots.

Charlie weaves his way to where I’m sitting, and I hop up from my bar stool, grinning, when he gets close. I haven’t seen him in forever. He pauses a second or so before giving me a halfhearted hug. I’m a little taken aback by his hesitation, but my arms go around him immediately, and I feel better than I have all morning.

“Are you okay? Nonna told me what happened with Griffin,” Charlie says when I finally let him go.

Of course Nonna told him. She’s probably told everyone by now.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

He sits on the stool next to me. “Other than the boyfriend trouble, how’s it going?”

I shrug. “Good, I guess. Busy. How about you?”

He nods. “Good. Busy, too.”

Charlie falls silent, and I’m racking my brain, trying to think of another question to ask him. Gah, since when were conversations with Charlie this hard?

Before I have a chance to come up with anything, he says, “Well, we’re planning on hanging out after family dinner tonight, if you’re around.”

I swallow too much coffee and cough when the hot liquid goes down wrong. “Family dinner tonight?” I choke out. If word has spread about my boyfriend wanting to dump me, I’m not sure I can face all of the pity stares I’m sure to get.

Charlie smiles. “You know it. It doesn’t take much for Nonna to get everyone together, and your visit will definitely bring out the extra table. We can go to Wes’s after to get away from the crowd.”

Wes lives next door and has been more like Charlie’s brother than friend, mainly because Charlie spent half his childhood at Wes’s house. Charlie’s parents met when they both worked for Doctors Without Borders in the Philippines, where Aunt Ayin is originally from, and they both still donate time wherever they’re needed. Charlie and Sara stay at Nonna’s when their parents are gone. Which means Charlie almost always ends up at Wes’s.

“We’ll make Olivia come, too,” he says. “The Fab Four…just like old times.”

A nervous flutter runs through me, but I say, “Sure! That sounds like fun.” Charlie grins and grabs a muffin. He’s out the door before I can change my mind.

Nonna sets down a piece of quiche in front of me and gives me a squeeze. “Feeling better today?” she whispers.

I nod as she refills my coffee.

“We’ll leave for the shop in an hour, okay?”

“Okay,” I answer. It’s not like I have anything else to do now.

***

The shop is really just an old house in a neighborhood that has become more and more commercial over the years. Most of the businesses opted to tear the houses down and rebuild, but Nonna and Papa kept this cute little blue house the exact same way they found it. All of the yard out back is now mostly greenhouse space, while the inside is stuffed with gardening supplies, statues, and other yard and garden decorations. It’s got that homey feel to it that totally works.

When we were younger, we would play hide-and-seek in the back greenhouse and help plant flowers in the front flower beds. The wave of nostalgia almost knocks me over as I start down the front walkway.