Healthy snacks to add to the faculty lunchroom (also Toby’s suggestion)
New filtration system for her fridge
A subscription to—
“Why do you look like you’re making a list?” Ligaya asks me, concerned.
The bathroom smells faintly of lavender from the bubble bath, steam curling in lazy ribbons toward the ceiling. The overhead light is off, leaving us in the soft golden glow from the candles on the vanity flickering against the tile walls. Ligaya is half-submerged in the tub, hair piled in a messy knot, bubbles drifting around her shoulders.
I’m sitting on a stepping stool, her feet resting on the edge of the tub. My thumbs work slow circles into her arches, feeling the warmth of her skin under the slick dampness. She sighs, head falling back.
“God, that feels amazing,” she murmurs, eyes half-closed. She speaks drowsily. “I can’t believe we’re halfway there. I’ve never been around babies. Have you?”
Her question catches me off guard. I glance at her belly under the bathwater, round and impossibly beautiful. The words come easier than expected, spilling out like a confession.
“The only baby I ever saw up close was Olive. I was five when she was born. There’s not much memory of Mom’s pregnancy, but I distinctly remember Dad coming home from the hospital, telling me I had a sister. I thought he meant a toy. When I saw Olive for the first time, I didn’t want to breathe too hard, afraid I might break her bylooking.”
Steam curls between us. Ligaya watches me with an intensity that makes the tightness in my chest loosen as if the warmth of her attention unclenches the knots from my mind and body.
“I’d stand on a chair next to her crib,” I continue, each word tracing a memory that aches with both sweetness and loss. “Justwatching her sleep. I remember thinking that babies make so many faces when they’re asleep. Smiles, frowns, those weird little gas grins.”
Ligaya laughs in a choked way. I realize that the water on her face isn’t from the bath. Tears fall, but she’s so focused on me, I don’t think she realizes she’s laughing and crying.
“I thought I was her protector,” I admit. “My baby toy to take care of forever. It made me feel so grown up when I held her.”
Ligaya’s hand moves, brushing against mine, fingers curling around my wrist as she shifts, sitting up in the tub. The action draws me from my thoughts, but in the best way. Her gaze locks onto mine, full of quiet understanding. She tilts her head slightly, a soft crease in her brow.
“You loved her fiercely, Tristan. You still do. The love of her older brother was part of her life from the moment she was born. Nothing changes that.”
Her other hand moves to rest lightly over my forearm, her touch grounding me to the moment.
“I’ve avoided thinking about her for so long,” I admit, voice catching slightly. “Because it hurt too much. But now, with the babies on the way, it’s like the good parts are coming back. She snorted when she laughed, did you know that? And when she started kindergarten, Olive could not get enough of books. She’d sneak into my room after bedtime so I could read her one more story.”
“What were her favorite books? We should make sure we have them for the kids.”
I blink rapidly, unable to process that we’ll be reading to our kids. I shut my eyes tightly in an effort to keep my composure and answer her question.
“Wayside School, I think it was. And later, when she got sicker, we went through all thePercy Jacksonbooks.”
“That’s beautiful, Tristan.”
“Thinking about Olive doesn’t feel like a knife twisting in my stomach anymore. More like . . . I don’t know . . . a flicker right here.” I put my fist over my heart. “That probably sounds stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. You don’t have to hold any of these feelings back, the happy ones as well as the tough ones. I’m here for all of them.”
I reach out to touch the smooth curve of her cheek.
“Olive would have been the best aunt,” she utters under her breath. Ligaya turns her head and kisses my palm.
“Do you . . . do you think she knew?”
“Knew what, Tristan?”
“How much I loved her? How much she meant to me?”
She holds my gaze, and for a moment I’m suspended in this dreamlike state. This isn’t a conversation I’ve ever had. These aren’t questions I ask myself every day or emotions I let myself dwell on. Yet with Ligaya, the conversation is freeing. The questions linger, but they don’t taunt me with the usual self-loathing.
“Yes,” Ligaya utters with conviction. “With all her heart, she knew you loved her. She lived her entire life—every second of it from the moment she was born—with her best friend who is the best big brother anyone could ask for.”
