BooksBarbecue
Back Little Universes
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

“We’ll take pictures,” Nah says. “Get her a science nerd bib.”

I squeeze Pearl’s fingers. “Something to look forward to,” I say to my baby sister. “Solids are awesome.”

Hannah laughs.

I take our gift for Pearl out of my bag, and Nah settles her on her lap as I open it up to the part our little star in the constellation of us needs to hear the most, the part that is about our dad:

“I will live on one of those stars. I will laugh on one of them. And when you look up in the sky, it will seem to you that all the stars are laughing. Only you will have the stars that can laugh!”

Pearl grins.

We laugh.

And the stars keep shining.

An Ode To A Rose

Let the tigers come with their claws!
I am not afraid anymore
And neither should you be
You are loved
You ARE love
Don’t you know that, silly girl?

Bedroom Wall

The Pink House

Cambridge, MA

48

Hannah

The Pink House is unapologetically pink, a gorgeous Victorian three-story rambling place that looks like it could be a bordello, if it wanted to.

The wide, wraparound porch is lined with wind chimes. Every different kind you could imagine. Mom would have loved it. There are huge honeysuckle bushes lining the porch, too, so that the air smells like a good day.

I’ve never seen a house like this, where the kids are in charge. There’s graffiti on the actual walls, some of it very good, and crap everywhere: bicycle parts, abandoned craft projects, and the kind of random, busted-ass stuff you see in front of people’s homes on trash day, but lovingly or cheekily repurposed, such as the dog bowl that now serves as an ashtray on the porch. There’s an elaborate lamp with no lampshade near the stairs, and the scent of Nag Champa wafts from one of the rooms on the second floor, mingling with the scent of something spicy in the kitchen.

Over the fireplace mantel in the living room is a sign from the universe that I have made the right choice to move here: Someone has painted a quote by Yoko in beautiful calligraphy.

What is the most important thing? To love yourself and the world. In that order.

Jo comes out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She gives me a wild biker-girl grin.

“Welcome home, Blue.”

“Thanks. That sounds really nice.”

Nate and Ben are coming by later with my boxes and some furniture, but I wanted to come here on my own first, to take this first step into the unknown by myself: Just Hannah.

“Come on,” she says. “I’ll give you the tour.”