A Song for Julia

had to admit, they looked adorable, both of them in sapphire dresses with patent leather shoes.
    My father stepped forward and embraced me. “Julia,” he said, “It’s very good to see you.”
    Dad looked different. For one thing, he’d grown a beard since they all came back to the States from Moscow. He was retired now and looked it, though he was dressed formally, as always. His one concession to retirement was a khaki suit instead of dark grey, black or blue. But he looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. The beard suited him well.
    My mother simply nodded to me. She looked pensive, her mouth set in a thin line, eyes darting around the common room as if looking for evidence of men or drugs.
    “Hello, Mother,” I said. She was holding little Andrea’s hand. Andrea was four years old and adorably cute. She wore a green dress, which otherwise matched the twins’. I crouched down, facing her. “Hello, Andrea. Do I get a hug?”
    Andrea was just a baby when I left for college. She looked nervous. She knew me, of course, from visits home, but to her, I was just another adult and one she rarely saw. She stepped forward and put her arms around me, and I hugged her back. “Oh, it’s so good to see you,” I said.
    She stepped back and grabbed Mom’s hand again. My eyes lingered for a moment. Did my mom hold my hand like that when I was her age? I think she did. I had few memories from elementary school or earlier, but some of them … at one time, my mother and I weren’t at odds.
    I stood, banishing the memories. Carrie and Alexandra stood in the doorway. Carrie, six feet tall at seventeen years old, was taller than anyone else in the family. She was absolutely stunning. She could have been a model, easily, but spent her time buried in science textbooks instead. She grinned, stepped forward and grabbed me. “I’ve missed you so much, big sis,” she whispered. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
    Alexandra stepped forward, and Carrie and I both grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. She’d grown so much since I left for school, I barely recognized her. Twelve years old now, she was starting puberty, and with her long brown hair and fantastically green eyes, I thought she’d end up being a beauty as well, though all of us paled beside Carrie.
    I felt a small body collide with my back. It was Jessica. She shouted, “We want hugs, too!” so I pulled her into a group hug and then reached around and tickled her side. She started squirming and laughing.
    So the group hug broke up. Carrie said, “Nice place you’ve got here. It’s not all yours, is it?”
    “No, I share with three other girls. Adriana and Linden are out of town, but I imagine Jemi will be back soon. She goes to the gym most mornings.”
    “Which room is yours?” my father asked.
    I directed the whole tribe into my room, which suddenly seemed a lot smaller. Alexandra led a small revolt, dragging both twins and Andrea onto the bed, where the four of them started bouncing and giggling. Sarah and Jessica held Andrea’s hands as they bounced, and Alexandra let out a scream of laughter as the four of them collapsed into a pile.
    I hadn’t made the bed anyway.
    “Girls!” my mother said. “You know better than that.”
    My father looked around, his eyes wide. “When I went to Harvard,” he said, “this was Radcliff College, and neither school was co-ed.”
    “I think that was pretty much the Dark Ages, Dad,” Carrie responded.
    “Young lady!” my mother responded.
    Dad just chuckled. “I suppose it was. I never imagined I’d have a daughter at Harvard. The whole idea of women here … it just seems very radical to me.”
    I grinned at my father. “Times have changed, haven’t they.”
    By this time, my mother was peering at my desk and computer screen. “What’s this, Julia? Recording contracts?”
    My father raised his eyebrows. Even the younger girls quieted a little. They always knew when something was in the air with my parents.
    I answered truthfully, but found myself minimizing it. “I’ve taken on a job. It’s more or less part time right now. Managing a band … their recording contracts, that sort of thing.”
    My father looked puzzled, then said, “I would have thought an internship at one of the consulates or the Fletcher School would have made more sense. Speaking of which, how are your applications going? Have you settled on which graduate school yet?”
    I swallowed. “No, Dad,” I said. I