May We Be Forgiven

later, decides it’s not the right thing—it’s starting to seem a little strange.
    “I keep picking out things that I like, but I’m not sure she and I have the same taste.” Ashley’s knapsack is full of stuffed animals, lockets from the rest stop, small shot glasses.
    “Well, what kind of things have you seen her wearing?”
    “You know,” Ashley says, “grown-up stuff, the stuff that comes in the little blue boxes, like what Dad used to give Mom when he didn’t know what else to get her.”
    “Tiffany?”
    “Yeah, that,” Ashley says. “And she hated it. Mom always liked that other store better—the one that was kind of horsey—started with an ‘H’? What is the name of it?”
    “Hermès?”
    “Yeah, that’s the kind of thing she’d like.”
    “Uh, Ash,” Nate interjects, “there’s a big difference between a souvenir from your trip and, like, a five-hundred-dollar present from Tiffany or Hermès.”
    I stay out of it. I have no idea what to say. Clearly boarding-school friendships go above and beyond the usual standard for a little gift from the trip.
    “What is she going to give you?” Nate asks.
    “It’s not a competition; I wanted to bring her something nice. You don’t have to make a big thing out of it; you don’t have to turn it into something gross.”
    “I was only trying to help you think of what to get her,” Nate says.
    “Drop it,” Ashley says in a particularly sharp and adult tone.
    When we bring Ricardo back to his family, both the aunt and uncle come out to greet him. They seem glad to have had some time alone. The uncle hauls the boy’s giant suitcase out of the trunk, and the aunt winks at me, or maybe she doesn’t wink, maybe some debris blows in her eye and she blinks to get it out. Either way, Ricardo has a lot to tell them, and gifts for everyone.
    Nate and Ash give him lots of hugs and tell him they’ll see him soon.
    The car is painfully quiet as we head home until Nate manages a near-perfect imitation of Ricardo’s laugh, and then we all crack up, trying our own versions of it.

    A t home, the kittens are a major distraction; they are tiny, helpless, and almost terrifying. We watch as the mama cat feeds and cleans them—literally licking their private parts to get them to “go.”
    I overpay the pet minder—“hazardous duty”—and he updates us on what will happen next: their eyes should open within the next few days, but it’ll be a while before they can really see or do much.
    Tessie is looking at me as if to ask, What were you thinking when you left the whole place in my command? Can you imagine what it’s been like for me—the stress, the responsibility? Promise me you won’t try it again. … And, by the way, can I have a cookie?
    “I think the kittens are deaf,” Nate says. “I talk to them and they don’t seem to hear.”
    “They’re born deaf,” the pet minder says. “It’s a defense mechanism. Soon their hearing will improve. See you soon—call if you need me,” he says as he’s leaving.
    “I miss him,” Ashley says at dinner.
    “Yep,” Nate says.
    “What are you going to do about it?” Ashley asks.
    “Well, both of you are heading back to school tomorrow,” I say, thinking that at least buys me some time.
    “He needs us more than just once in a while,” Nate says.
    “We want him in our family,” Ash says. “We talked about it.”
    “Behind my back?”
    “Yes,” Nate says.
    “But you realize I’m the one who’d be taking care of him?”
    “We think you can do it,” Ash says.
    “He could be our little brother, like a phoenix rising out of the ashes …” Nate says.
    “Didn’t Ricardo say that he’s allergic to cats?” I ask.
    “We’ll get rid of the cat,” Ashley says. “I never liked the cat.”
    “How can you say that? She’s your cat, she just had kittens. …”
    “I like the cat,” Nate says.
    “Maybe we can get Ricardo made unallergic, “Ash says.
    “Maybe the cat could stay out of his room,” Nate says.
    “Which room is his room?” I ask.
    “His room is my room,” Nate says, like it’s obvious.
    “I don’t think I’m ready for a full-time live-at-home child,” I say.
    “Send him away to school,” Ashley says.
    “We kill his parents, take him from his family, and send him away to school—it’s starting to sound like an old English novel.”
    “Is that a bad thing?” Ash asks.
    “Plus, you two can’t adopt him, you’re underage. …”
    “But you can,”