Track 28 The House That Built Me
Track 28
The House That Built Me
Maisie and Juno
Maisie and Juno tiptoed into their parents’ bedroom early on Friday morning. Juno was six and Maisie was five. Irish twins, Shep called them, though they were too young to understand why. Their dog, Sally, named for the book Sally Goes to the Beach , was sleeping in the bed, wedged between Ben and Addison. It was a big bone of contention in the Morse family: Why was their old dog allowed to sleep in their parents’ bed and they were not?
“She was here first,” their dad would insist.
They still tried, as they did now, slipping between them quietly. Only Sally noticed, lifting her head to look at them and acknowledging the interruption with a long, wet lick of her tongue on each of their cheeks. They were both careful not to giggle, even though it tickled.
The girls succeeded in crawling under the covers unnoticed. Such success had little to do with their baby ninja skills and more to do with the level of their parents’ indulgence the night before. The first night of festivities in honor of the marriage of Captain Jake to their across-the-street neighbor, Renee, was soaked in sangria and grappa, and both Addison and Ben partook as if two sun-kissed little faces would not be peering down at them wanting breakfast a few hours later. They were both effectively still tipsy.
The girls lay still for a bit, relishing in the fact that they were sleeping in Mommy and Daddy’s bed. They smiled at each other over the rise and fall of Sally’s chest between them, creating a game of doggie peekaboo with each breath. Maisie giggled when her sister came back into sight. Juno reprimanded her with a finger to her lips. She looked crushed. Juno felt bad for crushing her. She already recognized how much her approval meant to her little sister. Feeling guilty for hurting her feelings and bored from staying so still, she mouthed the call to action that Maisie was likely hoping for.
“JUMP!”
And they did.
Addison and Ben grabbed the sides of their king-size bed as if it were balanced on the San Andreas Fault—trying their best to keep down the paella and alcohol that the sudden jerky movements were stirring. Ben had no patience for it. He yelled:
“Girls, for the love of God, stop jumping!”
They listened, but ended with the biggest flop their two little bodies could create, giggling hysterically. They lay flat on the bed afterward, arms to their sides like tiny wooden soldiers, hoping for tickles, no doubt.
“What time is it?” Addison managed.
Ben reached for his cell on the nightstand and finally found it between the book he was currently reading, used tissues, an empty pack of Tylenol, and the case for his earplugs. The phone was dead.
“Ugh. I never charged it.”
Addison sat up, pushed herself back to the headboard, and pulled out hers.
“Eight oh-seven. Not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” Ben agreed. “We got a solid seven hours.”
“Really? You didn’t hear all the noise last night?”
“Not a thing,” Ben stated. “What happened?”
“No idea, but something big was going on. Hangover pancakes?” Addison offered.
“Yes, please,” he replied gratefully.
The girls sat up, crossed their legs, and smiled proudly that they had apparently slept in, as their parents begged them to do most evenings when they kissed them good night.
“Make extra pancakes for our friend, please, Mommy?” Maisie requested.
“Who? Imogene?”
“No, Mommy. Imogene is just pretend. She doesn’t eat pancakes. They’re for the lady with the red hair who slept in Juno’s bed last night!”