19. Jessie

Sometimes, I forgot about Peter. He'd been in the woods when I'd come, and when I hadn't had a wooden sword to play pirates, he'd given me his and leapt from the ground all the way up into the high branches of a tree, brandishing a new stick and promising a swift demise to his enemies.

But he'd been there. I remembered now, and Aurora said we were going to visit him.

It was like he just slipped out of my mind, but then Aurora would say something about him, and he'd come right back to my brain, plucky and weird and sometimes sad.

Peter had been bigger than the rest of us, but now he was even bigger than that. I had to lean back farther to look up at him, and his face was harder—not mean or angry, but the angles were sharper. The roundness of his face had faded away. He'd grown up.

But he still had the same bright eyes and quick smile I was used to, and the way he walked through his house, bouncing on the balls of his feet, it was almost like he'd take off into the air at any second.

The new person—or was I the new person? Apparently, Peter had known Everett for a long time, but I didn't think I'd ever met him. Would I remember if I had? Maybe not, if I'd forgotten Peter...

Anyway, Everett didn't walk like that, like flying was as easy as breathing. He walked normally, like someone who was used to their feet staying stuck to the ground. But he was okay, and he invited us all in for cookies, which was even better.

"This is a real nice house," Mary said as she sat at the kitchen table, sipping at her milk.

I'd... never had a house like this. But being in rooms? That wasn't so weird. Walls and a ceiling and that kind of stuff. I just remembered a different sort of building—tall and stretching toward the sky. Big open spaces. Huge windows.

We hadn't had a yard or a swing set like Peter did now. No, my home was nice and new. Everything was shiny and—and kind of white?

This place had a sticky floor and lots of colors and peeling paint and old stuff. It was scruffy, and had a smell kind of like mildew that Daddy would've hated. He didn't like bad smells or stains or processed foods. Ever.

I'd—I'd forgotten that too. Forgotten Daddy entirely. Both of them.

"You promise there's no raisins?" I asked, peering in the window on the oven door. "My daddy used to buy raisin ones. They were gross."

"Your mom didn't give you chocolate instead?" Mr. Everett asked.

I looked up at him, frowning. "What's a mom?"

It took me a second to remember that lots of kids had moms. Some of them had two mommies just like I had two daddies, and some of my friends had had one of each.

Out in the woods, we didn't talk about mommies and daddies. We forgot them, because—because it was better to play and be happy.

But cookies made me happy too.

I leaned toward Mr. Everett and lowered my voice.

"My other daddy would give me ones with chocolate chips, and tell me not to tell, because he'd get in trouble. But all kids deserve chocolate instead of raisins."

"Other daddy?" Peter asked. "You had... two dads?"

I nodded, watching Mr. Everett pull the cookies out of the oven and move them onto a cooling rack.

"I'm afraid we didn't have chocolate chips," Everett said. "Wonder if your dad still makes them."

Everybody froze, and I stared up at Mr. Everett. Would Daddy make cookies without me? I wasn't sure.

"Me too." I couldn't think about it too hard. There was a tight, squirmy feeling in my chest that I didn't like, but Peter had asked me something, so I turned to him and tried to think about that. "Two daddies. They were married, like you and Everett."

Peter blinked at me, then looked at Mr. Everett, but I didn't know what he meant by all that. He was blushing, and maybe he was feeling squirmy too.

"Maybe I'll get married someday," I said, pushing up on my toes to watch the cookies. I wanted to pick out the best one to eat first, and I wanted to be right there when it was finally time to eat them.

When Mr. Everett handed me a cookie, it was the best thing ever.

"Careful," he warned. "It's still hot."

I nodded. I could wait, but... not too long. The only thing better would be melty chocolate chips in the middle of all the baked goodness. When was the last time I'd had chocolate?

Somehow, I'd forgotten about that too.

"You can come by anytime," Mr. Everett said, "and I'll make cookies."

I grinned at him, blowing on the cookie. "Thanks, Mr. Everett!"

Aurora seemed to like this place okay, so it'd be fine. We didn't usually leave the woods, but Peter had. And there were things out here, like cookies and daddies and maybe other stuff that had fallen out of my head.

It felt important and scary all at the same time, and mostly, I just wanted another cookie.