Chapter 14: How We Taped It Together Right
The afternoon light came in differently with her gone.
It wasn't warmer or colder, just quieter. The city outside the window was still there, but the apartment didn't feel like it was holding its breath anymore. Dad and I sat on the black sofa and the book was between us. The tape Vanessa had put on was crooked and yellowish and bubbled in one corner where it hadn't stuck right. You could still see the tear underneath it, like a river through the blue cover.
Dad didn't pick it up right away. He just looked at it.
"You want to fix it for real?" he asked.
I nodded. My throat felt tight.
He carried it to the coffee table like it was something breakable, not just paper. The glossy dark wood reflected the window light. He knelt on the edge of the rug so we were at the same height, and he set the two halves down side by side. The light blue cover with the clouds didn't line up because of the tape.
"This stuff's going to pull if we don't go slow," he said. He found the edge of the tape with his thumbnail. "Ready?"
I put my hand on the other half to hold it steady.
He peeled. It made a soft, sticky sound. Underneath, the paper was a little fuzzy where the fibers had torn. He had to stop and start, breathing through his nose, keeping his hand steady. When the first piece came off it left a faint shine behind. I did the next piece. My fingers were small and I had to pick at the corner for a long time before it lifted. Dad didn't rush me. He just waited, his knee against the table leg.
When all the old tape was off, we had two clean halves again. Just torn.
"Okay," Dad said. He slid them together on the table. "We line up the clouds first."
We pushed the edges together. The white clouds on the cover didn't quite meet. He adjusted it a millimeter to the left, then back. I held my breath without meaning to.
"There," I whispered.
He looked at me. "You see it?"
"Yeah."
He got the new tape from the kitchen drawer. Clear, not the cloudy kind. He tore off a long piece and held it above the seam.
"You do it with me," he said.
I put my fingers on one end of the tape and he held the other. We lowered it together, slow, so there were no bubbles. I pressed down along the seam with my thumb and felt the paper smooth out underneath. It wasn't invisible. You could still see where it had been torn, a thin white line through the blue, but it held. We did the inside the same way, and the back.
He sat back on his heels and let out a breath.
"Better," he said.
It was. The book could open again without falling apart.
Dad picked it up and handed it to me. It was heavier than I remembered.
"Want to read?" he asked.
I opened it on my lap. The first page had the cartoon trees and the little house. My mom used to do the voices. I hadn't read it out loud since she was gone because Vanessa always said I was too loud, or it was babyish.
My voice shook at first.
"On a sunny morning..." I started. I had to stop and swallow. Dad was sitting back on the sofa now, his arms on his knees, just listening. Not checking his phone. Not looking at his laptop on the desk across the room.
I kept going. Page by page. The words were familiar and I didn't need to sound them out. In the middle the tape made the page a little stiff where it crossed, and I had to hold it open wider, but it didn't break. Dad smiled when I did the squirrel's voice the way Mom did. I felt my face get warm and I kept reading, a little louder this time.
When I finished, I closed it.
Dad reached over and I let him take it for a second. He ran his thumb over the seam on the cover.
"It still shows," he said quietly.
I nodded. I didn't want it to not show.
He stood and walked to the bookshelf behind the sofa. That shelf had always been for Vanessa's things, the white vases and the art books she didn't want me to touch. He moved one of the vases aside and cleared a space right at eye level, where the light from the window hit.
"Here?" he asked, looking back at me.
I nodded again.
He set the book upright, cover facing out, so you could see the blue sky and the clouds and the thin line where we'd taped it. It leaned a little against the back of the shelf, steady.
May you like
I stood up and stood next to him. The apartment was still quiet, but it didn't feel empty anymore. It just felt like ours.
Dad put his hand on my shoulder and we both just looked at it for a minute.
