I stare at it for another moment, trying to place where I’ve seen this before. Giving up, I put the necklace on, tucking the pendant into my shirt and reach into the box, taking out the last present wrapped in yellow paper. I tear it open and tip my head. What the heck? It’s a Mason jar full of white powder. There’s no way this is a jar full of cocaine…right? Maybe it’s baking soda or powdered sugar, and I’ll find a recipe in the bottom of the box.
Carefully, I unscrew the lid and smell the powder. Definitely not sugar. It has a salty smell, which confuses me even more. I have no idea what cocaine smells like, and I’m not sure if I can trust a Google search to tell me one way or another.
“Whatever,” I mumble and screw the lid back on the jar. I set it on the counter and peer into the large box, looking at the last gift. It’s not wrapped in yellow paper, yet somehow I know it’s for me. I pick up whatever it is and slowly unwrap it from a shimmery blue scarf.
“The fuck?” I whisper, when the scarf falls to the ground and I’m left holding a dagger. Swallowing hard, I slowly pull the dagger from it’s sheath. Something that looks mysteriously like blood is splattered along the tip of the blade, and the same triple-moon symbol that’s on the pendent is etched into the blade right below the handle, which is plain, with a single Tiger’s Eye gemstone set into the pommel. I wrap my fingers around the hilt and turn the dagger over.
I hold my hand out, watching the sunlight flash across the shiny metal. I can’t explain it, but holding the dagger feels right. Inhaling, I turn it back over, staring at the triple-moon symbol engraved into the blade. Why is this so familiar? And why do I feel confident in wielding this thing? I can hardly cut an avocado in half without risking all five of my fingers. And speaking of fingers…I put one against the tip of the dagger, testing out just how sharp it really is. It would take little effort to break the skin.
The garage door that leads into the mudroom right off the kitchen opens, startling me. I feel the blade slice open my skin as I turn and see my brother walk into the kitchen. I bring my hand back, curling my finger into my palm to hide the blood. Harrison stops in his tracks, looking at the weapon in my hand. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, and then takes his shoes off and comes inside.
“I won’t ask,” he says and immediately goes to the fridge.
I bring my hand forward to inspect the damage. There’s no blood. No wound. I thought for sure I cut myself.
I put the dagger back in its sheath and set it on the counter. “Aunt Estelle sent it. You got presents too.”
“Yay,” he says unenthusiastically and pulls out the leftover spaghetti from last night. “More crap to throw away.”
“It’s not always crap. Though speaking of crap—hang on.” I grab the jar of white powder and unscrew the lid. “Any idea what this is?”
Harrison takes the jar, looking at it with consideration for a second before taking a pinch and rubbing it between his fingers. He brings it to his mouth and I grab his hand.
“You’re seriously about to lick that?”
“I’m trying to figure out what it is, right?”
I roll my eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how you’ve lived so long. It could be rat poison for all we know.”
Harrison nods. “True enough.” He wipes his hand on his pants and goes back to the food.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” I start and put my presents from Aunt Estelle back in the box. “That she never forgets our birthday yet we’ve never even met her.”
“We’ve met her.”
“No, we haven’t.”
Harrison looks at me incredulously. “She used to babysit us.”
“No, she didn’t,” I insist.
“Yeah,” he replies slowly. “She did, back when we were still living in Michigan. Mom was finishing her residency and Dad had just started teaching at MSU.”
I stare at Harrison for a few seconds, waiting for him to laugh and tell me he’s joking. Because I have no memory of this.
“We’d stay at Nana and Pop’s for the weekend,” he goes on. “And Aunt Estelle would always drive up from Indiana. We went to her house a few times and she’d take us on nature walks through her property.”
I shake my head. “When was this?”
“The year before we moved here. We were, what, seven or eight? You really don’t remember?”
“I remember staying with Nana and Pop, but I have literally zero memory of Aunt Estelle.”
Harrison’s blue eyes narrow. “You’re not drunk, are you?”
“Unlike you, I don’t day-drink.”