tonight.â
âNo! These are seriously the best things weâve ever had in this place!â
Pickles crawls hopefully along my palm, and I pat his front claw. There is no way Iâm letting anyone take him back to Crabland, or wherever our fish supplier got him from. Heâs just so little and helpless. I love him.
âItâs okay; youâre going to stay with me.â I hold him up for Alex to examine. âWhat do you think?â
âPickles, huh?â Alex shrugs. âI guess no one is going to miss one crab.â
We spend the rest of the afternoon on our iPhones, Googling how to build a âcrabitat,â and then setting up the rocks and extra shells in one of the little handheld plastic tanks that parents sometimes buy for their kids, even thoughtheyâre horrible for more than a couple of fish. When weâre finished, we set Pickles on the counter so he can watch Golden Girls with us. If anyone walked in right now, weâd look completely crazy, but really what are the chances of that happening.
They play the episode where Dorothy decides to fulfill her lifelong dream of doing stand-up comedy, after one of her friends from high school dies. Pickles seems to really enjoy itâdefinitely a crab after my own heart.
He can totally join Alex and me in our private aquarium club.
DAY 22
Everyday Wedding Cake with Faux Fondant
W hen we first moved into the model home, Mom said that we should probably convert the playroom into something else. But every time she goes in there, she gets all wistful and says how much she and Dad would have loved to have been able to give V and I stuff like that when we were little. Yeah, the playroom isnât going anywhere. Itâs just too precious, with the Beatrix Potter murals of Peter Rabbit and Tom Kitten on the wall, and the giant plush stuffed bears and tigers, the built-in bookcases with all the classic childrenâs stories, and beautifully photographed National Geographic books.
And the dollhouse is perfectânot the super-intricate kind that they have in museums, but one that looks like a little kid would actually be allowed to use it. Brightly painted wood with mini furniture and lacy drapes. Thereare even little metal plates for the dining room table.
Today itâs finally getting some use. Elle, Jimmy, and I are letting Pickles explore the various doll-furnished rooms. The kitchen, with its tiny appliances, doesnât hold much interest for him. And he immediately crawls back into the house when we set him on the terrace. Guess heâs not the outdoorsy type. Honestly, heâs most comfortable on the velveteen couch in the living room, which kind of makes me wonder if depression is a thing in the hermit crab community.
âYou should give him a Twitter account,â Elle says as she snaps cell phone photos of Pickles kicking back in his shell on the sofa. âYouâd probably get a book dealâ The Everyday Hermit Crab or something.â
â A Hermit Crabâs Journey: One Hundred Days of Shell ?â I laugh. âMy mom would buy that.â
âI would buy that one!â
âYou guys are weird.â Jimmy looks up from a three-quarter-size table, where heâs pitting classic tin soldiers against plastic jungle animals. âWhen is Veronica coming back?â He may be an eight-year-old rabid possum, but heâs not blind; naturally, he has a ginormous crush on my sister.
âI have no idea,â I say. Itâs true; I donât think Iâve even seen her since she slammed off my alarm clock and called me pathetic.
Jimmy looks momentarily bummed, then brightens. âDo you guys have scissors?â
I tell him theyâre in the sewing room across the hall, and he scampers off.
âYou cannot try to stab Carly again,â Elle calls after him.
Elle and Jimmy have to spend a few days with their dad and stepmom in Jacksonville, and Mr. Lovell and Carly are