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“I’m conserving water,” I say, shrugging her off. That’s only half true. In my heart, I do try to conserve water. In reality, I don’t have a nickel to spare for luxuries such as car washes.
Jackie rolls her eyes, her cheeks stuffed with food. And yet dirty hair and all, she still looks gorgeous. My sister is one of those people that looks beautiful under any circumstance. Like her beauty takes adversity as a personal challenge and rises to the occasion every time. Tears only make her eyes look bigger. The flu turns her into a willowy heroine from a 19th century novel.
Me? I get so much as a sniffle and end up looking like Kermit the frog. It’s fucking annoying.
We’re pretty much polar opposites. I love fashion, and travel, and the thrill of the chase. Jackie loves order and routine. By 10 am on any given Sunday, my older sister––older by five years––typically has done an hour of hot yoga, showered, blown out her hair, applied her makeup flawlessly, and grocery shopped for the week. This hot mess that is my sister nowadays is out of the norm because she’s four and half months pregnant, and she’s already had two miscarriages.
“Zelda called,” Jackie casually announces to the table even though there’s nothing casual about the subject.
The abbreviated version of our sad family tale is that our mother walked out on our family when I was ten and Jackie was fifteen. She left our father for a woman and moved to New York City to “actualize herself.” That’s the bullshit she left in a letter on the kitchen counter while Jackie and I were at school and Dad was at the hardware store. More on that later. So, yeah, the subject of our mother is a touchy one.
“Did you speak to her?”
Jackie shakes her head, lost in thought. “I didn’t pick up.”
I have zero doubt that I do not want Zelda anywhere near me or my life whereas Jackie is more conflicted. “Are you going to?”
“Are you?” she answers back, leveling me with a pointed stare. She knows the answer to that. I haven’t spoken to her in four years, since my college graduation when she showed up uninvited, and I don’t plan to start now.
“How’s my niece?” I ask while I grab a fresh raisin bagel and slap a blob of cream cheese on it. Time to get off this topic.
“Nephew,” Charlie chimes in.
“Fine,” Jackie replies tightly, casting a faraway gaze out the glass patio door. She’s become increasingly superstitious about this pregnancy. I’m convinced she thinks that if she makes a big deal out of it, she’ll lose the baby again. “What’s going on with Ben?”
She’s purposely changing the subject, but I let it slide. I’m about to hit her up for a substantial favor and need her to stay in a good mood for that purpose. For a moment, I toy with the idea of coming clean about getting fired and toss that aside quickly. I’m not ready to make my pitch yet and I get only one chance at this. My sister is an excellent trial lawyer. I am no match for her silver tongue and battle-ready wit.
“Nothing…I think he’s dating an on-camera chick from KTLA.”
It’s only half true. I’m pretty sure he dumped her right before he dumped me.
“Told you not to wait.” She shrugs. “It’s 2020. In case you haven’t noticed. Women can ask men out. Imagine if I’d waited for Charlie to get a clue.” She scoffs as she reaches into the paper bag on the table for a bagel.
“It would’ve never happened,” I say around a mouthful of mine.
Jackie glances lovingly at Charlie whose rapt attention is on his phone. Even with unwashed hair, by LA metrics, which is saying a lot, Jackie is a ten. Charlie…eh, he’s a five on a good day.
And yet my sister swears she saw him in the campus library, staring at his computer and tugging on his hair, and knew he was the one.
“It would’ve never happened,” my sister echoes back. “Right, babe? Remember when I threw myself at you?”
“All part of my master plan to make you fall in love with me,” he deadpans, not once glancing up from whatever has captivated his attention on the phone.
“Well it worked,” Jackie replies smugly, her cheeks puffed out with food, full lips the perfect shade of pink.
Looking up, my brother-in-law gives his wife a soft smile and leans closer for a brief kiss. Five years of marriage, two miscarriages, and they’re still disgustingly in love. Personally, I’ve never experienced that elusive emotion, but one minute in their presence and it makes anyone a true believer.
“I got fired,” hurls out of me while they’re still basking in the glow of their good fortune. I’m terrible at keeping secrets. Probably one of the reasons I love reporting the news.
