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“Don’t call me stupid!” Frankie spun angrily, roller in hand still spinning, catching a surprised Sofia with splatters of yellow paint to the face. Frankie’s jaw dropped along with the roller.
“Damn it, Frankie! Don’t you dare laugh!” Trying to suppress the chuckles only turned them to belly laughs faster, and when Sofia gave chase with her cutting brush, all effort at restraint was lost. The ensuing paint war left them both streaky and weak from laughter. Sofia swiped at the tears running down her face and her hand came away yellow. “Truce! Or we’ll never finish.”
Frankie picked up the roller and started the second coat. “If you and Adrian are on the outs, why am I giving up my Saturday to redo his living room?”
“Because it’s his mother’s living room, not his, and I made a promise. Besides, with just a few cosmetic changes, this space could be so much better for her. Just because her son is being an ass doesn’t mean she should have to keep living in the dark.”
And despite the fact that she was gutted by his betrayal, she still had these feelings. She’d thought they would fade in the full light of day or burn away in the flash furnace of her anger, but they remained, steady and warm in her heart. She couldn’t accept that the man who’d loved her so tenderly had done so with an agenda, and she was going to have to figure out what to do about that. Clearly, ignoring the situation wasn’t working.
“Saint Sofia to the rescue.” Frankie’s use of her childhood nickname pulled her from her worries.
“You know I hate that nickname.”
“Saint Sofia! Saint Sofia!” Frankie said in a singsong voice.
“Jesus, what are you, five?”
“You always were the Goody Two-Shoes in the family. Not much has changed as far as I can tell.”
“Yeah, and look where it got me.”
“Poor Sofia, using both of your degrees for the family business, exactly like you’d always planned. Martyr, much? What ever would we do without you?”
“You’d better figure it out,” Sofia muttered.
“What was that?”
“I said you’d figure it out. Now shut up and finish painting.”
They wrapped up the second coat before lunch and split to work on separate projects. After carefully washing up, Sofia reupholstered the wingback chair. She added a thicker cushion and updated the fabric. She also slipcovered a long sofa she found rummaging through the Valenti family storage units that would fit the space better than all the smaller couches crammed together.
Frankie built in a bench seat that stretched the front width of the room and extended into a window seat. There was space for books or storage bins underneath. Once it was stained, they moved on to the window treatments together. As night fell, they wanted to make sure everything was covered and safe. The new honeycomb blinds were translucent and could be raised from the bottom or lowered from the top, allowing more light to filter through while preserving Graciela’s privacy. After tightening the last screw, Sofia collapsed into an exhausted heap against the opposite wall and surveyed the results of their hard work. It would be beautiful, once she got everything in its proper place.
Frankie came in from the back of the house where the saw was set up, hands full with two beers instead of planks of wood. “Here, sis. We earned these today.”
Sofia looked at the outstretched beer. “Nah, I’m okay.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m turning a new leaf. I need to lose this weight.”
“Jesus, just drink it, Fi. I don’t know why you do that.”
“Do what?”
Frankie thrust the beer at her again, refusing to take no for an answer. “Get bent about your weight. We’ve all had a rough go since Gabe died. So you put on a few pounds. Who cares? You still look like my sister, and you sure as hell still act like her. If the food helped you get through it, I repeat, who cares?”
Who did care? Frankie clearly didn’t. Adrian hadn’t seemed to mind it either, back when they’d been on touching terms. Hell, even her mother still insisted she fill her plate at dinner. The only person who hated how much she weighed was her. Maybe Frankie was right. She had needed something to help her cope with all of the feelings Gabe’s death had unleashed. Maybe she could stop hating herself for being human. Wasn’t she entitled to the same grace she’d given Frankie earlier? She thought back to her night at the beach. Respect and love were her paramount needs. She hadn’t considered her weight as a goal even once. She’d lose the weight eventually, or she wouldn’t, and would still be the same person people loved now.
Her revelation took a thirty-pound weight off her shoulders. She could lift that challenge in her own time, but no more shame. She deserved better treatment from herself, especially if she was going to start demanding it from others as well. Maybe Frankie wasn’t so dumb after all. She twisted off the top and raised it in a toast.
“To not-stupid siblings. You’re right. Who cares?” She drank deep and enjoyed the crisp, cool bubbles dancing down her throat. “Thanks again for your help today.”
“Do you need me to come back tomorrow?”
“No, the hard part is done. Just help me get the couch inside, and I’ll be fine.”
“You sure? I can help move furniture.”
