Heat flooded Remi’s cheeks. “We’re just enjoying spending time together. There will be no putting rings on anything.”
Any day now, he was going to come to his senses and turn her loose again into the world, ruined forever by his invincible penis.
“I see a few new finds in here,” Remi noted, changing the subject. “Where did you get that basket?”
They ate and drank and chatted for another half an hour. And when Kimber said she needed to head home to get the kids from school, Remi volunteered to go with her.
“You look relaxed,” Kimber observed as they walked, avoiding patches of ice and piles of still pristine snow.
“Me?” Remi asked innocently. “I must have gotten a good night’s sleep.”
“That’s not the face of someone who slept well,” Kimber said dryly. “That’s the face of someone who had a half dozen orgasms in rapid succession.”
“Let’s talk about something other than my face and orgasms,” Remi insisted.
Her sister let out a sigh, watching the cloud of breath appear and then vanish in the cold. “I’m sorry for going PMS 5000 on you. I was spiraling, and it really had nothing to do with you.”
“I’m sorry for blowing back up at you.”
“You held out admirably. Which only served to push me over the edge,” Kimber admitted.
“You were overdue. I mean, what normal human doesn’t lose her shit every once in a while?”
This time, in a vast improvement over the last visit, her sister invited Remi inside. The family’s moderately overweight beagle thumped his tail from his blanket on the couch. Princess Megatron joined the Olson family after Kyle cracked under the pressure of endless pleading from the kids. He surprised a very unhappy Kimber with the puppy. The kids were given naming rights in return for promising to be entirely responsible for the dog’s care.
That lasted all of about thirty minutes. Mega, as he was now known, quickly discovered who was in charge of food in the house and attached himself to Kimber.
“You painted,” Remi said, unwinding the scarf from her neck as she appreciated the soft umber on the walls. Visitors would never guess that two active kids with a vast array of toys, hobbies, and books lived under the tidy roof.
“And redid the floors,” Kimber said without enthusiasm. “And finally sanded down the paint on the molding around the transoms. And painted the god-awful beige brick on the fireplace.”
“It looks like one of those houses on HGTV.”
It did. It was clean but cozy. Colorful but calm. Her sister had a real eye.
“No, it doesn’t,” Kimber said, shucking her winter gear and stowing it on the neat hooks above the driftwood bench.
“I’m serious,” Remi told her.
“Thanks. No one’s really paid attention to any of the changes. I don’t even know why I keep making them.”
“I know you’re into the parenting thing and all, but have you ever considered working part-time as a designer? I mean, think of all the summer rentals that are in desperate need of an overhaul. Wicker couches and pleather futons have lost their charm.”
Kimber let out a strangled laugh. “Have I thought of...” She stopped herself and shook her head.
“What?” Remi asked.
“I’ve thought of nothing but doing something. Anything.”
Treading lightly, Remi followed her sister into the tiny mudroom at the back of the house. On the wall, mounted between tidy cubbies and the laundry, was a giant whiteboard calendar. Colored sticky notes, patterned tape, and hand-lettered notes lay the groundwork for the family’s entire existence.
Kyle trial in Detroit Michigan.
Hadley recital and sleepover.
Ian book club.
Turkey burgers and salad.
Video chat with dog trainer.
Laundry day.
Groceries.
It was hypnotic in its precise structure.
“What the hell is this?” Remi asked in awe.
“That is my life,” Kimber said, crossing her arms. “Well, my family’s life. I don’t seem to have one of my own.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
“I was going to go with terrifying. Where’s your stuff?”
“My stuff?” Kimber’s laugh was humorless. “I don’t have stuff. My stuff is making sure everyone else has their stuff. Kyle is never home. And I love my kids. You know I do. But kids are so fucking hard, Rem. Hadley is just tiptoeing into puberty, and I don’t know if either one of us will survive it. I didn’t sign up to be a single parent. Some days I just want to erase everything and see what happens.”
“You have really great handwriting,” Remi noted.
“Just what I wanted to be known for. ‘Age thirty-four, mother of two. Had nice handwriting.’”
“Okay, that sounds like the world’s worst obituary. Let’s drink some alcohol and talk.”
“You don’t want to hear your middle-aged sister complain about getting the life she always thought she wanted,” Kimber said, her gaze on the mason jar filled with a rainbow of dry erase markers.
“I want to talk to my sister about her life. I’m not here to judge you.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing to you.”
“Uh, yeah. Caught that,” Remi said. She stepped back into the kitchen and rummaged through cabinets until she found a bottle of vodka tucked behind two boxes of whole-grain organic pasta.
“Straight or what?” she asked, wiggling the bottle.
“Get the glasses,” Kimber said, pointing at a cabinet. Remi skipped the tasteful rocks glasses and found two tumblers with cartoons and big, bendy straws.
Kimber snorted when she saw them.
“These hold more,” Remi insisted.
Kimber mixed drinks and gave Mega his afternoon treat while Remi sat on the counter and listened.
“I remember thinking how much I liked Kyle’s ambition when we were in college,” her sister said.
“And now?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think I realized that his ambition would only extend to his job. Not his family or his home or his wife. I thought that I wanted to stay home and raise our kids. And for a while I did. But somewhere along the way it started to feel like not enough. Kyle got more important in his job, and that meant more money for us, but also more travel for him. He stopped being around. He goes days without talking to his kids. There are days when we only exchange one or two text messages.”
She blew out a breath and shook the ice cubes in her cup. “It’s like the more important Kyle got at work, the less important I got in my life.”
“Well, that’s bullshit,” Remi said.
“Excuse me. This is my existential crisis. Not yours.”
“I’m just saying, what’s more important—other people recognizing that you are more than just a label or a role or you recognizing it?” Remi asked, then blinked. She swore softly under her breath.