“Mmhmm,” was all Mom said, pushing her glasses up on her nose and returning to the paper.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, blowing across the top to cool it down. I needed the caffeine desperately. Mom was right; I came home just as the sky started to lighten. Adam had tried to get me to stay the night, but I wouldn’t. Sleeping next to him would be taking things to a level I refused to go to. Adam knew that too. So when I declined the invitation, for once, he didn’t push me.
“Adam and I are only friends. Isn’t that what you wanted? For us to be friends again?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
Mom folded the paper in half and gave me a keen look. “Yes, but is that really what’s going on?”
I took a sip of coffee to delay answering her. “Of course. What else would it be?”
Mom shook her head. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can never lie to me.”
I opened my mouth to argue with her when Whitney breezed into the room, silk robe flowing behind her like Cleopatra.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice rough with tiredness. She leaned down to kiss the top of Mom’s head. Her red hair was piled up high, a few tendrils trailing over her shoulders. Even though she was most likely jet-lagged, she looked like she had just returned from a spa weekend. I never felt inadequate in the looks department; I knew I was pretty. My self-esteem had never been an issue. But Whitney was something else entirely. Her looks were old Hollywood glamorous. She was gorgeous without even trying, which was why she went through men the way some women went through underwear.
When she got her first job as a set makeup artist, I thought it was only a matter of time until she transitioned onto the big screen herself, she had the looks and charisma for it. When she started out, she was a different person. People were drawn to her kindness. But something happened to my sister, something that changed her. And I had no idea what it was.
I was still adjusting to the news that one of my best friends had spent almost a week with her years ago, and I had never heard about it. I wanted to ask her about it, but just as I had grown out of sharing confidences with her, she had done the same with me.
“Cup, please.” Whitney held out her hand, and I suppose I was meant to hand her a mug. Was she going to snap her fingers at me?
“What’d your last slave die of?” I snapped.
Whitney’s mouth pursed.
Mom sighed. “Don’t start, Meg. It’s too early in the morning for your fighting.”
Whitney reached into the cabinet and pulled out Dad’s favorite cup. I snatched it from her hand. “You can’t use that.”
Whitney tried to grab it back, but I kept it out of reach like we were kids.
“He’s not here to use it, is he?” she replied hatefully, and I felt the words like a punch to the face.
“Real nice, Whit. I see the flight has done wonders for your personality.” I put Dad’s mug back on the shelf and handed her another one.
Whitney had the decency to look ashamed. “That was a shitty thing to say. Sorry. I’m just tired. The time difference is a killer.” She attempted to give me a smile that I didn’t bother to return.
Mom was watching the two of us closely. Probably waiting to see if she needed to play bouncer. “I have to run some errands. Can I trust leaving the two of you home alone together? Or can you use the time to catch up as sisters should?” Mom slid her glasses up onto her head and waited for our reply.
Whitney poured herself a cup of coffee and gave her a simpering smile that was much too sweet. She really should have been an actress. “Of course, Mom. Don’t worry about us.” Her eyes flicked in my direction. “Meg and I will be fine.”
My smile was decidedly more strained. “Yeah, we’ll be fine.”
Mom didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she left the kitchen, warning us that the house better be standing when she got home.
Whitney and I didn’t speak for a long time after Mom left. I busied myself making toast then slathering it with peanut butter. Whitney opened a yogurt and ate it quietly.
“Well, I’ve got to get going,” I said after an excruciating fifteen minutes of tortured silence.
Whitney looked up, almost as if she forgot I was there. “Where are you going?”
I thought about telling her to mind her own business, but I owed it to Mom to be civil. “I’m painting a mural downtown for the town’s bicentennial.”
Whitney licked her spoon before dropping it in the sink. I pointedly picked it up and put it in the dishwasher with a glare in her direction.
“Mom mentioned that. She said you were painting the side of Adam’s office building,” Whitney said, purposefully ignoring my glare.
“Yep,” was all I said. I recognized the tone of her voice. She was digging for information. She should know I wouldn’t give it to her. At one time, I would have told her everything. I realized then how much I missed that. How much I missed her. But it wasn’t my fault we had drifted apart.
Right?
Adam.Whitney.
What if it was my fault I’d lost both of them?
Whitney grabbed hold of my arm. “Meg, if we’re going to be living under the same roof, let’s try to get along. At least for Mom’s sake.”
I was suddenly tired of my self-righteous anger. What had it ever gotten me anyway? But that didn’t mean I had to do all the changing.
“Fine, but that means you have to lay off the selfish bitch act. It gets old,” I retorted.
Whitney looked taken aback, but she didn’t respond with a waspish response. Maybe I wasn’t the only Galloway to learn when to hold my tongue.
She let go of my arm. “Maybe it’ll be nice to spend some time together again,” she ventured hesitantly.
“Yeah, maybe,” I agreed, softening slightly.
Whitney rinsed her coffee mug and with a look at me, put it in the dishwasher with exaggerated slowness. I couldn’t help snorting.
“Okay, well, I’d better go,” I said, grabbing my keys.
Whitney followed me to the door. “It’s strange being back here. Was it weird for you?” she asked, holding the door open for me as I carried my supplies outside.
“It was like walking in shoes that used to be comfortable but no longer fit if that makes sense.”
Whitney nodded. “Completely. I mean it’s nice to be home, but it’s not the same without—”
“Dad?” I filled in for her.
Her green eyes grew bright, and I knew she was trying hard not to cry. “Yeah,” she said softly.
Without thinking, I put my arm around her and gave her a quick squeeze. “It gets easier, though. I even kind of like being back now. Though if you repeat that to anyone, I’ll deny it.” We shared a grin for the first time in what felt like forever.
“Could that have something to do with a certain man you swore to despise until your final breath?’ Whitney teased.
“Things are...better where Adam’s concerned.”
“Maybe we can get some dinner in the next few days. Just the two of us. And you can tell me how things are better.” Whitney seemed hopeful. I could see that she missed me as much as I missed her.
Pride really was a lonely emotion. Perhaps my relationship with Adam wouldn’t be the only thing to get better.