8. Bea
8
Bea
It’s late by the time I go upstairs. I lightly run my hands over the garland wrapped on the banister as I make my way up. I’m glad that my parents can afford it—they split the rental with the Dunskys, even though my sisters and I, all with full-time jobs now, offered to chip in. But my parents, who smartly planned for continuing education for their four daughters, only needed to pay for various trade schools—nursing for Naomi, cosmetology for Kayla, and flight attendant school for Yvette. They seem to be comfortable enough in their finances and in good enough health that retirement isn’t even on the table yet.
Personally, I think they’re waiting to see which of us gives them grandkids first.
There are three doors open at the end of the hall, one of which must be mine. I push the left one open slightly only to come barreling into Charlie.
“Oh, sorry,” I say when we both jump. He’s carrying clothes and a small canvas bag.
“It’s okay.” He gestures across the hall. “I’m going to shower and get ready for bed, unless you need the bathroom.”
“We’re sharing?”
His mouth quirks. “Four couples and three singles. We’re lucky we’re not sharing a room.”
“Good point. Just let me know when you’re done.”
He nods and I carry on to the last door. I push it open and discover two bunk beds, one on either side of the room, with kiddie decor. The sheets are bright primary colors and there’s an under-the-sea theme. My luggage is on the left and someone else’s—I assume Naomi’s—is on the right-hand side. Hers spills open, the lower bed is rumpled, and there’s a bra dangling off one of the wooden posts.
Naomi’s still downstairs, so I have the space to myself. Finding a house with six bedrooms is a miracle. I, once again, didn’t pay much attention to the logistics.
Speaking of which, I pull out my phone and scroll search my mom’s email address. There are dozens of threads with subjects such as WHO WANTS TO GO TUBING!! and Meal Plan, V5.
I open the one that says Room Assignments. There’s a spreadsheet with columns for bedroom number, bathrooms, and occupants. The middle says things like en-suite, jack and jill, and hallway while the last column is our names bundled up.
Charlie is right. We’re lucky the single people aren’t all shuffled together. I take a minute to decide if I’d rather have the queen bed Charlie has, even if I have to share it with my sister. No, bunk beds are better.
In Pithole, we had a big basement with a pull-out couch and air mattresses. Last year, Kayla and Yvette slept on the pull-out while Naomi, Charlie, and I were on air mattresses on the floor.
Yes, this is much better.
And I get along well with Naomi. Maybe Kayla and I were too similar—we were both competitively into makeup and boys—but Naomi was always more of a tomboy. And while she’s never called herself aromantic or asexual, she’s also never mentioned the slightest interest in anyone either, preferring to call herself “committedly single.”
I’m jealous of her life, still, but in a different way. Naomi loves her job as a nurse and keeps her social life in Baltimore packed. She runs with a local running club, often sending our group chat pictures of sunrise over the harbor viewed from the promenade.
I click out of the spreadsheet and spend a few minutes scrolling through the rest of the results. Searching Charlie ride pulls up the gift exchange thread. I read, looking more closely at the emails.
One from my mom, at the bottom, has a PS: Charlie is coming up from the city too. I know you offered a ride to Naomi, but can you give him a ride instead? When I didn’t answer in a few hours, that’s when Mom sent the follow-up asking if I was okay with the change in plans.
And I’d said yes. Damn it.
I exit out and see that I have unread text messages. I click the notice.
Brin
How’s your family? And the house? Is it absolutely gorgeous up there?
You wouldn’t believe the assignment Marco’s boss gave him. I’m sure you’re busy with your family, but I can’t wait to tell you all about it when you get home!
I text her back, telling her the house is just as gorgeous as I’d hoped. She doesn’t respond—she’s probably at work.
Across the hall, the bathroom door creaks open and Charlie slips out. “Bathroom’s all yours,” he says with a head tilt. His hair is damp and pushed back and his white shirt has transparent spots where drops of water fell onto it.
“Thanks,” I say, looking away from the drips and gathering my toiletries.
When I get out of the shower, Naomi’s in our room, lying on her bed and scrolling on her phone.
“My turn.” She pops up and gathers the stack of clothes at her feet.
I put my dirty clothes in the corner and duck my head to get into bed. A muffled voice comes from the other side of the wall—Charlie. I wonder who he’s talking to so late at night. A girlfriend?
It doesn’t matter. I’m exhausted, and I curl up in bed and fall asleep to the soft rise and fall of his muffled voice.
In the morning, I wake up while it’s still dark out. Naomi’s bed is empty, so I slip out of our room and tiptoe downstairs. The living room is also empty, but I hear voices and follow them to a door that opens to a staircase heading down to the basement.
Naomi and Kayla are on either corner of the couch, feet up between them, and looking at me when I come to the bottom of the stairs.
“Good morning,” Naomi says cheerily. As a nurse, she’s used to weird hours, and I’m used to her obnoxious good mood first thing in the morning. Kayla’s another story. She’s not a morning person, and she looks worse for the wear today. Her long blond hair is overdue for a coloring and she has circles under her eyes.
They both move their feet, making room for me to sit between them.
“What are you doing awake?” I ask Kayla. My sister’s always been a little curvy, but I think she’s lost weight, and with the tiredness evident on her face, I wonder if I should be concerned.
“Having trouble sleeping,” she says on a sigh.
I give her a look. “Not stomach issues, right?”
She waves my concern away. “It’s not the food.”
“Jasper’s not up?” I ask.
“He sleeps like the dead.” She says it with that soft fondness she always gets when talking about her husband.
Okay, I’m jealous. I’m the oldest sister and the only thing I’ve really accomplished in my life is my job. My dating life sucks. But also, I barely have any friendships, and the ones I have are sparse and transactional. The people I see the most, the ones I enjoy spending time with—Brin, Marco, Clara, Nash—are fiscally tied to me.
If I moved jobs, I would lose Clara and Nash. If my roommates moved out, would I ever see them again?
Unlikely. My first roommates were when I was living in Mobile, dating Charlie. I wasn’t a lot of fun back then—no hookups or wild drunken nights, which my roommates were constantly doing. I’d already lost most of my friends from high school when they went off to college. Then I broke up with Charlie and my roommates told me I was “a bummer.” Moving to New York meant I lost all my friends again—I never connected with anyone. It’s just not worth the effort.
This jealousy and sadness over the fact that my three sisters are now happy in their personal lives have to stop. It used to be easier, sitting on the couch with my sisters swiping through Tinder together (or in Naomi’s case, providing commentary). Now, though, Kayla has her husband and Yvette has her fiancé and my love life is even more miserable than my social life.
“This basement is a big upgrade from the one in Pithole,” Kayla says.
There was a basement in the house in Pithole, but this one is actually finished instead of a hodgepodge of conveniences crammed in to make it livable. This one has a big TV, a couch, and some exercise equipment.
She nudges me. “Remember watching Elf down there?”
I laugh, knowing exactly what time she’s talking about. “When you said you had a crush on Zooey Deschanel?” I’d looked at Kayla and said, “You do?” and she said, “You don’t?” and six months later Kayla announced she was bisexual.
“Ah, my queer little heart still goes pitter-patter every time I look at her.”
Naomi stretches. “We’ll have to watch it. After we watch the best Christmas movie of all time.”
Kayla and I look at each other and roll our eyes. “ Die Hard, ” we say together.
My sisters bicker over the order of Christmas movies, but my mind wanders off to memories of the basement at the old Pithole house.
When we were sixteen, Charlie and I had somehow ended up with the entire house to ourselves for a few hours, and we were still in that phase when we were horny teenagers kissing a lot but too nervous to go further. Or at least, I thought that’s where we’d been. But we were in the basement getting hot and heavy while making out on the couch (folded up for the day so we could watch movies on the old TV down there) when Charlie had gotten down on his knees in front of me.
It was...clumsy. And sweet and earnest...and also not super productive at all. But it was the first time for both of us and something we definitely got into—both giving and receiving—once we got back home.
“Do you think Charlie has thoughts about it?” Kayla asks, nudging me out of my memories.
“What? Probably not. Why? Wait, what?”
Naomi snickers.
“Christmas movies,” Kayla says. “What did you think we were talking about?”