17
T hree weeks later, Thanksgiving arrived, crisp and bright, giving way to clouds in the afternoon.
A drizzle met MC on the platform at the Green Hills train station, ruining her hair.
Not that it’d looked great to begin with.
But she’d spent time in front of the bathroom mirror with a mouthful of bobby pins that morning, ignoring the irritated huffing of Pat and Laura as they waited outside the door.
She’d made some tahini chocolate-chip cookies for the occasion, inspired by her chats with Nora, who was apparently pretty adventurous in the kitchen.
Their texting had continued at its rapid pace over the course of November, though the flirtatious tone had dimmed a bit.
It seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them, a set of guardrails and safe subjects that left MC with a mix of relief and longing.
Relief, because her recommitment to the article for Joe was like a lead weight in her chest. And longing, because not a night went by when she wasn’t tangled up in her sheets, trying to relive every detail of their kiss in Delfino’s.
But they didn’t discuss it. Either because Nora was convinced it’d all been a show, a way to remain incognito as MC spied on her brother, or because she was still doing whatever she was doing with Jen, a possibility that made MC feel, for the first time in her life, profoundly jealous.
So they discussed the Byzantine Empire. They discussed the latest antics from Maureen, who was a few F-bombs away from being transferred out of the children’s department.
They discussed food—Yunnanese cuisine in particular, which Nora was learning to cook by studying YouTube videos—and the TV they watched.
Nora was big on reality shows, because they made no secret of being contrived, and therefore compelled her with their unexpected flashes of realness; MC stuck to the over-the-top thrillers with red herrings in every episode.
When they started talking on the phone, they began the slow process of filling each other in about their lives over the last nine years.
Nora had apparently gotten more social, picking up acquaintances from library school as well as BJJ.
It was through BJJ that she’d reconnected with Jen, who taught intro classes in the evenings, and who Nora refused to go into more detail about; MC nonetheless imagined her wrestling Nora into some kind of steamy make-out session atop a disgusting mat.
Lois came up too. Nora confessed how the librarian had filled in as a parent when Nora’s weren’t around, pulling her aside for coffee breaks when Nora was just a lowly assistant hiding out in the stacks.
She talked about the hard life Lois had led, her messy divorce from a cheating husband when she was in her forties, and the combination of gratitude and bitter regret she felt over the fact that he’d talked her out of having children.
MC opened up about her dad, how they’d been in a stagnant place in their relationship when she’d gone to college, and the empty, hanging feeling she was left with when he died—no closure, no change in their family’s unspoken policy of keeping things unspoken.
She wondered if she’d be able to turn any of that around with her brother now. But when she saw Conrad wave from behind his wipers, a genuine smile on his face, her stomach twisted.
“Happy Turkey Day,” she said, ducking into the Destroyer of Worlds. “I made cookies.”
“Nice. So did Nora.”
MC froze in the middle of putting her seat belt on, all plans of confronting her brother about his potential affair flying from her mind. “I didn’t invite Nora.”
“I know. I did. She’s coming with her coworker...?”
“Lois.”
He pulled out toward the street, pretending to put all his focus into surveying the oncoming traffic. “Jae’s coming, too, by the way, and Jim. His kids will be there, and his wife, and Jerry Bickley...”
MC tried not to linger on the rapid-fire way Conrad had listed his guests. “Sounds like you went all out,” she said hoarsely.
“Dealing with Mom is something I’m only capable of in large groups.”
“Did she bring Lance?”
Lance was Dr. Linda Case-Calloway’s personal assistant. Also her boyfriend. He was Conrad’s age.
“Yep,” he said.
MC’s heart started pounding triple time.
When they arrived at the house, a fleet of cars were already parked in the driveway.
MC pulled down the sunshield and checked the mirror.
As suspected, her hair looked like a nest for squirrels.
She tried to fix it with a redeployment of the bobby pins, but the humidity and the wind had done their work.
She followed her brother into the house.
Gabby swept over in a white off-the-shoulder sweater and floral-print dress, hugging MC. As the air was squeezed out of her lungs, MC spotted Nora in the crowded living room, and their eyes met for a moment.
MC’s stomach flipped.
Nora looked down at her beer.
“This is so exciting!” Gabby said. “We haven’t hosted in forever.”
“Place looks great,” MC said. The carpets had been vacuumed and the surfaces tidied.
Even the books on the mantel had been dusted.
A colorful blanket had been folded over the back of the couch, and new accent pillows had appeared against the armrests.
The lights were high and bright, candles burning in corners.
Her mom was already coming over through the crowd. She had a broad, handsome face that she’d passed on to Conrad, along with thick blond hair. It was held back by a tortoiseshell clip, a look she’d been rocking MC’s entire life. MC gave her a hug and received a pat on the back.
“Mischa Celeste, you look like a troubled prince of England.”
MC had no idea what her mom meant by that, but her attention was already being turned toward Lance, rearing up out of nowhere to reach a hand out to her. “What a wonderful event your brother is putting on,” he said.
Who called a family meal an event? She shook his big, soft paw.
He was shaped like a barrel, with hairy forearms and a thick brown beard, all of it at odds with his twinkly, boyish eyes.
Her mom had officially filed for divorce after it’d come out that she’d had an affair with a colleague, but Lance had arrived on the scene many years after that, a calmer mistake that’d lasted, to everyone’s horror, a lot longer.
“Conrad tells me you’re working on a novel,” her mom said, sipping from a glass of white wine.
MC checked in with her mom on a weekly basis, mostly by text, as if with a sponsor. She thought of Gabby calling her an asshole and wished her mom had picked any other topic to break the ice. “Yep,” she said uncomfortably.
“About the Byzantines?”
“Kind of.”
“A startling people. Reconciling early Christian belief with Roman pantheism created a profound tension in their conceptions of gender and social hierarchy.”
“Totally. How’ve you been, Mom?”
“Stimulated.” She adjusted her half-moon glasses and brushed a piece of lint off her turtleneck. “We’re running a study about polyamory.”
“Wow.”
“Your generation has brought a degree of intellectualism to romance that is, frankly, unprecedented.”
MC realized she lacked the mental bandwidth to address her mom’s attempt to reconnect right that second. “Sorry, I’ll be right back, I’m just going to grab a drink.”
She slipped away before her mom could say anything else.
The kitchen smelled like sweet potatoes. The oven was on, making the air even more sweltering than it’d been in the living room. MC went straight for the fridge, tugging at her collar.
“There’s no more beer,” Nora said behind her.
MC spun around. Nora’s sudden proximity made her dizzy.
The outfit wasn’t helping. She was wearing sheer stockings and a midnight-blue velvet dress that hugged her hips, her hair swept up in a silver clip.
MC tried to think about anything other than how soft the velvet would feel under her hands, the slight roughness of the stockings against her palms. Because she’d vowed not to go down that road again.
She was here to get to the bottom of whatever her brother was doing with Jae, before it wrecked the great thing he had going with Gabby.
And maybe, after that, she might see if she could figure out a way to finish the article for Joe without ruining Nora’s life. Maybe.
“No more beer,” MC said slowly.
“I was just about to tell Conrad,” Nora said. “But I think he’s in the middle of an intense conversation.”
MC sought him out in the crowd. He was talking to Jae.
MC and Nora exchanged a look.
“There’s more in the basement,” MC said. She’d just arrived; she’d deal with her brother soon enough. “I’ll grab some.”
“Do you need a hand?” Nora looked away for a moment. “Lois won’t stop talking to Jim about yoga.”
“Uh... sure.”
And all the careful avoidance she thought they’d been practicing over the last few weeks felt like one long, terrifying wink.
The basement was significantly cooler than the kitchen. It helped MC relax a little as she led them through the finished side, where Conrad’s office was, to the dark, cellar-like concrete section, where he and Gabby kept their overflow.
She decided it was time to deploy some strategic small talk.
“It’s nice to see you,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Nora’s voice was wry. “I feel like you’re doing everything you can to avoid looking at me.”
“Just trying to find the light.” MC reached out and caught a string hanging from the lone bulb on the rafter.
But the soft, incandescent glow only made things worse. It brought out the pink flush across Nora’s chest. Drew shadows across her eyes.
“I’m glad we’re getting a chance to talk in person,” MC babbled. “I’ve been wanting to apologize.”
“For what?”
MC bent down to pick up a rack of IPAs. “For overstepping with you the last time we hung out,” she said, working her fingers under the cardboard edges. “It wasn’t appropriate for me to, you know—” She started to lift the rack, but it was a struggle with sweating palms.
“Make out with me?”
MC fumbled her grip. The rack slipped to the floor, the corner landing on her big toe. A jolt of pain shot up her leg. Tears sprang to her eyes. But the bigger problem was that one of the cans had popped and was currently spraying beer all over Nora’s dress.
MC didn’t know how to stop the sticky mess from worsening except to take the can and chug it down. Nora watched, a quizzical look on her face.
Then another can popped.
“I got this one,” Nora said, picking it up and making short work of it.
When she was done, they stared at each other for a moment.
MC felt lightheaded. “We’re going to smell like the inside of a keg,” she muttered. Her toe was throbbing.
Nora blinked. Her dress was still dripping. “You’re really accident-prone.”
“I know.” MC walked over to a stack of plastic bins next to the breaker box and started digging around. “I think I can find something to change into here. Are you going to go back to your house?”
“I’d rather not. The weather’s pretty bad.”
MC cleared her throat. “Well, some of Gabby’s old stuff is mixed in with mine.” She dug a little deeper. “Here’s a dress.” She handed Nora a plain black cocktail number, then grabbed an old button-down. “This shirt is fine, right?”
Nora shrugged.
MC pulled her sweater over her head.
When she could see again, she realized Nora had turned around.
“Can you undo the zipper?”
MC panicked. She’d expected her to change upstairs. Now she had to stand behind Nora, palms still sweating, and get a grip on what was essentially a plastic grain of rice.
Nora said, “Do you actually regret it?”
MC finally managed to get the stupid thing between her index finger and her thumb. “Huh?”
“Kissing me.”
“Well...” MC pulled the zipper down. “Not really, no.” Her whole body tingled at the admission, at how close her hands were to Nora’s bare skin. “But what about you and Jen?”
Nora shrugged the dress off her shoulders. “We’re pretty much done at this point.”
MC knew she should avert her eyes. But she couldn’t. Nora didn’t seem to care. She turned and watched MC watching her, then stepped out of her dress completely.
“Was that my fault?” MC said. “You and Jen ending things?”
“Would you feel guilty if it was?”
MC swallowed. “Yeah, I would.”
“Why?”
“Because,” MC said carefully, “I don’t want to mess up your life.”
Nora tugged lightly on the hem of MC’s T-shirt and leaned forward another inch, her lips so near to MC’s it made MC’s mouth ache. “What makes you think you have that kind of power?”
MC held her breath as every thought she’d ever had fled her mind.
“We should get back upstairs,” Nora added, finally picking up Gabby’s dress and slipping it on. After a readjustment of her clip, she walked back to the rack of beer, the hint of a smile on her face. “But let me do the carrying this time, okay?”