13. Ophie
Ophie
Somehow, Maggie and I managed to live together for years without me hearing her have sex in the other room. But she and Kel have been here less than two days, and I’ve already heard them three times.
Who knew being pregnant made you so horny? At least it’s a great reminder for me not to test that theory for myself.
I roll over and grab my earbuds off the nightstand, stuffing them into my ears and flipping open Netflix on my phone to the first thing I see, hoping to stop the noise.
Thank god I had enough time to buy a new metal bed frame to replace the one Philip and I broke last week. And wash the sheets.
When sleep evades me, I pull out my laptop to see if any new magical job opportunities opened while I was sleeping. I scroll through half a dozen before one catches my eye. A start-up is looking for a shipping coordinator and project manager—it’s an unusual combination and exactly what I’m looking for. A little internet sleuthing reveals they’ve just gotten venture capital funding, even more exciting. It’s a marketplace for women-owned small businesses that helps them build their website storefronts and coordinates packaging and shipping for them. The more I read, the more excited I get about the opportunity. And it looks like the position would get to build the shipping and project management processes from scratch.
It’s as if someone designed my dream job. Except for one thing—the position is in South Carolina. And there’s no mention of it being remote.
I never considered leaving the West Coast. My family is here. Philip is here—for now. My life is here.
But the opportunity seems too good to pass up, even though I’m sure there are dozens of people more qualified than me applying. I take my time drafting a cover letter and fine-tuning my resume before submitting it, despite knowing it’ll probably get fed to an algorithm and dropped to the bottom of a pile in thirty seconds.
I finally doze off again to the sounds of David Attenborough describing the cycle of life on prehistoric Earth, dreaming of the pastries I brought home with me after closing last night. The sun is blazing through my window when I open my eyes again, even though it’s still early.
Thank god I have a couple hours before I need to get up and get ready for work.
Maggie is at her usual spot at the table, working on her laptop, when I emerge. Her keys click in a familiar cadence, one I’ve missed since she moved in with Kel.
“What’s the story, Morning Glory?” A yawn interrupts my question as I pad across the floor to the kitchen.
“There’s coffee in the pot. I think. And I hid your Danish in the microwave to keep it safe from Kel.” She doesn’t look up from her screen but points vaguely behind her.
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“I’m the soul of consideration.”
The coffee pot is still hot, so I pour myself a blessed mugful. “You weren’t at three o’clock this morning.” Leaning over, I pop open the microwave to check that the paper bag with my Danish is still there.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She grins at me over the edge of her mug, takes a sip, then grimaces and holds out her mug. “If there’s any left, can you top me off?”
I grab the carafe and move to refill her mug. “Is this going to be a long-term solution to your commute? Should I invest in some soundproofing?”
The microwave beeps before she answers, and I busy myself with getting my warm pastry on a plate, then join her at the table. “Seriously though, are you really going to keep living out at Sunshine? Aren’t you both going to end up commuting into the city every day? That seems like a pain.”
With a heavy sigh, she wraps her hands around her bright orange Tillamook mug. “Probably not. I actually think we’re going to buy a place.”
“Wow, that’s a big step. I know I was a brat about you taking so damn long to finally get together, but shouldn’t you maybe get married before you buy a house?”
My sister and Kel only started dating last fall, and it took forever for Kel to get his act together and ask Maggie out, but once they did, there was no looking back for either of them. I hate to admit that I’m maybe more than a little bit jealous of how smooth their relationship has been.
Not that I’ve put any effort into being in a relationship myself—I have Philip, after all. What else do I need?
Maggie is the only person who knows the full story behind my vow not to date in grad school. She’d been the one to pick me up from my narcissistic college boyfriend’s house in the middle of the night after I found out he’d given me and half of Gamma Gamma Delta chlamydia. She’d held my hand at the pharmacy while I’d waited for my antibiotics and Plan B prescriptions, and been the one to keep me company as I frantically studied to make up my grades when I’d been too scared to go to class after his threatening texts.
I don’t have the excuse of being in school anymore when my family gets on my case about being single. If only I could find something as easy and straightforward as she has.
She lets me get a couple of bites in while she types on her laptop before she answers. “Eh. I think we might wait until I’m less pregnant and more excited at the prospect.”
Furrowing my brow, I twist my head to stare at my sister. “But you love weddings. How are you not excited to plan your own?”
I’ve watched Maggie plan her own wedding a million times since we were little. “Is it because of Frank?” Her ex-fiancé was a douche, but it wasn’t like he left her at the altar.
“No. But Nate and Sydney still refuse to be in the same room as each other. I’m exhausted. Jackie and Greg are gone for a few more months, and by the time they get back, I’m going to be feeling more bridge troll than bridal.”
She leans back in her chair, circling her wrists and tipping her head from side to side, stretching out her neck. “Honestly? Philip taking over the tasting room will be a huge help. Kel still feels responsible for Sunshine, and having Nate’s grumpy ass chasing away customers while Jackie is gone has him eating antacids like candy.”
“But can I help you somehow? I thought pregnancy was supposed to make you all glowy and shit, but your black circles have black circles.”
A dash of hope flickers across her face as she flips her laptop toward me. There’s a spreadsheet open with rows and rows of vendors, addresses, dates, and times. None of it lines up or makes sense. It’s as if she’s scribbled in a notebook in the spreadsheet.
“I don’t suppose you can make heads or tails of this?”
“Gimme, gimme!” I reach my grabby hands out to start cleaning up her spreadsheet. But horror dawns as I scan the page. “Jesus, Maggie, what is this even tracking?”
It’s okay. I can fix this.
We spend the morning walking through her mess and transferring it into a series of organized sheets. I even have the joy of creating a few pivot tables for her.
“You’re a lifesaver, Ophie. I wish I could afford to hire you to keep me organized.” She sighs as she leans back in her chair.
I push back from the table, my stomach growling from three hours of spreadsheet fun. “I’ll keep you organized for free, Mags. But first, lunch.”
Pushing to her feet, she joins me in the kitchen. She shoves me away from the fridge and pulls out a box of leftover Chinese food. “Have you considered seeing if there’s a position at Mailbox? Or if Sutton could put in a good word for you somewhere?”
“Maggie, I am not going to ask Theodore Sutton to ‘put in a good word for me.’ I barely know him. Besides, Mailbox is a strictly digital product. My degree is in global shipping and trade—it’s not the same thing.”
Shaking her ass in a little dance, my sister dumps the contents of the cardboard box onto a plate, a combination of chow mein, fried rice, and cashew chicken, then pops it into the microwave before turning to give me a look. “Yeah, but you told me that your degree is basically a really advanced project management certification? Surely, he knows someone who could use that kind of skill.”
I roll my eyes. I swear, she’s never met a stranger. I don’t know how she can walk up to people and just…yap at them until they give her what she wants.
“I still barely know the man, and he definitely would never remember me. There is no way on earth he’s going to just give me a job.” I pause. “Philip probably has more of the kind of skills Sutton needs. He complained all the time, but I know for a fact he had a 4.0 GPA in all his finance classes.”
The beeping microwave interrupts her before she can argue. I stall further argument by plating my food and taking it out on the patio to eat. I can hear her talking to herself as she does the same, but she falls quiet as she sits down in the chair beside me.
The porch is just big enough for the pair of Adirondack chairs Maggie rescued from a garage sale the summer after we moved in. We had plants out here at one point, but we had a huge ice storm this winter and Maggie had been stuck out at Sunshine with Kel for a week. I’d holed up inside with the heat, taking my classes over Zoom, and by the time I’d thought about the plants, they had been beyond saving.
“I assumed Philip was heading back to South Africa after graduation.” Maggie slides back into her chair with a grunt.
I shove some rice into my mouth before I answer, the hot and salty food exactly what I needed after staring at her laptop screen all morning. “There’s nothing for him to go back to. His brother and parents are in Australia now. And I quote, ‘The only thing left for me in Cape Town is a stage-five clinger of an ex-girlfriend and an economy that will never catch up to the rest of the world.’”
She laughs, a piece of rice shooting across the porch to land in front of the hopeful robin that’d been watching us from a nearby bush. It makes her snort even harder, and soon, we’re both laughing ourselves silly over our lunch. “Oh my god, do you remember that time Daisy shot milk out of her nose? I’ve never seen her turn so red.” Maggie is still giggling.
“I think it’s still the only time I’ve ever seen her be anything but perfect.” My own giggles interrupt my words, but she nods in understanding.
“God, she really is annoyingly perfect, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it annoying. More like intimidating.”
When she gives me a funny look, I shove more food into my mouth so I don’t have to elaborate on how I’ve always been a little afraid of our oldest sister.
“Did I ever tell you about the time she accidentally dyed her hair purple?”
“What? No. How did I not know this?”
“She was trying to brighten her blond and used too much purple shampoo.” Maggie lets out one of her belly laughs at the memory. I’ve always envied her ability to laugh like that—like she doesn’t give a fuck who hears her.
“How come I don’t remember this?”
“It was one of the summers we went to nationals for dance—you were probably home with Dad doing summer school.”
“Hmph.” I lean back in my seat, remembering all the summers my older sisters would go away for dance stuff. If it wasn’t nationals, it was a camp. Or a convention. One year, Maggie was gone for four weeks at a ballet intensive. Even though I knew at the age of seven that it was not for me, I was always so jealous of the time the two of them got to spend with Mom doing dance stuff. Dad and I would hang out doing crossword puzzles or watching movies when I was younger. By the time I was in high school and spending my summers practicing for academic decathlon, I’d talked myself into believing that all the time they spent dancing was a waste.
Now I’m not so sure. It seems like they had a lot more fun together growing up than I did.
“Did she get in trouble?”
Maggie laughs. “Of course not. She showered, like, ten times before our dance teacher saw her. All the gel and hairspray makes your hair look dark anyway, so Miss Tanya didn’t notice until we were on stage for awards.”
We fall into silence as we finish eating. Birds chirp at us from the greenbelt behind the condo, fighting to be heard over the cars and trucks passing by on the main road.
With a sigh, Maggie sets down her empty plate. “You know, there are times I really miss the sound of civilization.” A fire engine goes by, sirens blaring. “And other times I don’t. You wouldn’t believe how quiet it is out at Sunshine when the tasting room is closed and the sun goes down.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever experienced it.”
“You should go and stay with Philip one night while he’s out there and see for yourself. It’s wild.” She pauses, then casually changes the subject so fast I nearly choke. “He’s such a good guy, Ophie. If he’s not going back to South Africa, I don’t understand why you two aren’t together.”
Anger flares in my chest so fast that I snap at my sister without thinking. “I’m so tired of people asking me that. He’s my best friend. We aren’t dating. Leave it alone.”
Pushing to my feet, I swipe our plates and stalk into the kitchen. I love my sister, I do. But if one more person insists on telling me what I should do with my love life, I’m going to scream.
Why can’t anyone else see that of course I’m head over fucking heels for the man, but he’s leaving me one way or another—either to go to Australia or somewhere else in the country that offers him a job. He hates the Pacific Northwest.
Philip is sunshine and citrus, yoga at the beach, and flip-flops—or thongs, as he calls them—year-round.
I’m sweaters and hot cocoa, hikes in the rain, and forgetting to shave my legs for a month because I live in sweatpants.
His happily ever after doesn’t include me, and I refuse to hurt him by making him break my heart.