Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
ANNIE
For the first time in months, Annie was passionate about something again. Passion so fiery it energized her as it flowed through her. She finally had a real, tangible problem to pick at: Figuring out how to help make Max’s dream a reality, or at least get her a few steps closer.
Annie set herself up for a morning of focused productivity, piling the documents pertaining to the trust Max had given her in a neat stack next to her laptop.
Since their return from Michigan, Annie had been hard at work executing step one of the plan they had concocted together over an intimate dinner the night before they returned to Connecticut.
The plan itself was simple, two steps. Step one: Audit the trust to get the full picture of what they were dealing with.
Step two: Figure out the next step. As stated, a simple plan, but it was still a plan.
And it was written down. And most importantly, it was something they could anchor to.
Annie toggled the switch on the side of the sleek electric kettle, rummaging in the cabinet above in search of her favorite mug.
She grabbed a tea strainer, reaching past the one shaped like the Loch Ness Monster she had gotten the year she studied abroad in Scotland, and instead selected a plain mesh ball.
She sighed at the reminder the strainer had presented—the lingering fact that everything in her parents’ house had the ability to make her feel forever frozen in time.
Start apartment search, she added to her ongoing mental checklist. A high-pitched whistle snapped her attention back to the task at hand: tea, then audit.
Committed to taking full advantage of both her parents being at work for the day, Annie turned on a playlist of her favorite pop remixes, preparing herself for several hours of uninterrupted power-working.
She was in her happy place, moving through the paperwork with mechanical efficiency, marking little sticky notes when she had questions or needed more information.
She was making great progress, but Annie had warned Max that the audit would take a couple of weeks. There was a lot of financial information to sift through, but it was something she had done many times at her old job.
Annie reached for a stack of hot pink sticky notes, scrawling the words “Ask Drew?” across the note.
She had about seventeen of those tucked away in the papers.
Unsurprisingly, the specific nature of Max’s land trust had some legal complexities that reached beyond the scope of what Annie could confidently provide Max answers to.
She had been upfront with her about the likelihood of there being a need to consult a lawyer about a few things, but she could at least try to get her some general answers from Drew who, like her dad, was an expert on agricultural law and at minimum could give her a jumping off point on where to find answers.
But Max had made Annie promise not to tell anyone else about the land in Michigan, not yet at least. So Annie would simply have to be creative with how she asked her questions and be careful not to tip her brother off. She could easily do that.
The timer she had set for her “work hours” blared around two forty-five in the afternoon, signaling to her that she needed to change if she was going to make it to the country club in time for her scheduled tennis court reservation with her mom and siblings.
Her mom had asked for one thing and one thing only for Christmas: tennis time with her kids—and now she was collecting.
It wasn’t that Annie didn’t like tennis.
It was that Annie was terrible at it, and as a rule, she generally tried to steer clear of things she was bad at.
But her mom also wasn’t the best, and that at least evened out the doubles partnerships.
Avery, who was the high school tennis state champion three years in a row, always paired off with her mom, and Drew paired off with Annie—thank god for that, because she knew playing tennis with her as a partner was probably about the same as playing solo.
But hey, at least the outfits were cute, right?
She piled the paperwork back in a neat, organized stack, ready to repeat the same motions tomorrow.
She switched her phone off do-not-disturb mode, grinning at the sight of the slew of texts Max had left her throughout the day.
Her heart did an excited jump which had been happening more and more in the two and a half weeks since Michigan.
It was Max’s first full day off since they had returned, and by the looks of things, she’d had a good one—one Annie hoped would only get better with what she had planned for their evening.
Max 10:07 AM
I know you’re in heads-down mode and won’t get these notifications, but I hope you enjoy your day. Can’t wait to see you this evening. Sorry I’ve been busy (not sorry in an apologetic way, but sorry in an it makes me sad we’ve barely seen each other kind of way).
Max 10:09 AM
Oh my god, I read that back and am dying at my sappiness. Kindly disregard. As a distraction, please enjoy this picture.
Attached was a photo of Max in bed, arm outstretched to capture the selfie.
Her dark hair contrasted against bright pink sheets—a surprising color choice considering Annie had only really ever seen Max in darker colors.
The pink-and-white striped comforter was situated high enough to leave a tasteful amount of skin meant to tease her.
She kept scrolling, grinning at the next photo of Max at the gym, face and chest glistening with sweat, dark flyaway hairs creating a halo of soft frizz framing her face perfectly, paired with a thumbs-up.
Max 12:53 PM
Hate to break it to you, but I’m not one of those girls who’s capable of looking hot at the gym. I embody my inner swamp creature.
Another photo followed of Max tossing a plate of sad-looking waffles into her trash can.
Max 2:15 PM
Tried those protein waffles again. You were right. They taste like ass. Never again.
Annie beamed, reacting with little animated hearts to each photo before firing off her response.
Annie 2:55 PM
Looks like you had a fun day off. Heading out to tennis with the fam. Excited to see you after for sweats and critiques of TV shows that didn’t age well.
* * *
“Hit the ball!” Drew yelled across the court as Annie screeched, jumping out of the way of Avery’s more-aggressive-than-needed serve, her sneakers squeaking against the court.
“I was a golfer. Stationary targets are my jam, not moving ones flying at my face.”
“Oh, c’mon,” her sister called. “You’re not even trying, Annie.”
Annie glared at Avery over the net as Drew bounced the ball twice before tossing it in the air, swinging his racket through the serve with precision. It zoomed across the net, bouncing out of reach of Avery’s racket, winning the match for them.
“The only reason you two win at all,” Avery said, brandishing her racket at Annie and Drew, “is because he has a somewhat decent serve.”
“Enough, you three.” Their mom’s voice cut through their bickering with a finality only Colleen could muster.
“I’m going to sit the next one out,” Annie grumbled, setting her racket down as she plopped onto the courtside bench. Her mother slid elegantly into the seat next to her, taking a sip from her metal water bottle.
“Andrew and Avery, you two play while Annie and I take a little break,” her mother called, leaning back against the bench, getting comfortable.
They watched as Drew and Avery volleyed back and forth, with Avery eventually taking the first point with a wicked backhand shot and the swish of her tennis skirt.
Her mom fiddled with the gold chain where four small stones were set in a line—the birthstones of each of her children: opal for Andrew, citrine for Avery, diamond for Annie, and aquamarine for Austin.
Annie had always found it quietly fitting that her birthstone was a diamond—the result of extreme heat and pressure causing carbon atoms to literally rearrange themselves into a stronger structure to survive.
“Did you remember to call Austin for his birthday on Monday?”
Annie nodded. “Yeah, hard to forget when our birthdays are three days apart.” Her mother always liked to joke about how twice the Lord tried to give her an April Fool’s baby, first with Annie, whose birthday fell on the second of April, and again with Austin, who came around two years later on the thirtieth of March.
“And are we still in the not celebrating our birthday type of mood these days, or have you finally changed your mind? You only turn thirty once,” her mom coaxed, and Annie could hear it, the way her tone was trying to extract a different answer from her, the answer her mom wanted rather than what Annie wanted.
But for whatever reason, unbeknownst to her, she had always managed to stay firm on her boundary with birthdays—absolutely NO acknowledgment of them ever.
“Still a no,” she said flatly, crossing one leg over the other, trying to figure out how best to avoid the longer conversation the topic of birthdays typically led to.
“I don’t like them. Feels weird to be celebrated when I did nothing to be here.
If anything, you should get the acknowledgement,” she joked, hoping her mom would take the bait.
As predicted, she did, letting out an amused chuckle.
“Oh, I like the sound of that. I’ll take my gift any time now.
” She patted Annie’s thigh. “You have always been so funny. Ever since you were little. The things you used to say.” She sighed fondly, flicking her perfectly tied-back hair over her shoulder in a way Annie had idolized and secretly tried to perfect over the years.
“You’d have your father and I waiting on eggshells to see what wild things you’d come up with.
Do you remember that school report you did on thunderstorms? ”