Chapter Five
I woke up early again on our final morning at the Airbnb, this time to a text from my fake boyfriend. Another reason to date me: Mom bait—clearly good with even difficult moms. Also, I give out keys to free summer cottages fairly
I linked to a map. It wasn’t far from where we were, near Bloomfield, about a ten-minute drive toward Cherry Valley. I used
Google Street View. Two horses stared back at me, beside two little rustic log cabins in a sparse green wood, lakeside. My
daydream was swift: standing on stage, accepting my Oscar, talking about how I wrote the film in a tiny cabin where I also
met the love of my life. We’d listened to blues records and talked about craft by the fire. Maybe I learned to source wild
mushrooms and can peaches, and I gathered local actors to elegant table reads outside.
Frances McDormand was there. I owe everything to that summer, I imagined saying, while accepting my award, and thank you to my lead actress, Kathryn Hahn, and most of all, to my husband.
In my daydream he didn’t have a face, but he was cheering me on from the crowd.
Maybe he was Ben, but I didn’t want to give
daydream Ben that satisfaction until I knew he liked me for me. I texted back: See you then, fake swoon!
The day was colder, a bit overcast. I sliced up all the leftover strawberries, apples, and bananas, squishing the peels in my hands as I threw them in the compost bowl.
I made a little buffet to graze on while I prepped the scramble.
Sarah got up next. Her short auburn hair was sticking up all crazy.
She wore an oversized Winnipeg Jets hockey jersey and grey wool socks with the classic red-and-white-striped trim.
She mumbled her way to the coffee machine, taking quick hits off a vape pen.
She turned on a Tragically Hip playlist. I felt invaded by her presence; I wanted more time alone to think, and Sarah, bless her heart, was not known for her breaks in conversation.
“Hey, new sis,” I said, handing her the oat milk carton.
“I can be your bro.”
“Awesome. I’ve always wanted a brother, actually.”
She took a sip, studying my face like it was a puzzle.
“What?”
“You look happier today,” she said. She was doing that Sarah thing where she was looking into your soul though it was legitimately
socially unacceptable even for small talk at that hour. I tried to meet her eyes for just as long but eventually looked away.
“Are you afraid of intimacy?” she asked, still staring, putting her mug down to place both hands on my shoulders.
“No, just afraid you’re slowly swapping souls with me like in the movie Eye Switchers? A classic.” I looked away again, poured honey in my coffee.
“I didn’t mean to invade your space, I just worry about you sometimes.”
I decided to level with her. “I was just doing some contemplation, this morning, about accepting my fate as a temporarily unemployed screenwriter. I took the offer to teach playwrighting all summer with my new fake boyfriend.”
“Whoa, this is impulsive. But honestly, it feels right, energetically. Did you check your Co-Sign?” This was an astrology
app that I only pretended to have whenever Sarah asked me. It guided most of her life decisions.
“I did. It sealed the deal, honestly.”
“I’m happy for you,” she said, raising her mug to mine. “I can pull a card for you right now if you’re uncertain. I really changed a stripper’s life on Friday at my butchalorette. I pulled
the death card and she left her loser boyfriend.”
“Naturally,” I said, and took another sip of coffee, which allowed me to take a deep breath and feel such tenderness for her.
Kate and I both had someone new on our team.
“Ben seems cool. And anyone who impulsively pretends to be a fake boyfriend is at least fifty percent interested, likely more”—she
speared a few apple slices—“unless he’s pulling a scam. But the guy’s family owns a vineyard and a separate house and little
cabins on a lake? Dude doesn’t actually need much, I’m thinking.”
“Well, he does need better acting jobs. Sometimes actors think writers can get them gigs, so I’m a bit wary.”
“Maybe if you think of it positively instead of immediately suspecting him of having ill intentions, you’ll see someone who
is as ambitious as you are. And you, my new sister, are driven like no one else I’ve ever met.”
“Thanks, bro. But I’m not actually interested in Ben,” I semi-lied, mostly to myself.
“Just remember, ambition itself is not an identity, right? It’s not a virtue.”
“Well, art is a calling. It’s not like I’m obsessed with waitressing. I want to make a movie. Art can change people.”
“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to change up your fixations for a summer. Might help your art. And if you don’t like Ben,
then I’m sure they’re not hurting for hot stable hands around here. I think you need to open yourself up to whatever comes
your way. Stay curious. Let go of your investment in the outcome.”
“You’re starting to sound like a horoscope.”
“Ha ha, thanks. I think?”
There were footsteps upstairs, and the shower turning on. I took the eggs out of the fridge and pulled down a mixing bowl. Sarah looked out at the yard, and then her expression changed to serious.
“Elise, real quick before Katie comes down—I need to talk to you about something. Your mom has been coming around our place.
A lot.”
“Really? Usually she has the opposite problem, like forgetting she has daughters. Actually, I thought she’d been MIA and didn’t
RSVP to the party?” I started cracking eggs for the scramble, tossing the shells into the compost bin.
“True, she hasn’t been around in a couple of weeks. But before that, she started dropping in randomly. Something is up with
her. She’s not herself. She told Kate this whole story about how she wants to get to know you both again as adults and repent
for leaving you. Kate believes it, too. She’s so excited. Except your mom is still unpredictable, like this weekend. I’m always
trying to tell Katie to have better boundaries with her but you know how she gets.”
“I sure do.”
“Anyway, I want you to take over. Please.”
“Take over what?” The final egg broke into the bowl and I had to fish the shell out, not my favourite texture.
“Your mom. Let Katie relax in the lead-up to the wedding. Handle her. Kate needs less stress on her days off. She won’t tell
you but she’s been having anxiety attacks again.”
“Oh shit. I thought she’d recovered.”
“She did. I think your mom unsettles her. So please, go help your mom buy a dress for the wedding, answer her phone calls.
That’s all I’m asking.”
She was handing me a pile of shit to hold, and I had no choice but to smile and take it.
Katie was usually the first line of defense in our mutual battle against my mother’s most erratic tendencies.
I rinsed my hands of egg mess in a stream of lukewarm tap water.
A good person would say yes. A good sister.
That is what I aspired to be, even if I screwed up a lot trying to attain that dream.
I spoke the words in hopes that it was the first step in keeping my promise.
“Of course, anything to make Kate’s life easier these days.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“You must be good at making sales. I literally felt like your answer was the only answer!”
She shrugged and hit the vape pen again.
“I can change people. Just ask the stripper. She just texted me that she’s going on a date with one of Crissy’s friends, Tegan,
next week.”
“Should you be texting a stripper when you’re about to be marrying my sister?”
“Crissy used to strip when she was a femme. There is a long history of sex workers and queer people being in tight community
with each other, in fact.”
I wasn’t sure if this was true, but I trusted Sarah on most intercommunity ad hoc education and nodded.
Katie came down the stairs. “Sissy, your whole life is going to change today. Are you ready?”
“Absolutely,” I lied.