Chapter 37
The next day, I drive over to a small house on Los Altos Road in Pacific Beach. I did have the good sense to pick up flowers, cat treats, and bottles of ginger ale before I arrive unannounced. I ring the bell at the front door and smile when a woman my mom’s age swings it open.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Miller.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Beatrice McKinney, Adam’s sister. I’ve come as an envoy and potential cat sitter.”
“Oh, come in. Yes, come in. Adam warned me someone might be stopping by. Glass of lemonade? It’s freshly made.”
“Yes, please.” I step into a chic and spotless little Craftsman-style home. “How’s the new kitten?”
“Delightful. I don’t know why I waited all these years to adopt. He’ll appear when he wants to. He likes people, more than I do most days. You look awfully familiar. Were you one of my students?”
Before I can even say a word, Mrs. Miller snaps her fingers. “Mitzy Princess Kitty 2000.”
“Yes.” I sip my lemonade and try not to guzzle it. So good. So delicious. “I am on her channel.”
“Sarah and I have watched all of her videos. We cried when she met her new sister. How are they doing?”
“Mitzy and Sasha are inseparable. Everyone is very happy over there.”
“A little shelter tabby and a princess. Who would have thought?”
A black fluffball announces himself with a squeaky meow. “Well, hello, sir,” I say to the kitten. I kneel on the floor to make his acquaintance. “Aren’t you adorable? What’s his name?”
“Sir Bartholomew Fluffy Pants. Barty for short.”
“Oh, your pants are so fluffy.” He’s an extremely friendly little fellow. “Yes, they are.” I smile at Mrs. Miller. “Does Barty do okay when you’re teaching?”
“Yes. I come check in on him at lunch most days. I’ve also taken him in with me on occasion, but don’t tell admin.”
“I completely understand not wanting to leave a little guy on his first Thanksgiving. But I’d be so happy to stay and play if you wanted to head up to Del Mar. I’m sure I could get him settled—”
“That’s very kind of you. But crashing your mother’s Thanksgiving is the last thing I want to do. I would have found another sound excuse for staying home even if Barty wasn’t here.”
“Why?” I find it's best to be direct. “I can assure you my brother is a stand-up guy.”
“Oh, sweetie. I know! That’s the whole point.” Mrs. Miller refills my lemonade. “I don’t want to put any pressure on what Adam and Sarah have. Getting parents together can do that.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“No, schoolteachers generally are not wrong.”
“I have to say that my parents are lovely.”
“I’m sure. I’m not making excuses because I don’t want this to be… What’s the phrase the kids use? Endgame? I’m hanging back because I want Sarah and Adam to have all the time and space they need. No pressure. No added expectations.”
She seems so chill compared to my mom, who has texted me about two dozen times today already. “You’re not scared?”
Mrs. Miller laughs and takes a seat on the floor near the coffee table. “I’m terrified. I’ve never seen Sarah so happy. I want to meddle, fix everything so it stays this way, but that’s not how these things work.”
Barty trots over and licks my hand before play-biting it.
“What about you? Why are you avoiding Thanksgiving in Del Mar?”
“I was given marching orders, but I’ll make my way up there eventually.”
Barty bounds over and jumps up on Mrs. Miller’s lap and circles around once before snuggling in for pets and loves.
“Why you? Why not Adam when he came to pick Sarah up? Or your sister Portia on her way in from the airport? Juliet, I understand, pregnant and with a toddler, but either one of your parents could have made a phone call.”
“It’s sorta my role. I’m the disposable one in the family. I’m prickly and stunted and sedentary. Snappish and shrewish. Easy to miss.”
“You are none of those things, Beatrice.”
“No, but last summer after I realized I was tired of my assigned role, I up and quit law, left my dad’s firm.
Moved out. Became a professional pet sitter.
I’ve kept my distance. Or tried to. I even blocked my dad on my phone.
” I’m glad he isn’t blocked anymore. “Things are fine now. My parents are genuinely supportive and see how I needed some time and space.”
“I quit teaching once upon a time. Sarah and Brent, my oldest, don’t know this. Sarah wasn’t even born. In fact, I think I was pregnant with her at the time.”
“Do you enjoy teaching?”
“I love it. But I was in a terrible position. Long commute. Kindergartners aren’t the same as fifth graders, and I had my hands full with my own kindergartner, Brent, at home, so I was already overwhelmed. No support from the admin. I quit. Said I was taking maternity leave early.”
“Is this the part of the story where you tell me that you missed teaching?” Because I do not miss law at all.
“No, this is the part where I tell you I’m a darn good teacher.
Not everyone can do my job. I’ve been trained, yes, but I come by the skill set naturally.
And my community needs my expertise. It doesn’t make my job easier.
It doesn’t make my job more enjoyable. Those are the gifts that come with time and experience. ”
“I was never a darn good lawyer.”
“Two years out of law school and how old?”
“Twenty-six.”
“That’s too young and too dumb to be darn good at anything.”
“I couldn’t keep doing it. I was running on less than empty, spite, and Russian literature.”
Mrs. Miller hands me the bowl of caramels from the coffee table. “Some might say spite and Russian literature are synonymous, but go on.”
I laugh and take a caramel. “I had nothing. No friends. No future, even. No one was taking any of my work seriously. They were all chalking up my modest success to my dad. I was… I was so alone.”
“And so unhappy.”
“Yes!”
“Has any of that changed since you moved out?”
“No… Yes? I don’t know.”
A timer beeps, and Mrs. Miller rises and hands me Barty. “We’re more than our professions, Bea. We’re more than our ovaries. We’re more than our wants and needs. We’re more than our hopes and dreams. We’re human. We have rights that extend beyond comfort and purpose.”
Barty is batting at one of my earrings.
“Community, companionship, love, health, happiness—none of those projects can be accomplished in a mad dash through higher ed and two years at a law firm. They’re the work of a lifetime. Don’t give up now.”
Mrs. Miller brushes the tops of her rolls with melted butter. “I never went back to teaching kindergarten. I never went back to that school. I never worked for that principal again. And here I am, still a teacher. Twenty-five years strong.”
“I don’t know how to make all the things I want in my life fit. I don’t know what’s most important or where to start. Everything feels broken. And I know sacrificing my happiness didn’t work when I tried it last time.”
“But chasing happiness hasn’t exactly led to fulfillment or joy.”
“No,” I admit.
“It’s one thing to catch your breath. It’s another to get stuck on an inhale.” She puts the pan of rolls back in the oven. “Your hopes and dreams? Have those changed?”
I think about Mike. My mind flashes to a possible future of making cookies with him in his kitchen. To hosting family and friends on his deck. To his arm around my shoulders, his lips pressed to my hair. His hand resting on mine as we fall asleep. “Maybe.”
“Why not start there?” She sets the timer on her phone. “Ten more minutes, and the rolls will be ready. You can take some of them up to Del Mar with my compliments.”
I play with Barty as Mrs. Miller packs up the rolls and tells me about her son and daughter-in-law and the baby due this spring. I hear the story of the first time she met my brother and how he strong-armed an invite to a family barbecue, much to Sarah’s mortification. And I laugh.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Miller.”
“Janice, please.” She hands me the basket of rolls. “Give my best to your parents.”
“I will.”
“And, Beatrice.”
I turn.
“There is no doubt in my mind that you’re a darn good lawyer. You’ll find your way.”
By the time I get to Del Mar, appetizers are fully under way. Portia and Julie greet me at the door.
“Are Adam and Sarah here?” I ask.
“In the back.” Julie pulls me in for a hug. “They’re playing pickleball with Dad and Ryan.”
Portia takes the basket of rolls from me. “Uncle Drew and Eaton finally persuaded Granny to join them in the pool. These rolls smell amazing.”
“I know.” It was all I could do not to shovel five of them into my mouth on the drive over. “So do we like her? Or do we love her?”
“Sarah?” Portia starts laughing. “We freaking worship her. If I start acting like a fool—”
I grab a plate and pile cheese and other charcuteries onto it. “Like you did at Eaton’s birthday?”
Portia cocks her head and pulls me in for a hug. “Exactly. If I start acting like a fool, like I did at Eaton’s birthday, stop me by any means necessary.” She chews her lip. “I am sorry. Can I make it up to you?”
“Oh, I know,” Julie says, bringing us each a glass of apple cider. “When Mom brings out her tarot cards, you can be the first sacrificial offering.”
Portia whimpers.
“Actually, I was going to take the tarot fall tonight,” I say.
“Thank heavens.” Portia steals a piece of cheese from my plate. “We don’t want to scare Sarah away.”
“I’ve got a plan,” I say around a mouthful of gouda. “Just follow my lead.”
I can’t help but beam when I see Sarah with Adam.
They’re inseparable, holding hands, leaning against each other.
I see Sarah playfully rib Adam a couple of times at dinner, and there’s no shortage of teasing from either of them throughout the conversation.
Absolutely nothing about their affection feels awkward or performative.
I know this is my first time meeting her, but I adore her. She’s everything Adam and my father said, and she loves my brother. What more could you ask for in a potential sister-in-law?
Look at me rooting for the endgame.