I Like You Just Fine When You're Not Around (9 page)

Her mother seemed to be talking to herself, and no amount of cartwheels was going to derail her. “You don't have to get married,” she'd said, finally. “It's not lonely being alone. In fact, sometimes being married can be lonelier than being single.”

“Mom,” Tig sighed.

“It's okay. If you don't ever get married, I won't care,” her mother had said.

Tig had placed her hands right on her mother's shoulders. They were eye to eye, looking at each other. “Mama, I'm eight!”

This stopped her mother, and Tig, eager to recreate a happy family scene, walked into the kitchen. She glanced at her mother holding her wedding gown and rubbing her fingers on the frayed hem, the yellowed lace, the torn tulle. She picked up the dress and pressed her face into the folds and said, “Tig, if it's okay with you, I think I'll just hang this back in the closet; maybe the memories have some life left in them.”

As if the last line of the memory was a lullaby, Tig drifted off. The last thing she heard was Thatcher sigh.

After two weeks of yoga, spa visits, Hope House, and talking herself out of calling Pete, Tig felt more groomed and sick of herself, her problems, and her own thoughts. She left the first of several meetings with Jean and executives at WXRT studios feeling ready to work. Anything to stop thinking about herself, her mother, or her stalled love life. Tig drove home through the University Heights residential area and admired, as she always did, the solid wood porches, dormers, and ruddy masonry decorating one historic home after another. She turned onto her street, marked by an ancient, all-knowing oak, and slowed. An unfamiliar silver car was parked in her driveway. A petite woman stood on Tig's front stoop, stretching, hands on the small of her back. She wore a tight white T-shirt with a pair of black yoga pants. Even from this distance, Tig could discern the protruding belly button of a woman near the end of her pregnancy.

As Tig approached, her sister Wendy turned and held her hand up in a halfhearted wave.

The slow rush of feelings from white hot anger to love, from irritation to envy, and back to anger again made Tig feel like she was taffy being pulled in every direction on a hot day. She gripped the steering wheel hard as she tried to reframe her anger into something positive like,
Wendy's here! Yay!
rather than,
Fucking Wendy
.

In her driveway, Tig rolled the window down. “Oh my God, look at you.” Her voice didn't sound as kind as she'd hoped.

Wendy's belly was the size of a large Weber kettle grill. “Yup. Look at me.”

Tig said, “You know that word for when you're hungry and angry?”

“Hangry, yeah.”

“What's the word for angry and super angry?”

“I don't know. But I should, shouldn't I? I make everyone super angry. Isn't this baby going to be lucky?” There was self-awareness in that statement and something else Tig hadn't seen much in her sister. Humbleness? Neither sister spoke. A fat, lazy bee bumbled by Tig's ear.

“You're pregnant.”

Wendy nodded.

Tig said, “Wow, Wen. I might have been a little nicer when I called, if I'd known.”

“No, you wouldn't.”

“No. I wouldn't have been. You are such a selfish little shit.”

Wendy lifted her chin, “Wow, you must be an awesome counselor. Thanks.”

Tig laughed bitterly. “In fact, I'm not awesome.”

Wendy ignored this and leaned against the front door. “How's Mom?”

Tig gave her a look. Wendy said, “Look, I came as soon as I was able, Tig. I had to make arrangements.”

“It's not that. I'm just processing this. You being here.”

In school, when the instructors introduced therapeutic silence to the counselor toolbox, Tig had thought there was nothing more impossible in the world than shutting up when you wanted to grab a client by the shoulders and shake them. She'd had a professor, Dr. Day, who would sit with her like a sensei and verbally jab her just to shush her. He'd have been so disappointed with Tig during the Harmeyer melee, but maybe he'd feel hopeful today. It wasn't counselor training that held Tig's tongue, though: It was because she couldn't pin down her slippery emotions long enough to commit to one feeling, name it, and get the words out of her mouth.

Finally, she said, “You didn't have to come here. I just needed to talk to you when I called.”

“That's not what you said on the phone.” Wendy shifted her feet and said, “Well, I came instead. That should make up for a few
missed calls.” Wendy smiled a megawatt grin that didn't make it anywhere near her eyes.

Tig automatically reached her arms around Wendy's shoulders, and hugged Wendy with an awkward combination of affection and difficulty. She said again, “Look at you.” She touched her own flat abdomen. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. I feel good, considering I'm ready to burst.”

“You do look ready.” Tig scrutinized her sister's face. “How is it that your doctor allowed you to travel? Aren't you too close to your due date?”

Wendy picked up a small duffel bag at her feet and said, “I'll get the rest of my stuff later. Let's go inside.”

“Is Phil coming this weekend?”

Tig opened the door as Wendy cleared her throat. “No. He's not coming. He's not doing anything anymore. At least, not with me. He's, um, decided he doesn't want this.” She gestured in the general area of her belly.

“What? What are you talking about? When did this happen?”

“About the same time Mom fell apart.” She ignored Tig's surprise and said, “I told you I've been busy. I'm not evil, Tig. I just had other things to deal with. I knew you could handle Mom. I mean, God, you've been doing it for a long time.”

Inside, Wendy eased herself into a chair next to the fireplace and looked around. “I love your place; it's so cozy.”

She saw a
Hot
note taped onto the glass enclosure of the fireplace and met Tig's eyes, then quickly looked away.

Tig pulled the note free. “What do you mean he doesn't want you?”

“Phil's been twitchy ever since I got pregnant.” Wendy shrugged. “He says he'll always help financially, but that's where it ends for him.”

“I'm sorry, Wendy.”

“He's a dick.” With a resigned sigh, Wendy shrugged. “Wait, no. He's not really a dick. This baby was an accident. A happy one for me, but it's just the opposite for Phil. He always said, ‘No children.'”

“You're more understanding than I would be,” said Tig.

Wendy smoothed her T-shirt over her stomach, as if that went without saying between sisters with a long, muddy path of differing personalities and conflicting opinions. “You know what gets me?” she said. “I always judged unplanned pregnancies. Thought they were for Catholics and ridiculously naive or irresponsible high school kids. Remember Misty from my class?”

“Yeah, she had some crazy kind of name. What was it? Misty Lawn and Garden or something.”

“No,” Wendy laughed, “it was Misty Morning Meadow. We called her 3M, and once she had the baby we called her M&M. We weren't very funny.”

“Didn't she get decrowned from Homecoming Queen?”

“Yeah. Those were the days. Now, I hear pregnancy in high school is a status thing.”

The two sisters sat with their dissimilar memories of high school between them—Tig the serious, smart one, and Wendy the fearless butterfly. Tig said, “So, nine months and no word about this to your family?”

“I was worried you'd disapprove.”

“I'm not so hard as all that, Wendy. That hurts.”

“This would never have happened to you.”

“That's the problem, isn't it?”

An elephant-like blast from the neighborhood trombone player cut through their conversation. Wendy fidgeted, putting a few more inches of distance between her and Tig. “I've always used the diaphragm and it's been a great goalie for me. I suppose after a while, you add common user error to Olympic-caliber sperm and you get a baby.” Wendy touched her face. “I guess, like everything, it's a numbers game. You have sex a million times, and you'll eventually have to confront the purpose of that act in the first place. Forget all the positions and the oils, it is for baby-making, after all.

“You can't win if you don't play.”

“Well, I won big time.” Wendy's smile had a wryness to it. “You probably don't believe this, you being the rule follower.”

“Maybe you could stop taking swipes at me and just tell the story, okay?”

Wendy closed her eyes. “The thing is, I feel like I did win. I mean sure, I lost Phil, but look what I'm gaining. A whole human being, all folded up in my own little cup holder, ready to unfold and go to college.”

Tig lowered herself to sit on the floor and Thatcher came padding over, panting her winning smile. She scratched the black dog's ears. “You think you can manage this on your own?”

With a steely gaze, Wendy said, “Yeah, I think I can manage this. Maybe Mom didn't think I could manage her affairs when she gave you her power of attorney, little sister, but don't worry. I can manage this.”

The old roles and unjustified labels sprang forward: good girl, wild child. Tig shook her head. “Come off it, Wendy. I have power of attorney because I live here. It wasn't a commentary on your abilities. You are the older sister. I concede.” Tig busied herself with the leftover adhesive from the note on the fireplace, scraping off the stickiness with her fingernail.
Hot
. Thatcher exhaled a profound sigh as if even she was tired of this old game of king of the hill.

“That's all about to change.” Wendy's voice wavered like the tiniest twig in a summer breeze. “I'm able to travel because I'm staying. It's not traveling. I'm moving. I'm moving here. I don't have any place to really go, just yet.”

Tig looked at her sister, her beautiful skin, her long eyelashes, and saw in a flash her older sister again, holding her hand, helping her on the bus. In that second Wendy looked like the puzzle piece that could fit into the Pete-shaped hole in her life. Now that Wendy had her own Phil-shaped hole, it felt even to Tig. “Wendy that's wonderful. It's perfect timing. We'll have to clean Mom's room, carve out space for you. I've often dreamed of you living closer, being around more.”

A mix of relief and embarrassment washed over Wendy's face. Then, in a rush, she said, “I actually thought Phil might change his mind. You know, love me so much that he wouldn't give us up. It was clear he was trying, but the bigger I got, the more he was obviously failing, so I just packed and came here.” She absently scratched the lowest part of her belly. “It's ironic, isn't it? I get so mad at you for being the perfect, responsible sister, and at the first hint of trouble I do what everyone does, run to you.”

Tig shook her head. “Not everyone runs to me. Pete and I are finished.”

“Really? Huh. Well, you guys weren't that serious.”

“What makes you say that? We were serious. I was going on sabbatical with him.”

“It just never seemed like you felt all that strongly about him.”

“I loved him!”

“Loved?”

“
Love
him.” More quietly, Tig said, “I do love him. I just . . . .” Her voice trailed off. Starting again, she said, “I left my job for him.”

“That's no big sacrifice, is it? You weren't that crazy about that job, either.”

“Either? No, Wendy. I loved him and my job. It's just that sometimes the clients are so exhausting.”

“Careful, Dr. Monahan, your judgment is showing.”

“Look, some of the couples I see are really difficult.”

“Bitches.”

“You don't understand.”

“Sounds like you needed a break.”

“It appears you are not the only one who thinks so.”

Silence sat between them, until finally Tig confessed, “I'm jealous of you being pregnant. Pete and I talked about marriage and kids. I mean, we did it in a fantasy way.”

Wendy lifted her belly an inch and shifted in her chair.

Tig said, “I used to say I wanted our children to have his eyes, attitude, and legs, and he would laugh and say he hoped our girl would be as strong as me. It was a compliment. At least I thought it was. I guess strong is a synonym for boring.” Wendy looked like she was going to say something, but Tig continued, “Do you know how long it's going to take me to find someone new and right? To even get to the place of having children? Let's talk about something else. What about your job?”

“Teeth are everywhere and good dental hygienists are not. I have connections and good references. No worries. But the really good news is that I have plenty of money.” Wendy shrugged at Tig. “Phil's an amazing money manager. He invested my whole salary while we lived together and it's all mine now. Plus, he's loaded and feeling really guilty about this whole thing. I guess the lesson learned here is that if you're going to become an unwed mother at thirty-eight, at least choose someone with money skills to supply the sperm.”

Tig said uncharitably, “Well, that's something.”

“Say what you want about Phil. That's more than just something.” Wendy headed straight into the fray. “So fill me in on everything. What's happening?”

“He came home suggesting that I take a little time before following him to Hawaii, and added that he wasn't that into me. I blew the hell up at a difficult patient, left my job, and can't seem to settle Mom in her new place. I may or may not have a new job, and I can't seem to get enough sleep. So, if you were thinking being with Tig is going to be awesome, think again. Nothing about me is awesome.”

Wendy pushed back in her chair. “Is my being here too much? I can get my own place. I just thought . . . .”