Sister Dear

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  I hesitated again, giving myself pause to think about what I was doing, infiltrating Hugh’s and Victoria’s lives. It didn’t take long for the thrill to sweep all the nagging whispers away. “Yes. I’ll be here.”

  “Fantastic. Excellent. Thank you, Eleanor.” Hugh sat back in his chair, looking as if he might collapse in a heap from relief. “Oh, before I forget—” he took a folded envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans “—here’s the deposit check from Victoria.”

  A shadow crossed his face but disappeared all too quickly. Maybe a trick of the light? I did my best to hold his intense gaze, thinking if there was ever a triple-threat combination of good looks, sophistication and brains, my brother-in-law had lucked out.

  Handsome, isn’t he? the voice inside my head whispered, and I squashed it flat. Thinking about Hugh that way was a thousand miles too far, no matter how much I thought I’d unleashed my darker side. “Thank you,” I said, “So, you were okay with the amount?”

  A smile. “Uh-huh. We can’t wait for your designs. It’s great to see Victoria excited.”

  I could’ve sworn I heard him add, “For a change,” under his breath but he got up, switching the subject to the weather as we walked to the front entrance, saying how he dreaded the winter and much preferred the cooler temperatures of spring and fall to the oppressive summer humidity.

  “Genie will get all of your access and login details sorted out for Tuesday morning,” he said when we got to the front door. “Again, thanks so much, Eleanor. You’re a lifesaver. Actually, Victoria said you contacting her was serendipitous.”

  “She said that?”

  “Yup, and I agree.”

  I left on a high, grabbed another ride-share, Victoria’s check tucked safely away in my bag. As tempted as I was to ask the driver to take me to a hairstylist, I decided I’d first find out from Hugh or Victoria who hers was. When I did, I’d make an appointment and maybe I’d have my hair colored, streaked and highlighted like hers.

  My next thought was whether Lewis would approve and I almost kicked myself. First of all, what did I care? And second, when had I ever pandered to a guy’s preferences? Wasn’t it exactly why at least two boyfriends had left me? Saying I was too cold, too distant—that I didn’t care enough about them or what they thought? In their defense, they’d been right, I hadn’t cared enough, but nor had I disintegrated into a blubbering mess when they’d said it was over.

  When I got home, I discarded the thoughts of what Lewis’s opinion of my hair might be, and changed into an old college sweatshirt and a pair of jeans I’d long abandoned hope of getting back into. As I sliced an apple, my phone buzzed with a new message from Lewis, and I wondered if I’d somehow set his ears on fire by thinking about him so much.

  Sorry I haven’t been around. Pipe burst @ studio. Major mess. Want to cash rain check? Free for dinner tonight?

  From nowhere, images of me straddling him and running my fingertips over his chest charged into my mind like a stampede of wildebeests.

  Your place or mine? I replied and, before I could stop myself, hit Send. Immediately all of my gutsiness performed a vanishing act worthy of its own headline show in Las Vegas. What the hell was I doing? I typed another message, fingers darting over the keys. Jk. What about Pump House on Wharf?

  It didn’t take long for his reply. Meet @ 7?

  I sent a thumbs-up along with a smiley face and put my phone down, my mind racing off into la-la fantasyland about Lewis taking me out for dinner. If I didn’t stop my daydreams, I’d let him become a distraction again, and there was no time.

  I wanted to finalize the details for Victoria’s site. Maybe take the designs and show them to Hugh on Tuesday, get his input before steering the conversation to Victoria, their history and secrets, although parts of me couldn’t help reprimanding me for my snap judgments about them. Perhaps Victoria wasn’t like Stan at all. Didn’t I owe it to her to at least give her a chance? She was family, after all. She was my sister.

  By five thirty I’d usually have stuffed my face with a bowl of predinner chips, but I hadn’t bought any and settled for three glasses of water instead, reminding my gut I was in charge, and again it complied. It was nothing to cry victory about. I’d been here many times before, and it ended up with me overeating again and putting back on any weight I’d lost, something my mother habitually remarked upon. For now, I decided, I’d enjoy the longer win.

  Showered, hair and makeup done, I swapped my college shirt for a purple V-neck sweater, added silver hoop earrings and a necklace with a camera-shaped pendant. Jacket, scarf and boots on, I checked my reflection in the mirror, surprised when I didn’t roll my eyes and look away. Perhaps my face was finally growing on me a little, I thought, smiling at the pun.

  My heart raced when I neared the restaurant, as it always did when faced with the prospect of speaking to people one-on-one outside of a work context where I couldn’t make technical chitchat. Unlike some, I fared better in crowds. They allowed for more space to hide.

  The Pump House, a two-level, low-key eatery with a dessert menu that could induce diabetes from a single glance, was already three-quarters full. The smell of roasted garlic and fresh basil hit me full-on when I walked in, and the floorboards creaked beneath my feet as the host accompanied me to a table near the far left corner. He handed me a menu and offered a glass of water. I readily accepted, gulping half of it down before he turned his back.

  I was ten minutes early, a habit I’d developed because it provided the opportunity to choose the seat facing outward, offering the chance to observe the room. The Pump House’s tables stood close together, the one next to ours occupied by two women my age, whose clothes suggested dinner was a pregame before a night of fun at a club. As I took off my jacket, I listened to their conversation about which Chris was hotter, Evans or Pratt.

  “It’s Captain America,” the one next to me said, wrapping a long strand of raven hair around her finger. “He can come save me from myself any day.”

  “Nuh-uh, it’s definitely dinosaur dude,” the other one answered, wagging a finger.

  “What about Chris Hemsworth?” I said. “Don’t forget him.”

  They turned and gave me a slow, deliberate once-over. “Excuse me, this is a private conversation,” the woman next to me said, rolling her eyes at her friend.

  “Oh, sure. Sorry. The tables are so close. I didn’t mean...”

  They’d already continued their conversation and I sank a little lower in my seat, grateful to see Lewis walking in through the front door. He lowered the hood of his coat, revealing a head of long, damp hair. He bent over to exchange a few words with the host and looked around.

  “Forget them both,” the girl next to me whispered to her friend. “Check out the guy who just walked in. Holy cow. Get me his number. Stat.”

  Lewis spotted me, waved and walked over. He slipped off his coat, his sweater clinging to his shoulders, biceps and the vastness of his chest and I wanted to sigh from the pure pleasure of looking at him. “Hey,” he said as he lowered himself into the chair across from me, resembling a beautiful golden giant. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

  “Not at all,” I said, only too conscious of the stares from the women sitting next to us, who had their mouths and eyes wide-open. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You, too. Really good.” He reached across the table and touched my arm.

  The girl next to me choked on her drink, coughing and spluttering into her napkin. “Are you okay?” I asked, and when I spotted her mascara traveling down her cheeks in little black streams, I dug in my bag for a pack of tissues. “Here, have one of these.”

  “I’m good,” she croaked, turning and arching an eyebrow at her friend.

  I made myself refocus on Lewis, silently telling myself their presence didn’t matter. Him sitting opposite me after asking me out to dinner did. “You
’ve been busy then?”

  “Oh, man, it’s been nuts,” he said, rubbing his chin. “But good nuts, mainly. My six-thirty slot at the gym was completely full so I opened another an hour earlier. Who knew so many people wanted to be bossed around at that time of the morning?”

  “And the burst pipe? Was it bad?”

  “Now, that was a complete nightmare. I managed to fix it. Got a friend who’s a plumber to help. Had to repair the drywall and repaint, though, once it dried. It’s all been keeping me out of trouble, plus I hired two new staff. Anyway, how about you? Did you get things sorted out with your client?”

  “What? Oh...yes. Everything’s great.”

  Our server came over, rattling off the specials. The shepherd’s pie and peas sounded delicious, but it was one of Dad’s favorites, and I didn’t think I could bear it. Besides, I was on a budget, and as my appetite had all but disappeared, I settled for a side salad with Cajun chicken.

  “That’s it?” Lewis said after ordering a steak. “You sure? You’ll waste away.”

  The woman next to me coughed again, and whether it had been directed at me or not, it still managed to liquefy my insides, stealing my confidence. I clung to it with both hands, scrambled to pull it back. I wouldn’t let it go, I would not. This was the kind of passive-aggressive crap I’d dealt with from preschool right through to university. The kind of shit my sister and mother dumped on me. Years and years of utter shit. Snide remarks, backhanded compliments, accusing me of being overly sensitive the few times I’d called them out.

  I shifted in my seat. All the water I’d drank had collected in my bladder, and I needed the bathroom, but as I was about to get up, the women next to us beat me to it. My initial plan was to wait until they came back, but I didn’t think I could. I counted to ten and excused myself to Lewis, planning to sneak into a stall without the women knowing I was there. I quietly opened the bathroom door and immediately heard their chitchat.

  “...the way she butted into our conversation. Like, seriously?” It was the voice of the one who’d been seated next to me. “And please say she’s his sister or something, or I’m eating carbs and sugar again.”

  “Tell me about it.” The other one laughed. “And what is she wearing?”

  “Was there a sale at Walmart?”

  “Like, maybe ten years ago?”

  The cackling grew louder and I retreated out the door, cheeks burning. I’d never be seen as an equal by those types of women. They’d always, always hold the power to make me feel inadequate. My mother’s voice floated into my head, Oh, Nellie. If only you made an effort. Ate less. Moved more. It’s not complicated.

  I slunk back to my seat, nodded when Lewis asked if I was okay, wondered why I’d agreed to meet him and what he saw in me. When I looked down, I noticed a roasted cherry tomato on the seat next to me. It must have rolled off a plate and landed there, neatly blending with the fabric’s colors and disappearing in the dim light. I was about to reach out and remove it when the women returned and I pulled my hand away. Fuck you, I thought. Fuck you both.

  They sat down and made a show of looking over the dessert menu before declaring they were “way too full” after a tiny salad and “couldn’t possibly eat another thing” because they were going to boot camp the next morning. Their pointed looks garnered no attention from Lewis, who didn’t glance their way. Mission abandoned, they paid their bill and stood up.

  “Oh, my God,” the one across from me declared as her friend took a step in front of her. “What’s on your skirt?” Cue pandemonium, high-pitched voices and abundant hand flapping.

  I tilted my head. “Oh, no. What a shame,” I said loudly, and tomato girl’s eyes met mine. “But you know what? I think I saw that exact skirt on sale at Walmart.”

  A look of confusion followed by the apparent realization of what I’d overheard spread across her face as if she’d contracted an instantaneous, vile and ugly rash. It suited her. She opened and closed her pouty lips a few times before grabbing the other woman’s hand and marching out, her coat still under her arm, the stain on her skirt on prominent display.

  “Jesus, talk about high-maintenance. Some people never leave high school, do they?” Lewis muttered and I wanted to leap over the table and hug him. Instead I said something about there being a long line before and bolted to the washroom, making it just in time.

  “Come on then, tell me what’s been going on with you,” he said after I got back and the server brought our food. After taking a bite of steak and making appreciative noises, Lewis continued, “You sure you’re okay? Your head’s all better?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I said, picking at my chicken. “Thanks again for chasing the guy off.”

  “You don’t need to thank me every time I see you.” Lewis grinned but then his face turned somber. He put down his knife and reached for my hand. “What about, you know, with your dad and...other dad? Are you all right?”

  I shrugged, trying not to move my hand for fear he’d let go. “It’s hard. I try not to think about it, if I’m being honest. Work’s keeping me busy. I’ve landed myself two contracts.”

  “Fantastic, congratulations. Who with, or is it top secret?”

  I hesitated, remembered how understanding and encouraging he’d been the other night when I’d opened up about my family woes. “It’s... Uh, it’s for Victoria.”

  Lewis’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head as he sat back. “Gallinger?”

  I shifted in my seat, tugged at the neck of my sweater as sweat pooled under my arms, and I wished I’d worn something lighter. When had it become so hot in here? “Yes.”

  “That’s amazing, Eleanor.” Lewis reached over and touched my hand again. “I’m so pleased for you. Wow. Did you meet? Was it weird?”

  “Yeah, it was, but she’s—” I shrugged “—actually she’s kind of nice.”

  “How badly did she freak out when you told her you’re sisters?”

  “Uh...”

  Lewis’s brow furrowed. “She knows, right?”

  “There really wasn’t a good time to bring it up,” I said quickly, deciding to stretch the truth a little. “We met at a coffee shop and got talking about her website for a new business...”

  “Yeah, I can see how that would sidetrack you. So, when do you think you’ll tell her?”

  “I don’t know, I mean, probably when I’m finished with the contract...”

  Lewis nodded, although I didn’t think the gesture was necessarily an indication of his approval. “You said you’ve got two contracts?”

  “Yeah, the other is with Bell Hops.”

  “The brewery? Their stuff’s great. A couple of my clients work for them. Who did you deal with? Maybe I know them.”

  “Hugh Watters. He...he’s Victoria’s husband.” I’m not sure why I told him. I think it was because I didn’t want to lie to him again, but when I saw the look on his face, I wished I had.

  “Hold on,” Lewis said with a shake of his head. “You’ve taken a contract with your half sister and you’re working for your... Well, I guess he’s your brother-in-law, but they don’t know you’re related?”

  Feeling as if I was being chastised like a naughty schoolkid at the principal’s office, I sat a little straighter in my chair. “Yeah, well, when you put it that way it sounds a bit bizarre, but it’s my business, isn’t it? In every sense of the term.”

  “Well, yes, of course. But...I’m not sure you should—”

  “Like I said, it’s my business.” I crossed my arms. I didn’t want him judging me, telling me what I could or couldn’t do. He barely knew me. What did he think? We’d shared some details from our past and now he had the right to criticize my choices, things which had nothing to do with him at all?

  “I’m just concerned for you, that’s all.”

  “You don’t need to save me, I’m not your mom,” I sna
pped.

  “Whoa, that’s not what this is about,” Lewis said quietly.

  “This has been great.” I fumbled in my bag for my wallet and pulled out a few bills, my cheeks burning. “I have to go. I’ve got work to do, despite your disapproval.”

  “Eleanor, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll get dinner, and at least finish your—”

  “I’ll see you around, okay? Have a good night.”

  As I walked out of The Pump House, and despite knowing I’d been rude, I wondered if he’d come after me, ask me not to leave or at least offer to walk me home. When we got back to the apartment, he’d take my hand before asking—and he would ask, because he was a gentleman—if he could kiss me.

  I kicked myself for the thought. I’d become a prickly human porcupine for a reason. I didn’t need him. Didn’t need anyone. For years I’d found people to be unkind, unreliable or downright indifferent, and it was far better being alone in the long run. Except this time, and as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, one thing stood in the way of my believing it. Victoria.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  WHEN I GOT HOME after deserting Lewis at The Pump House, I paced my apartment. Fifteen minutes later I heard him moving around upstairs, and fought the urge to go and apologize. In the cold light of my living room, I acknowledged I’d gone too far...although he had no right to judge my actions to begin with. He wasn’t in my position, didn’t know or appreciate all of my family history. But I’d given him details about my life. Therefore I’d invited his opinion, which is all he’d shared.

  Ultimately I wondered if it mattered. The way I’d spoken to him, I’d be surprised if he’d even wave if we bumped into each other again.

  I groaned and flopped on the sofa, wishing I could go back and not say anything about working for Victoria and Hugh, except it would’ve meant lying by omission, which was just as bad.

  To stop arguing back and forth with myself, I focused on Victoria’s designs. By the time I was happy enough to send them to her, it was well after midnight, so I shuffled off to bed, where I fell into a dreamless sleep, woken only once by an ambulance rushing past shortly after three. When my phone rang at nine thirty, I’d only been up a few minutes, had barely had time to switch the kettle on.