The Spinster Sisters

by Ballis, Stacey

  The first is from Abbot.

  Hey honey, happy new year. New Buffalo is great, wish you were here.

  The second is from Ben.

  Hpe ur pty is gd. HNY.

  The boy writes in license plates.

  No messages from Connor. I pause. Then I dial his cell number. It rings six times before he picks up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, you. Happy New Year.”

  “Hi. Happy New Year to you. How’s the party?”

  “Good. Too much food, too much drink, typical. How are the boys?”

  “Too much sugar, too much Xbox, too many Vin Diesel movies.”

  “What time are Michael and Peg due back?”

  “They said by one or so.”

  I take a deep breath. “Wanna come over instead of going home?” I can’t help it. Despite Abbot’s attentions the other night, I find that tonight, it is Connor I’m missing, and I’m feeling very much as if I am ready to move that relationship forward physically, even if it means I have to let go of something else.

  Connor pauses. “That’s a very tempting offer, but I’m going to have to take a rain check. These guys are wearing me out, and I’ve got that thing tomorrow. But Tuesday night for sure. I’ve got good plans for us.”

  “Okay, just a thought.”

  “I like the way you think. Hold the thought for a day, will ya?”

  “I will.”

  “Hey, you’re missing the movie!” I hear a distinctly female voice muffled in the background.

  “I’m coming,” Connor says. “Jodi, I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath as I hang up the phone. Who the hell was that? And why do I get the sense that she is the thing he is doing tomorrow?

  I head back out to my living room, where everyone is getting ready to go.

  “Good night everyone, thanks for letting us old birds come to your party,” Aunt Shirley says, making a round of kisses.

  “Oh pish, Shirley,” Ruth says. “We keep things lively.”

  “That you do,” Tim says, kissing her cheek. “I’d adopt you both if I could.”

  “And you aren’t even Chinese!” Raj says, making us all laugh. “It’s not funny! He’s been leaving articles about foreign adoption all over the house!”

  “It isn’t my fault I’m not wedded to the old-world way of doing things,” Tim says, waving Raj off. “This one still thinks we’ll find the perfect Hindi lesbian to continue the Bijanali bloodine.”

  “Hey, in just five months you guys can start arguing about kids!” Matt says, clapping Hunter on the shoulder.

  “Oh, Lord. Don’t even get him started,” Jill says, stepping between them. “It’s hard enough dealing with Groomzilla over here on the infinite wedding details. I shudder to think about what I’m in store for when it’s time for kids!”

  “I can’t help it if I want the day to be perfect!” Hunter says in his own defense and with an air of weariness. “After all, the perfect bride deserves the perfect wedding, even if the groom is the only one who seems to care.”

  “Yeah, except I keep waiting for you to come home and tell me that your colors are blush and bashful!” Jill says.

  “Shirley, let’s get the hell out of here before it becomes a daytime drama.” Ruth takes her by the hand and drags her toward the door.

  “Wait up, ladies, we’ll escort you home,” Tim says, and he and Raj each offer them an arm.

  “Okay, buddy. You keep these gals in line.” Matt gives Hunter a hug.

  “Thanks again. It was a great night.” Shelly gives me a hug.

  They head out, and Jill and Hunter and I flop down on my couch, Jill and I simultaneously kicking off our shoes. Jill puts her feet in Hunter’s lap, and he dutifully begins to rub them.

  “Another triumph!” he says.

  “True enough,” Jill says. “Jodi, the cake was amazing.”

  “Well, your double-baked potatoes were perfect.” Hard to go wrong with potatoes, sour cream, and cheddar cheese.

  “I think we could have served old shoes next to Aunt Shirley’s roast and no one would have noticed,” Jill says, rubbing her belly.

  “No kidding!” Hunter says. “How the hell did she get it so perfect? Brown and crispy on the outside, but pink and juicy all the way through, right to the very edges.” Hunter sighs.

  “She is a miracle worker,” I say. “Were there any leftovers?”

  “She made a smaller second roast and left it in my fridge for tomorrow,” Jill says. “She knew we’d want to make sandwiches for the game. Are you coming down?” Jill and Hunter have some of Hunter’s poker buddies and their girlfriends coming over to watch the football game tomorrow.

  “Yeah, I’ll come down. Can I bring anything?”

  “No, I think we have everything we need,” Jill says.

  “Um, Jodi . . .” Hunter says.

  “Yeah?”

  “Could you do that Ro*Tel Velveeta thing you make?” He asks sheepishly.

  “Oh, Hunter, don’t you remember last time?” Jill admonishes him.

  I made the simultaneously very delicious and totally disgusting cheese dip for our Fourth of July party last year. Hunter ate so much of it that he shat orange for three days.

  “I won’t have that much again, I promise,” he says.

  “I’ll bring it; you ignore her.”

  “Thank you, Sis-to-be.” Hunter gets up. “You guys sit. I’m going to go downstairs and finish tidying up.” Jill moves as if to get up. He pushes her back down. “Nuh-uh, princess. You guys did all the prep work. I’m on the final round of cleanup.”

  “You’re a god among men,” she says, sinking back down gratefully.

  “I try. Happy New Year, Jodi. See you this afternoon.”

  “Good night, little brother. Happy New Year.”

  “Good night, Monkey Ears,” he says. Jill shakes her head.

  “Keep working,” I say.

  “Oh well.” He closes the door behind him. I turn back to Jill and smile. “He’s a keeper, kiddo.”

  “That he is. Did you have fun tonight?”

  “It was fine. A good party. I really like Matt and Shelly.”

  “Me, too. I’m sorry all your boys bailed.”

  “Yeah, well. It’s my own fault. I waited too long to make plans.”

  “Because you were waiting for Connor,” she says knowingly.

  “Because I thought he’d be the best fit for the party, is all.”

  “Because you wanted him to be here. God, Jodi, there’s nothing wrong with liking this guy!”

  “I never said I didn’t like him.”

  “But you won’t admit that you like him differently than the Father or the Son. Come on, this is me here. You can’t fool me. Sure, Abbot and Ben have their charms, but Connor has gotten under your skin. And you wanted him to be here with you because you wanted him with you, not because he would fit better with us.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter whether that is the case or not,” I say with more vehemence than I intended.

  “Why? What’s up?” Jill sits up and crosses her legs underneath her.

  “I called him on his cell. Invited him to come over after Michael and Peg came home tonight. Thought I’d give him a little late-night New Year’s treat.”

  “And?”

  “Well, he said he was going to be too tired, and we have plans for Tuesday anyway, but then . . .”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I heard some girl tell him he was missing the movie, and he said he had to go. And he has some mysterious plans tomorrow that I’m not invited to.”

  “So?”

  “So?!? So, it doesn’t matter how much I like him or don’t like him. He clearly has other fish to fry.” I know I’m pouting, but I can’t help it. Jill starts to laugh.

  “You are the best,” she says. “Do you hear yourself? You’re all pissed that he has some girl over there for New Year’s, even though he invited you first. But after h
e turned you down, you invited two other guys, in case you’ve forgotten, to join you here! And you’re mad at both of them for making other plans, even though they both also asked you for plans first. You’re ridiculous! You make this whole big stink about your relationships being nonexclusive, but apparently you only mean for you . . . They’re all supposed to be at your beck and call!”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Jodi, I love you truly, madly, deeply, but be honest. You like having your little gaggle of guys. Makes you feel all wanton and powerful. But one of those guys is not like the others, and you can’t admit it!”

  “You’re totally off base. And besides, I’d better keep my gaggle of guys, or we’ll be out of a job.” Oops.

  “What the hell does that mean?” she snaps.

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  Her jaw drops. “Are you thinking about what Raj and Tim were saying?”

  “They have a point. I mean, we have set ourselves up as the icons for single girls. One of us had better stay single, don’t you think?”

  She leans over and takes my hand. “What I think is that we have the success we have because we do it together and because our hearts are in the right place. And I hope that you don’t ever make your personal life a business decision. You and I can do anything we set our minds to, and our business will grow and change as our lives move forward. My life is so much better with Hunter in it, and I know that the happier he makes me, the better I will be at home and at work. And I hope that when you meet the guy who can make you happy like that, whether Connor is that guy or if he is just on the horizon, that you will let go of the persona you think you have to have and just let yourself embrace that happiness. I know you are concerned about the fallout. I’m doing my best to get us through it. But at the end of the day we have to trust in our message and our intentions and let the chips fall where they may.”

  And even though I can’t really believe her, I also can’t give in to the desire to yell at her for getting married and potentially spoiling everything we’ve worked so hard for. So I fake acquiescence. “Ignore me. I know you’re right; I’m just pouting. And I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m going to bed.” She gets up, walks over, and kisses the top of my head. “Good night, Butthead.”

  “Good night, Moose Face. Happy New Year.”

  “You, too. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. I’ll see you when I get up.”

  “You got it.”

  She crosses the room and leaves.

  I swig the last of the champagne out of the bottle and take my sorry self to bed. Alone. Where I try not to think about Connor and who he might be sleeping with.

  The Holy Ghost

  Look, we’re not saying he doesn’t care about you; we’re just saying that you may have unrealistic expectations of what he may be capable of in this relationship. And more importantly, why are you waiting around for him to start doing the things you want to do? Make the plans, set the dates, organize the events. Then invite him to participate or not as he chooses. But don’t sit on your butt and wait for it to all be his idea.

  —Advice given to a caller by Jill Spingold, May 2006

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say, sliding into the booth across from Hunter at the Firehouse. “Where’s Jill?”

  “Running late. She said you’d know what to order for her, and that she would be here in twenty minutes.” He grins and shakes his head. “She’s stuck in traffic on her way back from the hotel.”

  “I forgot she was setting up the block of rooms for the out-of-town guests today.”

  “She wanted to take a final tour of the suites for my folks. For some reason she’s certain they won’t be good enough.” Hunter runs his hands through his hair. “I know they’re sort of insufferable. I keep trying to tell Jill she can’t be so worried about them; they’ll find something to pick at regardless.”

  “Jill can’t help wanting to be good to your family, Rusty; she loves you, and they come with you.”

  “Well, I just don’t want her to feel like I expect it of her. I love them in spite of themselves, but I don’t go out of my way for them; it’s never worth it.”

  “I think as long as you stand up for her and make it clear that they have to treat her with respect, you’ll all be fine,” I say and reach for a menu.

  The waiter comes over, and we order three Caesar salads, a grilled grouper for Jill, pork chops for Hunter, and a steak for me.

  “Where’s Connor, anyway?” Hunter asks after the waiter leaves to get our bottle of wine. “Wasn’t he supposed to be coming tonight?”

  “Pipe burst in one of his new projects. He’s going to try to meet us in time for the play.” I’m trying to be light about it, but I’m sort of miffed. We set this double date ages ago, and I pulled in a favor to get house seats for the current production at Goodman.

  “That’s too bad. Doesn’t he have a foreman to handle that sort of thing?”

  Exactly my thinking when Connor called. “I think these projects are his babies, and when something this big happens, it would make him too antsy to not be there knowing it was getting fixed properly.” I hope.

  The fact is, Connor has been running sort of hot and cold since New Year’s. He came to a small cocktail party Jill and I had at the office to celebrate our one hundred and fiftieth broadcast late enough that most of the guests had gone home. And then he didn’t call me for four days. But last weekend he surprised me with an indoor picnic dinner at his house, followed by one of those amazing nights where you fool around and talk and laugh and fool around again and suddenly the sun is up and neither of you are tired of talking or kissing. Then we slept in and went to the weekly Sunday brunch at his folks’ house, and I got to do some bonding with his mom in the kitchen, and apparently impressed his dad with my expansive knowledge of football. The day was perfect, kidding around with the brothers and playing with everyone’s kids, and meeting Jack’s new girlfriend, Christmas Eve Andrea having been replaced already. It felt so natural and connected, I started to think that if he brought up the idea of exclusivity that I might be up for giving it a shot, but then he dropped off the face of the earth for most of this week and now was skipping dinner in lieu of checking in on work. And what is worse, even though the petting is amazing, he never even asks to go further, and we haven’t talked about taking the next step, which is making me think that maybe he isn’t all that attracted to me after all. I know that if we take that step, it will mean letting go of Abbot, but just when I think I’m ready to give Abbot up for the promise of something more meaningful with Connor, Connor pulls a Houdini act.

  “Is everything okay there?” Hunter asks, probably picking up on my false cheeriness.

  “I think so. I hope so. Did you ever go out with someone who kept vacillating between really present and totally absent?”

  “Yeah. Once. In college I went out with this girl who was completely amazing when we were together. Great conversation, liked all the same stuff, laughed a lot, great sex. But then she’d sort of check out for a few days after our dates. Once we spent a whole weekend together, and I thought it was a sign that we were really getting serious, but then she blew me off for almost two weeks afterward. Curt phone calls, too busy to see me, that sort of thing. But then she’d finally agree to see me, and it would be the best date ever.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Eventually I asked her for more time, more commitment, and she said she couldn’t do more than she was doing, so I broke up with her.”

  “Did she say why she couldn’t do more?”

  “No. But I think it was that she didn’t want to do more. To make more of an effort.”

  Which is what I’ve been afraid of.

  “Hey,” Hunter says, noticing my lack of response, “we were in college. A nineteen-year-old doesn’t exactly have a business to run or a family to be responsible to or any of the pressures of adult life. I’m sure that Connor isn’t doing t
hat.”

  “I wish I were sure.”

  “You really like him, huh?”

  “Yeah. I just, I don’t know, I feel very connected to him when we are together. He’s the first guy since my divorce that I even have remotely considered having potential.”

  “Can I ask you something personal?” Hunter asks, chewing on a piece of bread.

  “Hey, you’re almost family. Shoot.”

  “Is there any chance that you feel like that about him because he is sort of wiggly?”

  I laugh. Hunter has a very interesting way of expressing himself. “Wiggly?”

  “Well, look, you have created your world around this idea of being footloose and fancy-free when it comes to dating, right?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “I mean, you’ve probably dated seven different guys in various configurations just in the time I’ve known you. Right?”

  I think back, and mentally check guys off, going backward chronologically to the office project. “Eight, actually.”

  “Right. And never only one at a time except for some brief weeks between letting one go and acquiring his replacement.”

  “Well, that sounds a lot more calculated and businesslike than I would like, but I suppose it’s reasonably accurate.”

  Hunter pauses to sip the wine the waiter has poured, and nods his approval before continuing. “Is it possible that, even subconsciously, you are letting yourself feel more for this guy than all the others precisely because he is the least likely to be interested in a commitment?”

  “You mean, am I sabotaging myself?”

  “Well, let’s look at the current roster. Abbot is using patience and charm and a large floral budget to slowly woo you into submission. Ben wants you to have his children . . .”

  “My sister has a big mouth.” I pretend to be offended.

  “Your sister hasn’t told me anything you’ve asked her to keep secret.”

  “True enough. Please continue.” I take a sip of the lovely Barolo that Hunter chose and wait for his diagnosis.

  “Connor is, as you say, there when he is there, but sometimes isn’t so attentive. So, of the three guys you’re dating, you’re most interested in the one who is showing the least interest in more than what you have. Is it possible that you’re a little gun shy on the commitment thing and are purposely letting yourself fall for the guy who is least likely to step up? You know, for safety’s sake.”