by Lacy Camey
Chloe and I were like Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen. We were totally twins in our sorority house at UT Austin. We were the best of friends. No, we didn’t look like twins but I swear, we knew each other’s thoughts.
She was dressed in yellow rain boots, cut-off denim shorts, a plaid shirt rolled up over her arms and belly, showcasing her perfectly tanned skin. Her auburn hair with its perfectly placed highlights tumbled down her shoulders.
I squealed with delight. “Chloe!” I hugged her. “You’re here! What the heck? And you’re in rain boots! Look at this outfit.” I laughed.
“Listen, it seriously is raining a few miles out. Heading this way, it looks like. And I was cold. And well, it’s summer, and I know it’s East Coast here, but hey, a girl just has to wear shorts when she’s worked so hard on this tan and these legs!”
“Oh, thank God,” I muttered.
“What?”
“You said rain is heading this way. Thank God! Maycee wants me to train for a marathon with her. Come in, silly!” I motioned for her to come in.
She walked through the marble entryway and checked herself out in the antique mirror that covered an entire wall. “I just love antique, floor-to-ceiling mirrors.” She adjusted her flannel shirt. “Oh, marathon, huh? Guess that means I’ll be training, too,” she said in little girl fearful apprehension as she followed me to the kitchen. “Would you look at this place? Look at the view.”
Windows from floor to ceiling in the kitchen, living room, and sitting area were framed with cedar wooden beams, giving the home a French country vibe. The summer home really was a sight to new guests and even old guests, like me. I loved it and appreciated the view daily.
“Very inspirational here. I can see why you and Maycee just love being here.”
I led her to the kitchen bar, and she sat down and placed her bag next to her.
Coco ran in with the excitement of a new guest.
“Look how cute this little pup is!” She bent down to pick her up as Coco profusely licked her face. “And look at her precious collar! In calligraphy! And her adorable outfit! You have such style, Norah. Did you make this?”
“Of course.” I smiled proudly.
She touched the fabric, admiring the feel. “Is this satin?”
“Yep.” Her expression said it all. “I know, a bit overboard, but I wanted her to enjoy the soft feel. She’s my baby, after all. Girl, when I have a real child, you know she’s going to be dressed like a princess! Coco is the closest thing I have right now.”
“Wow. Well, this is impressive! Coco’s wearing Coco couture,” she said in a baby voice, and kissed Coco on the head. Coco wagged her tail harder.
“Thanks.” I smiled like a proud mother. Coco Couture. I liked it. I really felt maternal toward the little puppy, as if my life had suddenly taken on new meaning. I hadn’t taken care of an animal in years, but my heart would instantly warm just at the look of her. She needed me, depended on me, and I was determined to take the best of care of her. She was going to be the best-dressed dog in the world with my fashion designs. Funny, how when you started taking care of something, it did something inside of you.
“So. You’re here!” I realized I was thirsty and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. I handed Chloe one without even asking. I knew she would be thirsty. I didn’t see her holding a water bottle, and she always had one, or a thermos, something; she couldn’t stand not being hydrated. Hence, her perfect, luminous skin…
“Yeah, so-o-o,” she began. “You know how I just adore your mother. She’s practically like one of my own best friends.”
Yes, it was true. My mom and Chloe were a lot alike, both charming, sweet, and caring. Just being around them instantly made you feel cared for. Totally maternal. They had met during my freshman year at college when mom flew down to see my indoctrination ceremony for the same sorority she had pledged when she was at the University of Texas, which was where she met my dad. That was also why my devastating breakup with Truett wasn’t just detrimental, but wrong. I had thought I was following in my mother’s footsteps with some sort of blessing from the sorority gods.
Anyway, Chloe and my mom hit it off from day one. My mom became sort of like another mother to her, in a way, because Chloe’s mom, Mrs. Socialite of the South, had her agenda and meetings filled from dawn to dusk. It was sort of hard for Chloe just to call up her mom and say, “Hey, Mom, I’m at Sephora and this totally awesome bronzer is here.” Not only did her mom have a makeup artist and hair stylist at her beck and call every morning, but her reply would be, “Fabulous, darling. Want me to tell Vivian?” Vivian was her assistant. “Because she needs to know those things. Look, I have to go. If you need something, you know Albert or Elizabeth can assist you.” They were her other assistants. “Otherwise, see you at tea tomorrow morning. Love you. Kiss Kiss. Ciao.” That was how Chloe’s life had always been. Her mom was “her mom,” but she had been raised by nannies, groomed from infancy to follow in her mother’s footsteps and maybe even become a First Lady. I felt for her. It seemed like her marriage would practically be an arranged one. What era were we living in, the 1700s?
Her mom was from England. High-class society. She had married her father, the great Texas Governor, Edward Banks, whose family “had family, who had family” in oil. What was I saying? Um, rich. An oil tycoon dynasty. How ironic that their last name was Banks, as in they were banking, all right.
“Anyway,” she said. “I called your mom and talked with her about a few things. About, well-“
“Is that Chloe?” my sister exclaimed, as she walked down the Italian-tiled hallway from our bedrooms back to the kitchen, her blue eyes beaming.
“Yes, ma’am!” Chloe said in her southern charm, as she got off the stool and hugged my sister.
“Look at you! You look like a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader! So, did Norah tell you we’re training for a marathon?” Maycee let go of the embrace to show me what she had found on her iPad. It was an elaborate chart detailing the gruesome task of running miles and miles.
Fun. Not.
“Today, we run two miles,” she said matter-of-factly. “Did you bring your running shoes? Oh, of course you did. Mom already told me. Isn’t that so exciting, Nor?” She looked my way.
Huh?
I held up my hand. “What? No! I don’t know what’s going on because it’s like a Gilmore Girls episode here with so much dialogue happening and everyone interrupting. What’s going on, Chloe?”
“Okay, long story short-“ Chloe began.
“She’s living with us this summer,” my sister interrupted. Oh, did I mention that my sister gets a little impatient at times? Must be the first-born, birth order thing where the first-born loves to take charge.
“What?” I was shocked. “For real? What about your nursing job?”
“Well-” she began to explain, but I immediately started jumping up and down, squealing, and then hugged her.
“Oh, my gosh! Are you serious? That’s so exciting! How come no one told me?”
“Well, we wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Mom and Dad knew?”
They both smiled and nodded.
Man, God must really have been answering my prayers to heal quickly because my life sure was looking a lot better than it had two weeks ago.
Suddenly, we heard a crack of lightning. We looked outside.
Thank you, God.
“Okay, hurry! Nor, Chlo, go change. We have to run before it rains, and before it gets later,” Maycee commanded like a drill sergeant, as she put her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher.
“What? Seriously?” I groaned.
“Yes!”
Chapter Three
There we were, ten minutes later, trying to beat the rain heading our way, trying to run, and trying to dodge lightning. Not smart. Leave it to Maycee; she always wanted results no matter the price. She definitely proved the theory that many first-borns became CEOs. Headstrong persistence.
We were walking at a me
dium pace when I decided to say, “Um, Maycee. I haven’t run in months.” Yeah, I should have said that in the house.
“You’ll be fine!” she assured me.
“You know, if lightning strikes anywhere near us, I’m running back to the house in a split second. Just warning you,” Chloe said.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I added.
But then, I retracted my statement because, suddenly, as if heaven opened up and a beautiful ray of sun served as a spotlight on a center stage, the hottest guy I had ever seen was running our way. He had perfectly tanned skin, and the face of an angel, a hot angel. He was the kind of man who had statues made in his honor. That gorgeous!
If only things could stay in slow motion forever.
We all grew speechless as we tried to pick up our jaws off of the sand. We took a moment of silence. He smiled, winked at us, and ran right past. Perfect smile, perfect hair, perfect everything.
“Hey! You’re like practically engaged, woman. You shouldn’t stare so much,” I said, as I flapped at my sister’s arm.
“Okay, is it me, or did that guy totally look like… well, an above-legal-age Taylor Lautner?”
“With perfect Keith Urban hair,” I added.
“And the perfect werewolf abs,” Maycee finished. “You know, he probably uses a flat iron.”
“Yeah, of course,” Chloe said, as if it was common knowledge.
“I swear I’ve seen him before, somewhere. I think I saw him three weeks ago at the counseling center,” I said after much thought. “It was in the elevator, and it was my first day to see Doctor Hood. I never forget a face. He was on the same floor I was getting off on.”
“Really?” Maycee asked.
“What would he need counseling for?” Chloe asked.
“Okay, let’s start jogging,” my sister ordered. So we began.
“He looks so perfect, maybe he’s one of those people who are never satisfied with how they look,” Chloe guessed.
“Yeah, maybe he’s depressed because he can’t get an eight pack,” Maycee answered. Chloe and Maycee laughed. But I continued to run with my same annoyed expression, not laughing.
They looked over at me when I didn’t join the laughter. I was usually one to laugh easily.
“Why aren’t you laughing? You know that’s funny.” Maycee asked.
I was already huffing and puffing, and then I just quit running. I knew it had been like seven seconds, but my side hurt.
They stopped and both asked, “What’s wrong?”
“My side hurts,” I said defensively. “I’m just not in the mood to laugh. This walk may help my thighs get rid of cellulite I gained from doing nothing for weeks, even months. But I can’t stop thinking about him, the name not worth mentioning. Seeing that hot guy made me think of how athletic he was and-”
“First, what cellulite? You weigh like a hundred pounds, since for weeks you barely ate anything. Two, that’s okay, Nor. This is all still fresh. And you’re right. He isn’t worth mentioning. That scumbag. You should write all that pent-up anger down. Speaking of, how’s the journaling?” Leave it to my sister to ask.
“Ugh, seriously. Why can’t you just ghostwrite it for me? I don’t want to feel. I just want to create. I want to be numb. Let me just tell you a few things, and you write them down.” Thinking about all I had emotionally thrown up over her for the past few weeks, she could write and defend a full thesis on the matter.
“But then you couldn’t create, you see?”
“Gosh, you sound like the shrink,” I replied.
“I know you don’t want to feel anything. But if you don’t feel, you can’t heal. And you need to heal so you can finish your incredible line, Nor. You’ve worked for this your entire life. Don’t make me have to tell all the stories of your Barbie-making clothes with Granny’s print scraps again.” She put her arm around me.
Everyone was telling me to heal, that I had to heal, that I had so much to offer. The truth was, I wanted to offer the world whatever I could, but I felt like I couldn’t because I couldn’t forget him. And I desperately wanted to forget it all, to forget him. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t.
I dragged my toes on the sand. The air felt warm. I looked to Chloe’s easy, relaxed face. She was so happy. I looked to my right at Maycee. From the expression on her face, she seemed deep in thought.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked.
“It’s nothing.”
Here we go. She’d never been able to hold back. Any second now… and…
“Okay, well, since you asked. It’s just Josh. We got in this huge fight last night, and—” She stopped. “Sorry, Norah. Considering what’s going on and everything, are you sure you want to hear my problems?”
“Absolutely, I do!” I said a bit too eagerly. “In some sort of sick way, it helps me to hear about other people’s problems.”
“Well, Josh is great. I mean, he’s great.” She sounded like she was convincing herself with the inflection at the end of the sentence that made it sound more like a question.
I motioned for her to sit down. We sat just near the wet sand’s edge.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to be with someone like Dad. Funny, sweet to Mom, successful.” She laughed. “It’s funny how, out of all the residencies, he got into Dad’s.”
Yeah, that was coincidental. Um, probably not. I really needed to tell her how I felt.
“Well, he’s just being so short with me. He doesn’t care about what I like. Not even my writing.”
She picked up some sand and let it sift through her fingers. “I don’t think he’s ever read any of my children’s books. In three years. His excuse is, ‘I’m not a kid, May. I’m sure they’re great. That’s why you made the New York Times list.’ But-”
“Maycee, wait, hold up,” Chloe interjected. “That is so lame and not acceptable! He should be proud of you!”
“Yeah…” Maycee said slowly, in agreement with Chloe.
There was a long pause before Chloe finally said, “Okay, you two, no more of this! We’re going out, and that’s final!”
Maycee started to say something about it being Josh’s only night off.
“Blah, blah, blah. Too bad! Besides, it seems like he hasn’t been so great to be around lately. Give yourself a break. You deserve it.”
“You’re right,” Maycee relented with a sigh.
“We are going to go out and do something fun, and that’s final.”
Maycee and I looked at each other.
“We’re going painting,” Chloe announced.
Painting?
Chapter Four
I’d never been to a café where you painted and drank coffee or tea. It was fabulous. We each had our own canvas, dipping our brushes in paint, stroking, and feeling in touch with our inner thoughts already. Okay, maybe I was being a little dramatic. But no matter how unartistic someone thought they were, the moment you held the paintbrush and stared at the paint and blank canvas, even if you were the worst painter in the world, it was like you instantly felt more creative. Artsy. Even if you painted crap. It was like sitting in a symphony or play; you immediately felt heightened, enlightened.
“You know what, it’s final. I’m going to start writing again, starting now, starting tomorrow. I feel so free to paint on the canvas because there are no rules,” Maycee said thoughtfully.
“Well, it’s the same way with your writing. Write what you want,” Chloe encouraged.
“Not that easy. If I hear one more time, ‘The market is just too saturated with this story,’ I’ll just flip out! You know it’s been a pathetic three years since I’ve put a new book out! Well, I’ve had books but my stupid publisher… again, the famous ‘the market is…’”
“Seriously, ditch the publisher. Self publish. E-publish children’s books! Be ahead of the game. You can do it.”
“Hm, that’s smart. I like your ideas, Chloe.”
“Yeah, her dad isn’t the governor for no reason! B
rains run in the family,” I said proudly.
Chloe laughed half-heartedly, then got quiet and put her paintbrush down. Maycee and I exchanged a slight questioning look.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Yeah, some brains.” Chloe said.
“Her dad is a governor for a reason,” Maycee corrected.
I gave her the look that only sisters who are annoyed with each other can give.
“Which is why I’m here escaping the…“ Chloe began.
“Escaping the what?” I asked.
Chloe shook her head. “You two are so lucky. It’s like your parents… their expectations are a little lower.”
We both looked at her.
Um, wow. What?
“I mean, should I say, they’re more loving? Is that more acceptable?” She held up her finger, analyzing our parents like a scientist contemplates the creation of earth. Air, matter, combustion, God… “Or maybe it’s that they just want you to be happy doing whatever makes you happy. You know the saying, the best policy in relationships is to not have extremely high expectations.”
“Uh, you’re telling me,” I quickly retorted.
“Anyway, you know how my family is. You know what I’m saying. Hence, the reason I’m here now and not nursing.”
“Yeah, I was wondering when you were going to tell us the story,” I said.
“You never followed up with your question this morning.” She smiled.
“Oh, right. I’ve been a little preoccupied. Sorry, Chloe. Okay, dish,” I said sheepishly.
“Well, I took nursing in undergrad because basically it’s the same as pre-med. And, well, I knew there was no way my parents would go for me getting into pre-med.”
“Why? That doesn’t make sense.” Maycee seemed ready to give her just-dying-to-give-opinion on the matter and how to fix the problem.
“Look, it’s the same story over and over again. You guys just don’t get it because your family is different. There are these expectations for me to be like the perfect Garden Club, Rotary club, freaking breakfast club, not that there is one, politician’s wife. You know how my mom is. She believes a woman, well…“
