Home with My Sisters

by Mary Carter

  “You guys are weird.” Joy sauntered over to the windows overlooking the backyard.

  “Mom used to sing that,” Hope said. “Remember?”

  “Does it look like I remember?” Joy said. Faith looked at Hope and rolled her eyes.

  It was a crisp day. Hope predicted more snow would fall. Maybe today they could try out skating on the pond. This crew needed something to cheer them up.

  “It’s so peaceful,” Joy said.

  Thank God. Maybe she was starting to feel it. Maybe she was starting to recognize its importance. “Doesn’t it feel like home?” Hope said as she cracked an egg into the silver bowl.

  “No, it feels like the answer to my coffee shop,” Joy said.

  “Don’t start,” Faith said. “I haven’t even had coffee.”

  “See? If I had a coffee shop you could stop in and have some whenever you want.”

  “Who are you kidding?” Faith said. “You’d probably charge us double.”

  “A sister’s surtax,” Hope said.

  Joy turned around and treated them to a smug look. The only thing she was missing was her tongue sticking out. Hope wanted to fling pancake batter in her face. Maybe Faith was right—no talking without coffee.

  “How about you start practicing your skills?” Faith said to Joy.

  Joy crinkled her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Make a pot of coffee, dork,” Faith said. Hope laughed, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “This is why I hate spending time with you two,” Joy said. She grudgingly moved toward the coffeepot.

  “I’m not laughing at you,” Hope said. “I’m laughing at Faith. She used to call everybody a dork. I’d forgotten that.”

  “Finally, something I remember,” Joy said. “Didn’t she make a sign for her room that said ‘Stay Out Dorks!’ . . . ?”

  “She did!” Hope said. “It took me a week of puzzling over that sign to realize that Joy and I were the dorks.”

  Faith laughed. “Is that why you didn’t pay it any attention?” Faith glanced at the tree. “We need mood lighting.” She left the bacon sizzling, then hopped over to plug in the tree. The lights reflected in the window behind them, each color glowing back. The sun still wasn’t up, but the darkness was a comforting hush. Hope wanted to capture this moment forever, freeze it in time. If only that were possible.

  “Your boyfriend was asking me a lot of questions about Josh last night,” Faith said out of the blue.

  “Harrison?” Joy whirled around, as if ready for a fight.

  “Austin,” Faith said.

  Joy started the coffeepot gurgling and hopped onto the counter. She never was one for stools. “You and Austin?” she said to Hope.

  “Faith is just teasing,” Hope said.

  “Am not,” Faith said. “You have a total crush on him.”

  Joy pointed at her sister. “You still turn bright red when you’re lying.”

  “Shut up.” Hope lobbed enough butter in the pan to satisfy a hedonist.

  “Not saying I blame you,” Joy said. “He’s hot. For a white guy.”

  “I really like Harrison for you,” Hope said.

  “What do you mean ‘for me’?” Joy said.

  “I mean—he’s a nice guy.” Hope sighed. Why was it that Joy took every single thing out of her mouth as a hostile act? Sometimes it was just exhausting to be around Joy.

  “You’re supposed to be helping,” Faith said, eyeing Joy on the counter.

  “I made coffee,” Joy said.

  Faith thrust a bowl of apples at Joy. “Wash and cut these.”

  “I’ll check on the coffee,” Joy said. She hopped off the counter, stood in front of the coffeepot, and stared at it.

  Faith tried to engage Hope in a look, but Hope kept her eyes on the first batch of pancakes threatening to bubble in the pan. She didn’t want to gang up on Joy. But she did want apple pancakes in the next batch, so she headed for the apples. Just as Hope had reached the sink to wash them, Faith stepped in front of her.

  “Joy is going to do that.”

  “I don’t mind,” Hope said. She stepped left. Faith cut her off again. “Faith!”

  “I already asked Joy to do that.”

  “What is your problem?” Joy said. “I’m making coffee.”

  “No, you’re watching a coffeepot. The job is done. Move on to the next task.”

  Faith grabbed the bowl of apples. Hope didn’t loosen her grip. They played tug-of-war. “Let go,” Faith said.

  “What is your problem?” Hope said.

  “Same as yours,” Faith said. “It’s just what you were talking about.” Faith shot a look of disapproval Joy’s way. Oh no. Faith was going to get her in trouble. What had Hope said to Faith about Joy?

  “How’s that?” Joy asked.

  “We both think you’ve become a spoiled brat and we’re sick of it,” Faith said.

  “Oh God,” Hope said. “Why?” She let go of the bowl and Faith stumbled. An apple tumbled out and rolled across the floor.

  “Couldn’t wait to get together again to bash me down,” Joy said.

  “Those weren’t my exact words,” Hope said.

  “You want to talk about spoiled?” Joy said.

  “Let’s not,” Hope said. “Say, what do you two crazy girls want for Christmas?” Hope waved her wooden spoon in the air. Maybe she should grab a paper towel and make a little white flag. “Come on, guys, we’re supposed to be making breakfast for our dying grandmother here. Remember?”

  Joy stepped up to Faith and jabbed her index finger at her. “Josh is a walking time bomb. He hates everybody and everything. And Brittany is absolutely starved for attention.”

  Hope watched Faith’s nostrils flare. It was just as fascinating to watch as when they were teenagers. Gorgeous Faith would suddenly morph into a horse. A raging stallion. Her nostrils were the most expressive Hope had ever seen. “You have no right to judge my children.”

  “I’m not. I’m judging you.”

  “How dare you. I’m a good mother. You have no idea how hard it is.”

  “It must be. After all, you’re sneaking off every two seconds to take Xanax and make phone calls. Who are you calling? And where’s your husband? If your life is so freaking perfect—”

  Faith slammed the bowl down on the counter. “I never said my life was perfect. It’s not perfect. I’m not perfect. Are you happy?” Faith plucked an apple out of the bowl and lobbed it at Joy. She ducked and it hit Hope in the chest.

  “Ow,” Hope said. “Stop that.” She stomped back to the pancakes just as smoke curled up from the pan. Saved just in time. Someone would like them a little crispy. She began slipping them onto the spatula and dropping them on a plate.

  Joy stormed up to the bowl of apples and began gathering them in her arms. “You’re rich, you’re married, you don’t have to work, you have offspring as you remind us every single time we talk to you. Oh, boo hoo, what a tough life!”

  Hope whirled around. “I swear to God, if you throw those apples,” she said to Joy.

  “You’ll what?” Joy said. “Gang up on me along with Miss Perfect here?” Joy lobbed an apple at Hope’s head. She barely ducked in time. The apple whizzed by her and smacked against the window.

  “Oh my God, you’re going to break something,” Hope said.

  “I was aiming for your head,” Joy said. She held another apple up threateningly.

  “Cut it out!” Hope yelled.

  “I’m getting a divorce.” Faith’s voice cut through the air.

  Hope had been poised to pour the next round of batter into the pan. Instead of making separate little circles, she was so startled she just dumped the entire thing in the pan. “Faithy,” Hope said. She put down the bowl and approached Faith, who was separating greasy strips of bacon and hurling them at the pan.

  “The kids don’t know. Don’t you dare say a word.”

  “We won’t,” Hope said.

  “What did he do?” Joy said.r />
  “He married me,” Faith said.

  “Well, that was his first mistake,” Joy said. “But still.”

  “I’m the bad guy, all right? I’m the one having an affair.” Hope was about to respond, although she hadn’t quite figured out what to say—Ms. Perfect was having an affair?—when the sound of footsteps running along the upper hall echoed down. Faith’s head snapped up. So did Hope and Joy’s. They didn’t see anyone, but a few seconds later heard the sound of a door slamming.

  “Oh God,” Faith said. “It’s one of the kids. Oh God. They heard me.”

  “You don’t know that,” Hope said.

  “Of course she does,” Joy said. “Didn’t you hear the running and the slamming?” Hope gave Joy a dirty look. Joy stuck her tongue out.

  “Oh my God,” Faith said again. “What am I going to do?”

  “Who are you sleeping with?” Joy asked. She sounded way too excited for the details. Changing Joy was going to be a lifelong project.

  “Charlie,” Faith said. “I’m in love with Charlie.” She gave a little laugh. Joy looked at Hope and mouthed “Charlie?” Hope shrugged.

  “Does Stephen know?” Hope asked gently. She’d been so sure that Stephen had done something wrong she felt a little guilty.

  “He caught us on the living room sofa,” Faith said.

  “Awesome,” Joy said. Faith and Hope both looked at her sharply. “Oh, come off it. I happen to applaud a wild spirit. Stephen was too stuffy for you, and Hope—you said so yourself.”

  Oh God. None of them could keep their mouths shut. This was why they never got together. Hope suddenly had a hard time remembering why that ever bothered her.

  “Stephen is a good man, and a good provider, and a good father,” Faith said.

  “And yet,” Joy pointed out, “you’re sleeping with Charlie.”

  “I never said anything against Stephen,” Hope said.

  “You said he’s stuffy,” Joy said. “And closed-minded.”

  “Don’t you ever know when to shut your mouth?” Hope said. She turned her back on Joy. “Faithy. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Oh yes, you did,” Faith said. “Looks like you talk about both of us behind our backs.”

  “What about you two?” Hope said. “Just because you talk about me in front of my face you think that makes it okay?” Joy pulled her right arm back and hurled another apple across the room. It thunked against the wall, then burst open like a mini-grenade sending shards scattering before it smashed to the ground.

  “Those aren’t baseballs!” Faith said. “You’re so freaking immature.”

  “So?” Joy threw another one.

  “Stop it!” Faith screamed.

  “Something’s burning,” Faith said. Sure enough the big blob of a pancake had little stacks of smoke rising from its center. Hope lunged forward, turned off the stove, and removed the pan.

  “What in the world?” Yvette raced into the room. She could move really fast for someone in her condition. “Where’s the fire?”

  “We got it,” Hope said. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry, Granny,” Joy said. “We were trying to surprise you.”

  “Oh, I’m surprised all right. Didn’t know you were in that much of a hurry to kill me off.”

  Hope picked up the empty bowl from the counter and shoved it at Joy. “Pick up the apples before someone falls and breaks a hip.”

  “Is that a veiled reference to me?” Yvette said.

  “No,” Hope said. “Anyone could fall and break a hip.”

  “I might be riddled with cancer, but my bones are perfectly strong, thank you very much,” Yvette said.

  “I’m sure they are,” Hope said.

  Joy snatched the bowl out of her hands. “There’s coffee,” she called to Yvette. “I made it myself.”

  Brittany and Josh stomped down the stairs. Faith looked stricken. From their expressions, both of them knew about Faith’s affair by now.

  “Who wants crispy pancakes?” Hope said.

  CHAPTER 21

  The breakfast was a disaster. Faith wouldn’t stop chattering at Josh and Brittany. Hope watched, fascinated as her sister turned into a deranged parakeet, flapping her clipped wings and chirping nonsense. “Did you hear us down here?” she asked.

  Brittany squeaked, Josh elbowed her. “Hear what?” Josh said. Hope had to hand it to him, he had a steady hand. But there was a bite to his voice. He knew about the affair and he wasn’t going to let Faith off easy.

  “We were acting,” Faith said, her eyes flicking between her children.

  “Acting?” Josh said.

  “Yes,” Faith said. “Making up scenes like we did when we were kids. You know. Soap opera stuff.”

  Brittany and Josh looked at Joy and Hope as if scouring their faces for the truth.

  “Soap operas are trashy,” Yvette said. “Your mother always loved them.” Hope clenched her fork and shoved more pancakes into her mouth. How much syrup would she need to consume before putting herself in a peaceful coma? When were the holidays over again?

  “That’s us,” Joy said. “We’ve always been trashy.”

  Hope was hurtled into a memory. Her parents were standing in the kitchen section of their trailer. It was their first home together. Joy was the lump in her mother’s belly. Faith was coloring, and refusing to share all shades of red. Hope literally crawled along the hall toward the kitchen. She was pretending to be a dog. She stopped when she heard what sounded like arguing.

  “She thinks I’m a piece of trash!” her mother wailed.

  “Screw her.” Her father pulled her mother into him. “She’s a self-righteous cow.”

  “Why does she hate me so much?” Hope started to growl, low in her belly. She would be a guard dog. The next time she saw her grandmother, she would bite her.

  “Because you’ve stolen my heart,” her father said. Hope couldn’t remember what happened next. A lot of her memories were like that. Fuzzy blips. The reception on an old television going in and out. Maybe their mother melted into his arms. Maybe they kissed. Maybe they noticed Hope and took her for a walk. Or maybe their father opened a bottle of whiskey and disappeared for the next three days. Her mother had loved her soaps. And Hope used to curl up on the sofa and watch them with her. Her mother was very vocal, drawing Hope into the story but filling her in. Pointing at the television, talking about the characters and their scandals as if they were all neighbors. Hope loved it. Whenever the soaps were on, the attention was off of their own lives. They made her mother happy.

  Hope forced herself to concentrate on the present, took a deep breath, and stared across the table at their grandmother. “We’re not trashy,” she said. “Neither was our mother.”

  “Is our mother,” Faith corrected.

  Hope thought of their mother’s latest Facebook post: bikini, red lipstick, deep tan, margarita as big as her head. “Is our mother,” Hope echoed.

  Yvette swiped her index finger between the three girls. “You’re the ones acting out soap operas.”

  “Which soap opera?” Brittany asked. Hope could hear both desperation and doubt in her voice. Hope could tell that she wanted to believe her mom, but part of her knew the truth.

  “I only bring it up in case somebody heard me saying something that sounded odd,” Faith said. “That’s all.”

  “Everything out of your mouth right now sounds odd,” Yvette said. “What is going on here?”

  “It’s none of your business, Granny,” Joy said.

  “I’m not hungry.” Josh shoved his plate. It knocked into his milk. They all watched as it sloshed over the side.

  “Can I have your pancakes?” Brittany said.

  “You’ll get fat,” Josh said. “But what do I care.”

  “Josh!” Faith said.

  “What? You’re the one who’s always telling her that.” He sounded so hostile. Hope thought of the note Austin had slipped her. She had placed it on Josh’s nightstand the previous evening. Had he read it?
If so, it certainly hadn’t cheered him up much.

  “You’re going to kill her self-esteem,” Joy said. She turned to Brittany. “Your body is beautiful and you don’t need to worry about calories.”

  “Thank you,” Brittany said.

  “But you might want to avoid eating anything with a face.”

  “Now that’s just nonsense,” Faith said. Brittany squeaked. “Not you, darling. Your body is beautiful. But everyone has to think about what they’re putting into their body. And cut it out with that ‘I don’t eat anything with a face!’ diatribe. My children will eat protein!”

  “Pancakes don’t have faces, unless you make them into little Mickey Mouses,” Harrison said.

  “I love when you do that, baby,” Joy said. They rubbed noses.

  “Like you’re the expert on self-esteem,” Faith said, stabbing her food.

  “That’s what I love about my girl,” Harrison said, putting his arm around her. “My girl is confident.”

  “And I certainly didn’t learn that at home,” Joy said to Brittany. “So don’t worry. You can acquire the skill too.”

  “There is nothing wrong with Brittany’s confidence,” Faith said. “You don’t know the first thing about being a parent.”

  Joy had that look in her eye. Hope tried to get her to look at her so she could talk her out of whatever was going to come out of her mouth next. “Apparently neither do you,” Joy said.

  Hope looked at Josh and Brittany. Confusion was stamped on their faces as they tried to figure out whether or not they had just been insulted. “Sorry, guys,” Hope said. “This has nothing to do with you. We always end up squabbling when we’re together.”

  “Good thing you don’t get together much, huh?” Brittany said. Hope felt a sear of pain in her heart. She bit her bottom lip. She hadn’t planned on weeping during breakfast. Maybe they should have a “No Talking” rule at the table.

  Josh shoved back from the table. “I’m going outside.”

  “I think you should go to your room,” Faith said.

  “Why? What did I do?” Josh’s voice rose.

  “You’re giving me attitude, and talking back,” Faith said. “Your father and I have addressed that issue with you repeatedly.”

  “My father isn’t here now. Or haven’t you noticed?”