Three Sisters

by Susan Mallery

  “You dated a guy for ten years,” Deanna reminded her. “How is that impulsive?”

  “She would also tell you that I have trouble making decisions.”

  “Can you really have both?” Boston asked, sounding doubtful. “Aren’t they the opposite?”

  Andi took a drink of her wine. “I’m a chronic source of disappointment to my parents.” She raised her glass. “And they’re coming to visit. They called earlier. They have a seminar in British Columbia and want to stop by. Do I look like I can’t contain my joy? Because I feel it bubbling out all over.”

  Boston winced. “That bad?”

  “It will be two days of them being critical and finding fault.”

  “Tell them not to come,” Boston said.

  “I don’t know how to do that.”

  Deanna knew that if her aunt and uncle were still alive, she would find it difficult to refuse them anything. They’d been the ones to rescue her—she would always feel that she owed them.

  She suddenly remembered a time from years ago. When she and Colin had first been married. They’d fought about something. She couldn’t remember what about, but she did recall standing at the sink, washing her hands over and over. Colin had watched her, then muttered something about her aunt doing more harm than good. She’d yelled at him, saying he couldn’t ever understand. But now, as she stared at her chapped skin and remembered how she’d scrubbed herself raw in the shower, she started to wonder if maybe he’d been right.

  “What’s that old saying?” she asked. “How do any of us get out of this life alive?”

  Boston sighed. “None of us do.”

  “Damage is everywhere,” Andi said. “We can only do our best, work with what we have and remind our parents that people can be happy even if they don’t have a Nobel Prize.”

  Boston groaned. “You’re a doctor. That’s huge.” She held up her hand. “I know, I know. Not in your family. Tell your mom I spend my day painting pictures of my dead son. That will make her grateful.”

  “Still?” Deanna asked.

  “Mostly. It’s better.” She smiled at Andi. “The mural is helping a lot. I’m getting into butterfly wings. But when I start to get upset or anything is difficult, it’s what I do.” She turned to Deanna. “Maybe I should try admitting the truth every now and then as my own form of therapy. I’m sorry we weren’t friends before. I don’t know why that is.”

  “Because you thought I was a humorless bitch with a stick up her ass and I thought you were an undisciplined artist determined to show off her perfect marriage to anyone willing to watch.”

  Deanna slapped her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that.”

  Andi glanced between them both. “I would say progress has been made.”

  “Me, too,” Boston admitted, then started to laugh. “I’m going to paint you as the evil queen in Snow White. I think she’s always been portrayed as a brunette, but in her heart, she’s totally blonde.”

  Deanna waited for the flash of annoyance, the self-righteousness that came from being wronged, but all she felt was a little exposed and very accepted.

  “What the hell?” she said. “I am an evil witch. No one likes me. Why should they?”

  “I like you,” Andi said. “And yes, that is surprise you hear in my voice.”

  “I like you, too,” Boston told her. “You’re impressive and scary, but I like you.”

  “I like both of you, as well.” Deanna blinked against the rapidly forming tears. “And here I go, crying. I’m thirty-five. Is this menopause starting?”

  Andi laughed. “No. It’s stress and alcohol. Plus a feeling of connection. I’m as twisted as either of you.”

  “Maybe more,” Deanna said drily.

  Boston nodded. “Definitely the weakest link.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Pass me a brownie.”

  * * *

  “Here are the tiles for the backsplash,” Andi said. “They’ll go up to the bottom of the upper cabinets.”

  Her mother nodded and walked around the still-under-construction kitchen. The floors were done and the cabinets had been put into the room, but not yet installed.

  Leanne Gordon was a tall, willowy woman in her sixties. With her bone structure, her skin-care regime and judicious use of fillers and Botox, she could easily pass for a woman in her forties. When her mother made her completely insane, Andi tried to find comfort in the fact that at least she had inherited Leanne’s good genes. Eventually that would make up for some of the other pain and suffering.

  Leanne glanced out the window. “You have an excellent view from here. The windows are double-paned?”

  Wade kept his arm around Andi’s shoulders. His fingers squeezed gently, as if offering strength and support.

  “They are,” he said easily. “We took all the interior walls down to the studs and put in new wiring and insulation.”

  “Is there some kind of historic society you have to answer to?”

  “The county has one,” Andi told her mother. “The guidelines are very general. The house can’t be torn down and the basic exterior must be kept intact. But I’m free to update as I’d like on the inside.”

  Andi’s father asked about the plumbing involved with adding a kitchen to the second floor. Leanne linked arms with her daughter and led her out toward the stairs.

  “He’s doing a very nice job,” her mother said. “I like the office downstairs. The mural is going to be...cheerful.”

  “I think my patients will like it, and I have a wonderful local artist doing the work.”

  “Do you?” Her mother glanced around at what would be the living room. “When you first told me what you planned to do, I thought you’d lost your mind. Perhaps some kind of chemical imbalance or blood disorder was clouding your thinking.”

  Which was just like her mother, Andi thought. “And now?”

  “I can see the appeal.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I’m trying to be supportive. You’ve certainly decided to settle in here. Moving back to Seattle would be difficult.”

  “That’s okay with me,” Andi said. “I’m staying where I am.”

  “But your career, Andrea. Don’t you want more?”

  “I’m happy, Mom. Can’t you accept that?”

  “I’m trying. Have you spoken with Matt recently?”

  Andi instinctively glanced over her shoulder to make sure Wade wasn’t anywhere nearby. “No. Why would I?”

  “You were together a long time. It’s so sad what happened.”

  “You mean him leaving me at the altar with no warning? In front of everyone?”

  Her mother sighed. “He could have handled the situation better.”

  Andi thought about screaming, but what was the point? She looked at her mother. “But?”

  “But what?”

  “You’re about to explain why it’s really not his fault, or as bad as I think it is. You want me to know you’re really on Matt’s side in this, which is pretty astonishing because I’m your daughter. Shouldn’t you be on my side?”

  Her mother regarded her steadily. “The two of you had so much history together. It’s unfortunate things didn’t work out.”

  “So no blame for him at all? You don’t want to call him the scum of the earth?”

  “How would that help?”

  “It might make me feel better. Or you could try a little righteous indignation at the fact that he never offered to pa
y even half of the bills he stuck me with.”

  “Do you need the money?”

  Andi sighed. “That’s not the point.”

  Her mother pressed her lips together. “I didn’t come here to fight with you, Andrea. I’m sorry you think I’m not being supportive.”

  Which was completely different than saying she was sorry she wasn’t being supportive, Andi thought, then shook her head. She would never win this fight. She would never be the famous specialist they wanted her to be. She would always be the screwup who couldn’t keep her man.

  “We should rejoin the others,” Andi said, glancing toward the direction where her father and Wade had disappeared.

  “Of course. Wade seems nice. I’m glad you found a handsome blue-collar man to sleep with. And he seems to do quality remodeling work.”

  Andi didn’t know if she should laugh or throw herself over the stair railing. Not that either would change her mother. She looked toward the hallway, hoping Wade was out of earshot. No way he would take that comment well.

  “You’re right,” she said wryly. “It’s very handy to have Wade around.”

  “The sex is good?”

  Andi stared at her mother. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to make sure you’re happy. You’re not going to have much of a career to fall back on, so you’ll need to be happy in your personal life.”

  Andi opened her mouth, then closed it. “As always, you leave me speechless, Mom. It’s a gift.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment, was it?”

  “Not really.”

  “You never change.”

  Andi linked arms with her mother. “I get that from you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  DEANNA STARED AT the painting propped up against her living room Queen Anne easy chair. The background of the portrait was a dark blue that faded to nearly black. The pose was straight out of the Disney movie, with the wicked stepmother Snow Queen holding out an apple. But instead of a dark-haired evil witch, this painting’s villainess was a blonde, with blue eyes and a smug smile.

  “I’m not sure if I’m flattered or insulted,” Deanna admitted, staring at the uncanny likeness.

  “Go with flattered. The painting is brilliant,” Andi said.

  “If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back,” Boston offered.

  “No, that’s okay. I want to keep it. I feel like if I embrace the portrait, I might find redemption.”

  Of course that could just be the margaritas talking.

  It was about eight-thirty on the Fourth of July. Colin had taken the girls down to the park to watch the fireworks. Rather than spend time in close proximity with her husband, Deanna had elected to stay behind. She’d noticed that not one of her children had asked her to join them a second time and that Colin had seemed more relieved than disappointed.

  Rather than let the emotional reality of being unnecessary and unwelcome around her family bring her down, she’d gotten out the ice, margarita mix and tequila, prepared to spend an evening alone. Then Andi had called, saying she and Boston were celebrating the country’s Independence Day together, and the impromptu party had been born.

  Now they lay sprawled over the delicate furniture in the living room, sipping margaritas and trying to figure out when their lives had gotten so out of control.

  “Still no Zeke?” Andi asked Boston.

  “No. He’s been by a few times to pick up clothes. I assume at some point Wade’s going to throw him out, but he hasn’t yet.” She shrugged. “I’m okay. Determined to wait this out and then figure out our next step.” She offered a shaky smile. “Another topic, please.”

  “Absolutely,” Deanna said, understanding the pain of having a marriage in limbo. She turned to Andi. “You survived your parents’ visit?”

  “Barely. My mother managed to take my ex-fiancé’s side while claiming to be supportive.”

  “Nice trick,” Deanna said. “Did you hit her?”

  “No. I realized she’ll never change. I want her to be different, but that’s not going to happen. We’ll never be one of those mothers and daughters who are close, you know? The worst part is I want her to regret that, but I don’t think she does. She would rather have me the way she wants me than meet me halfway. Or even a quarter of the way.”

  “That’s really sad,” Boston said. “If I had a daughter, I’d want us to be close.”

  “She said she was excited I’d found a nice blue-collar man to sleep with,” Andi told them. “Dear God. Can you imagine if Wade had overheard that? Talk about being insulted.”

  The two of them continued to discuss the bond between mothers and daughters, but Deanna wasn’t listening. She was thinking about her own daughters, wondering what they would be saying about her in a decade or two.

  She’d never wanted to be their enemy, she told herself. She’d wanted to be one of those fun moms who played dress-up on rainy afternoons and had the cool house where everyone wanted to hang out. But somewhere along the way, she’d lost sight of the goal. She’d gotten so caught up in keeping her demons at bay that there hadn’t been time for anything else. She’d been so busy trying not to drown she hadn’t noticed the truck barreling down the road toward her.

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Andi and Boston both looked at her. “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “My metaphor. Sorry. I was thinking about my girls. How I want us to be closer.”

  “You could make it happen,” Andi told her.

  “Really? Can you imagine that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re delightfully naive.” She gulped her margarita. “I thought about leaving. It’s what they all want. Me gone. I packed a bag and put it in my car, and then I sat there. Where am I supposed to go? I don’t have a life outside of my family. I’ve done everything possible for them, and they hate me.”

  “Technically you’ve done everything possible you want to do for them,” Boston said, then hiccupped. “Sorry,” she murmured, covering her mouth with her fingers. “I might be drunk.”

  “I’ve done things I haven’t wanted to do,” Deanna snapped, annoyed at the assumption that she was the center of the universe. “Now you sound like Colin. Do you think I love handling their laundry and cooking every damn thing they eat from scratch?”

  “Then why do you do it?” Andi asked.

  “Because it’s the right thing to do. I don’t want my kids eating all that processed food.”

  Boston leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “There’s an ocean between eating healthy and baking your own bread. You don’t let them eat dessert more than once a week, they’re not allowed chocolate, they can’t watch regular television.”

  Deanna drew her knees to her chest and wondered why everyone assigned evil motives to everything she did. “I’m being a good mother,” she protested. “I want them to grow up right. Besides, how do you know all that?”

  Boston looked at her. “Carrie tells me.”

  Deanna’s cheeks got hot. “Does she also tell you Madison hates me? That she wants her dad to leave me and take her with him?”

  Boston nodded.

  Familiar, sucky tears spilled down Deanna’s cheeks. “Dammit all to hell, I’m not a horrible person. I’m not.”

  Andi leaned toward her. “Being in control keeps you safe, right? And if you control everyone, then everyone stays safe.”

  Deanna sniffed. “Maybe.”

  Andi smiled. “
I’ve got it! Stand up.” She turned to Boston. “You, too.”

  Deanna reluctantly did what she said.

  “Grab her wrist,” Andi told Boston. “I’ll take the other one.”

  They stood there, in the living room, each holding on to a wrist. Deanna was in the middle, waiting.

  “Now what?”

  “Now nothing. We’re keeping you safe.”

  This was beyond stupid, Deanna thought. “I have to pee.”

  “Sorry, no. You might get hurt. We’re going to hang on because it keeps you safe.”

  Deanna waited a couple of seconds, then tried to pull free. Both women continued to hold on. She tugged harder.

  “Okay, okay. I get the point. Let go.”

  Andi shook her head. “No. You think you know what’s better, but you’re wrong.”

  Deanna felt the first wisps of panic. The need to run and hide. She wanted to duck into the bathroom, not to pee, but to feel the warm water rushing over her hands. She wanted the clean slickness of soap. She needed it. They didn’t understand that—

  “Let her go,” Andi said, then stunned Deanna by pulling her close and hugging her. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe. We’re right here for you. Whatever happens, you’re okay.”

  The words were accompanied by a soothing pressure moving up and down her back. She was being comforted as if she were a two-year-old, she thought, slightly dazed and unsteady. Even more humiliating, it was working.

  Andi drew back and Boston took her place. Her touch was less sure, but no less comforting. “I’m here, too,” her neighbor said. “For you and for Andi. It’s really okay you’re a bitch. You’re a good bitch.”

  Deanna started to cry. “Is that like being a good witch?”

  “Kind of.”

  Boston released her.

  Deanna sank onto her chair and picked up her margarita. She sipped, then wiped her face. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Andi admitted. “Obviously I wanted to show you what it was like to have someone making decisions for you, but then you went somewhere else. I’m sorry I nearly triggered a panic attack.”