Ishouldlook for a better paying job.
But my least favorite is the one my older sister mutters. “Tori, you should finish school.”
Ugh. Tell me something I don’t know.
I suck on the generic popsicle that tastes like diluted grape juice and slouch deeper on my ratty couch. Kat, on the other hand, sits as close to the edge of the recliner as humanly possible.
After I take another lick, I wave my purple ice pop at her. “You don’t look comfortable like that.”
She gives me a look. “I’m six and a half months pregnant. If I lean back, I’m never getting up again. Wait until you’re the size of a small buffalo and you can’t see your feet and your boobs are stretched like water balloons.”
I choke back a laugh. “One, that’s never gonna happen because I’m never having kids. Two, you’ve barely gained any weight.” So yeah, I’m lying a smidge, but she’s my sister, and I want her to feel good about herself. “And three, what’s going on with your boobs?” Aside from them being humongo. What I really want to know is if she’ssureshe’s only havingonebaby. Brady’s a big guy—tall and muscular—but are his offspring really the size of a bison?
My sister sighs and rubs her belly. “Here’s something no one ever tells you in those pregnancy books. Your nipples, um, they get larger. It’s the hormones, I guess.”
Internally, I’m asking,What the fuck?But I keep my shit together because if I freak out, she’ll freak out, which sucks because she’s usually the picture of calm, and I’m the spaz. “So…they get longer?”Ew, please say no.
She shakes her head. “The areola expands.”
God, that’s just as bad. I try to keep my expression neutral. “And this grosses you out?”
She gives me the face, the one that says,What do you think, dumbass?Fine, she doesn’t ever call me dumbass, but I know she wants to sometimes. “And since when don’t you want kids? You’re great with Izzy.”
Izzy is her seven-year-old adopted daughter, who is so precious, I want to gobble her up. But let’s get real—most kids are a pain in the ass, and patience isn’t one of my virtues. At least not these days.
I shrug, not wanting to rehash the whole Jamie fiasco, which was what finally got me to be realistic about my chances of finding someone I’d want to have a family with. I never gave my sister all the gory details about my breakup with Jamie, and ripping off that Band-Aid now would start the blood gushing again.
Besides, me? Have a family? I feel sorry for those hypothetical offspring already. I can’t even balance my checkbook, not that I have much to balance.
I don’t totally understand what’s going on in my head, because when it comes to doing something for my sister or family, I’d gladly crawl over broken glass, but when I have to do something for myself, I can’t seem to care.
“Kat, you’re lucky, you know that? Brady is perfect. Maybe if I found a guy I didn’t want to eviscerate within two minutes, I’d have a change of heart.” I don’t explain how the last year flying solo has given me a new perspective.
She gets that lovesick grin on her face that almost five years of marriage hasn’t dimmed. “Brady is pretty amazing.” Her head tilts forward, and she drops her voice. “I feel bad for him, though. With my morning sickness, which I seem to have constantly, not just in the morning, we never get to…you know.”
“Bang?”
She laughs. “Yeah. Bang.”
“So none of this?” I slurp my melting popsicle loudly before pretending to fellate it.
A snort escapes her. “Oh, my God. Stop that.” But she’s laughing, so I know I haven’t offended her.
Kat is seven years older and everything I could never hope to be. She graduated at the top of her class—all of them, from high school through college. She and her husband run a wildly successful lavender farm and beauty product company.
My sister and I are night and day. Our personalities. What we like. What we wear. How we talk. The only thing we really have in common is that when she’s not about to explode with an alien in her belly, we look similar with long, brown hair and hazel eyes.
She nudges her swollen foot against my ankle. “Don’t think I didn’t see what you did here, changing the subject.” Lowering her voice, she asks, “Do you need some money? Brady and I want to pay for half of your credits so you can graduate.”
I look down, hating that I should take her up on that offer. “Nah. I’ll get by.”
Thankfully, she’s never asked what classes I failed, and who wants to tell her Hispanic family she failed Spanish? Not me. But I didn’t grow up speaking fluently like Kat did. Still, it shames me.
Kat’s eyes flit around the apartment, and I know what she sees. The ripped carpet. Pizza boxes piled in the trash. Crumbs and empty soda cans forgotten on the warped coffee table. I’m not a total slob, but my roommates are. I might not be great at making my bed or folding laundry, but I’ve always tried to keep the rest of this place clean since I’m the one named on the lease. These last few weeks, though, I’ve sort of given up. I’ve gotten tired of trying to organize when no one else around here gives a shit.
It sucks having four roommates, but I can’t afford to move out on my own, not with my school loans and credit cards. Isn’t that the biggest kick in the head? I didn’t graduate so I can’t use that degree to get a better job than waiting tables and bartending, but I still have the loans.
Kat reaches up and twirls a long lock of her hair. That’s her tell.
