She heard Hillary’s deep, throaty laugh on the other side of the dark-gray double doors, a sound as familiar to Hannah as an ice cream truck. Even when her sister was at her toughest, that laugh could make everything better. Hillary’s hair was damp from the shower, darkening the gold highlights. She looked more like her sister, more like herself, Hannah thought, when her hair was wet.
“Welcome to the ’hood,” she proclaimed, wrapping Hannah in her left arm, the arm that didn’t have an oven mitt dangling from a hand.
“Thanks,” Hannah said.
“What’s wrong? You’re making that face you make.”
“The face I make when I lost my newest, biggest client?”
“Fuck,” Hillary replied.
“Yeah. Just got an email. Project manager gone, project terminated.”
“See, this is why women drink. Seriously.”
“Oh, well,” Hannah said. “Onward, right? I’ll figure it out, get a kill fee or something.”
She was aware that her mouth was moving, that she was talking and walking toward the kitchen, completely standing upright, but she wasn’t sure she could eat. She felt sick and stupid and had to go back over her emails and the project terms they’d agreed to and try to figure out how the hell she could salvage something out of this. She sat at the kitchen island and drank her sister’s organic coffee in the hand-thrown mug, but part of her wanted to bang her head against the cold marble and scream. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with.
“So,” Hannah said, drawing in a breath, “how was the drive back from Vermont?”
“Interminable,” Hillary said. “Can you smell the mold from the laundry room? Next year, I’m going to throw out her grimy clothes. So the move went smoothly? Miles seem okay? So far so good?”
“So far. But then, he hasn’t been to school yet.”
“Ugh, bullies. He’s probably scared to go. Did you ever find out the reason? I mean, not that any reason is valid.”
“Nope,” she answered quickly, too quickly.
“Well, teenage boys can be such assholes. Obviously, you of all people know that. I mean, girls can be, too, but we were smarter about it. Knew when to keep our mouths shut.”
Hillary frequently referred to them as “we.” Did she do that always, Hannah wondered, or just when she was around? Just one grade apart, they’d shared a room and had never been separated until Hillary went to college. That had been a rough year for Hannah, who’d felt unmoored. She’d had friends from the yearbook staff and from volunteering for the annual play; she had even had a boyfriend on and off, but increasingly, she had been removed from them all. Floating above their inane conversations. Judging their stupid parties and electronic dance music. Maybe they’d felt her disdain. Maybe they’d hated her, too. Maybe she’d asked to be hated back. Maybe she’d just needed some darkness in her life for her college essay—wasn’t that what someone had accused her of after Hannah had confided in her?
“So does he like his new bedroom? Kids can be so weird about their rooms. Remember that sort of chubby girl who lived on our old street and accused her mother of buying her fat furniture?”
“You can’t say ‘chubby’ anymore.”
“Cross it off your list then. I suppose ‘husky’ is also out of the question.”
When she was younger and first thought of being a writer, Hannah had kept lists of words she liked and wanted to use. Irascible. Frisson. Carabiner. She could still chant that ancient list like an incantation.
Hillary kept talking at her usual rapid pace, about introducing Hannah to her book club and organizing a party for the kids and carpooling, they absolutely had to carpool, but Hannah was only half listening when she heard Morgan shriek, “Aunt Hannah!” as she ran into the room ahead of Ben, who still had headphones around his neck.
“Not so loud, Morgan, please,” Ben said.
“Hey, Bug,” Hannah said, breathing in the strawberry fragrance of her niece’s hair.
“Where’s Miles?” she said, looking around as if they were hiding him.
“He’s still sleeping.”
“Can I go wake him up?”
Hannah hesitated.
“Sure,” Ben replied. “Is the door open?”
“Yes, I think, but—”
“But what?”
“I’ll walk with her,” Hannah said.
“This little nugget slept in a tent and hiked up mountains all summer. I think she can make it downhill alone,” Ben replied, tickling her. “Can’t you? Huh?”
“Hannah needs to maybe go deal with some work stuff,” Hillary said.
“Yes,” Hannah said. “Understatement of the year.”
“Wait a minute! Oh. My. God. Ben,” Hillary said dramatically, eyes widening. “Darling husband Ben! I just realized you should introduce Han to that nonprofit group you’re working with! Aren’t they doing some articles and a documentary?”
Ben’s mouth fell open a bit, hanging in the air.
“No, it’s okay,” Hannah said quickly. Something was off; she felt a flush in her neck that told her so. This wasn’t like Ben to hesitate. It was totally like Hillary, however, to push too far.
“No, no, no, I mean yes, they are, that’s…a great idea.”
“I don’t want to impose, Ben. It’s—”
“No, don’t be silly. Let’s schedule a time, and I’ll give you the lowdown, and you can see if it’s a good fit. You’re on LinkedIn, right? All your stuff?”
Hannah nodded, and Hillary smiled broadly. She loved nothing more than connecting things, making it all add up. Her biology degree and years of lab research were an anomaly, Hannah thought. Her sister could have been a Hollywood agent, a Wall Street dealmaker.
Hannah tried to hop down from the stool, but she slid the last few inches in her leggings, as if the wood had been oiled.
“Morgan, let’s surprise Miles together,” Hannah said.
“Okay, but bring him back for breakfast. We have bacon,” Hillary called after them.
Morgan grabbed Hannah’s hand as they walked, swinging it.
“Remember how you and Uncle Mike used to swing me up?” Morgan said.
“Yes,” she said and smiled. She’d been so light as a toddler, Hannah had been afraid she’d let go and tumble off into space, all momentum.
How long had it been since Miles had reached out toward his mom? Was this the difference of gender, of being a bit younger, or of nature? Miles had never been a very cuddly child. Even when he was sick, he seemed to barely tolerate her brushing his hair off his forehead. But Morgan was still a little smush, small, bird-boned for eleven and a half. Hannah wondered if Morgan would ever hit a growth spurt; she worried that her sister’s healthy meals weren’t giving her enough fat. Still, she had her father’s friendly blue eyes and her mother’s gold-flecked hair. She was the kind of tween, Hannah thought, who would suddenly blossom one summer, come back in September wearing a push-up bra, and shock the whole class.