If a situation calls for it, I can keep a secret. I once took the fall when Ciara broke the garbage disposal because she wanted to turn the sink into a fish tank, but I am not Fort-Knox, okay?
Of course I’m going to fold. The guilt is killing me. I can’t take it any longer.
My updated résumé (yes, I finally updated it) sits finished on my laptop, glaring at me every time I log in. There are multiple tabs open for recruiters, five job searches, and in one early morning bout of ideas, post-grad college options. I’ve done nothing with any of them.
After an hour of scrolling through movies I’ve already seen, I turn off the TV, determined to think of something more productive to do with my time, only to stare into space for twenty minutes, where the only sound I hear is the building’s air steadily humming.
There’s an itch under my skin, one I can’t seem to scratch, insistently tapping at my brain. I hadn’t realized how much I like being busy. Lincoln’s right. I’m searching for something; I just wish I knew what it was.
“Gigi?” Mom says when she answers my call, her tone halfway between worried and stern (it’s a permanent setting; I’m used to it now). “Is everything okay?”
She’s the only one who still calls me that, instead of my middle name like everyone else, and I let her, because she named me after herself, so I get why she clings to it.
“Of course, why?”
There’s an odd pause. “You never call me in the middle of a workday. Are you sick?”
Fuck. I’d completely forgotten.
“No, I’m fine,” I scramble, guilt threatening to make my breakfast stage a comeback. “I wanted to see how the baby was.”
Lucky for me, the diversion works. When in doubt, ask about the grandchildren.
“Oh, she’s gorgeous. Of course, she’s not sleeping at all at the moment. But the nurse is confident it’s nothing serious, and I keep reminding your sister it’s just a phase. They all go through it. One day you might discover that yourself.”
Right. I squeeze the phone between my shoulder and my ear and start drying this morning’s dishes. It’s just a bowl and a spoon, but I have so much spare time on my hands now, it’s weird to leave them in the sink for long.
“Of course, Ciara keeps saying she doesn’t need me to come around every day. Something about wanting some alone time with the baby. But she’s barely remembering to feed herself at the moment. If I wasn’t there, none of the chores would get done.”
It’s the same old argument they’ve been having since the baby was born. I’m half convinced Mom doesn’t know what to do with herself when she’s not hovering over them.
“I read about your office’s layoffs,” she says, and that’s when I crack.
“I didn’t want to keep it from you,” I stress, and it’s the truth. “But I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Of course I’m worried, Gigi. I wish you’d told me. When did it happen?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Gianna.”
I wince. Mom never uses my middle name, but to go full first name? Not a good sign. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I’ve already updated my résumé, and I’ll start applying for jobs soon. It’s okay. I’ve been saving like we talked about, and they gave me some money when they let me go, so…”
“You need to be responsible, Gigi. Look at your sister?—”
I close my eyes. I could write a thesis on what my mother says I need.
She’s only ever wanted me to be one thing, but I’ll never be as clever or accomplished as my baby sister, never have it together like she does, with a PhD and a husband and a baby.
“Not everyone can be as perfect as Ciara.”
My sister came out of the womb knowing what she wanted.
And I’m proud of her. So, so proud. No one cheered louder than me when she graduated. She was always destined to do great things, and she deserves every win she’s achieved.
I accepted early on that my little sister would shine bright. It was nice to move aside and help make that happen.
By contrast, my job was just a job. Clock in, clock out. Pay the bills. Sleep.
