“Thank you for this,” I say, setting the jar on the coffee table. “I’ll do my best not to kill it.”
“Her, Gianna. Do not. Killher.”
“Right.Her.”Lucia has issues. My attention whips back to the bubbling gunk as a thought rushes to the forefront of my brain. “Wait. Is it actuallyalive?”
“Yes, it’s alive.”
“Oh.”
“Read the email. I explained it all there.” She sighs and tucks her feet under her. “I’m starving. What are we doing about dinner?”
“Burgers from The Cesars? They deliver now.”
“Add bacon, no onion,” she says. “Can I SocialCash you some money?”
I grab my phone from under a pillow beside me and pull up the app. “No, I got it. They screwed up my order last time and gave me a gift card, so it’s basically free tonight.”
“Love that for us.” She chews on the edge of her nail, glancing around the room. My chaotic lifestyle has always made her alittle itchy. That apparently hasn’t changed. “So what’s with the buttons?”
“Some of those were Grandma’s, and some were Mom’s. I forgot that I had them until I moved.”
“Why are they on the floor?”
I add fries to our order and submit it. “Because I wanted to do something with them besides filling a cookie jar.”
“So… you tossed them on the floor?”
“No, smart-ass. I was going to affix them to the canvas with a hot glue gun and try to recreate the fruit bowl painting that hung in Grandma’s kitchen. But then I thought it would be super cool to cover the canvas with fabric and sew the buttons on instead of using glue, which would take forever. So I figured I’d work on it while I watchedDancing with Famous People, but there’s no table in here.” I shrug. “And that’s how they wound up on the floor.”
My sister smiles lovingly at the mess. “I forgot about that painting. I always thought it was so beautiful.”
“Well, I did spend more time sitting at the table in time-out growing up than you did.”
Together, we cackle, because, yes, I really did spend alotmore time in time-out than my beautifully behaved sister.
The final beams of light drift from the room, and darkness covers the windows. Lucia’s shoulders relax, and she falls deeper into the couch cushions.I know the feeling.It’s impossible not to relax when you feel so insulated from the world.
“I love this house,” she says. Her voice is soft, the words floating through the air. “I’ve never experienced a place so quiet.”
“I love it, too.”
She turns her face to mine and smiles. “It’s so funny to think of you, of all people, thriving in this environment. But you really seem to be happy.”
“It’s my little retreat. I can go into the world and set off fireworks—wreaking havoc and anarchy wherever I go—and then I slink back here and shut the door and leave all of that out there.”
We exchange a look, an understanding that requires no words. Lucia has done the same thing in her own way.
As daughters born to two highly successful and respected professionals, my sister and I were expected to follow suit. Behave like little ladies. Dress appropriately. Take piano and violin lessons and, for the love of God, don’t embarrass the family.
I was never great at any of that.
“How are things in your world?” I ask. “Are you still seeing the fireman?”
Her eyes light up. “We’re going out Saturday night. Our schedules are at odds most of the time, so we don’t really see each other during the week. But we’ve gone out at least once a week for the past six weeks, so I think that’s a good sign.”
“That’s a great sign. How’s the sex? Still hot?”
“Oh, Gianna,” she says, shrinking like she’s melting down at the thought of her fireman. “I’ve never been so thoroughly fucked. I didn’t even know you could fuck in so many different positions. He’s had me on top, on bottom, bent over every surface in my house—twisted into a pretzel.” She giggles. “He must sit around the fire station reading the Kama Sutra or something.”
