“Careful, his dog is a little wild,” I said. I moved toward Patricia to body-block her so she wouldn’t get knocked off her feet by the incoming canine missile.
Dude spun in a few circles as he got closer, then came to a stop right in front of Patricia, wagging and panting with excitement.
“Aww, there he is,” she cooed and petted him with her free hand. “Hello, baby!”
The level of familiarity between them seemed to be more than just a dog lover meeting an overly friendly pup. I felt panic rising inside of me as I tried to piece together what was happening.
Andrew walked over to us with no leash in sight, clearly forgetting my first rule. Despite the fact that it was visible-breath weather he was in a sleeveless white T-shirt and a black down vest, the dumbest combination of clothing I’d ever seen. Was I always going to be subjected to his body? Were his biceps so huge that no sleeves could contain them?
“No leash?” I asked, stating the obvious. “You should know that some of my clients get nervous around big dogs.”
“Ah, you mean people who have those little rat dogs, right?” He chuckled. Andrew leaned over and gave Patricia a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for bringing the oranges.”
No, no, no,no.It couldn’t be.
He turned to me. “I see you two met.”
Patricia beamed at us. “Chelsea is going to help me train the Mean Girls.”
Andrew froze, and not because he was exhibiting his right to bare arms in forty-degree weather.
My brain was still scrambling to catch up with what was unfolding in front of me even though I knew on a cellular level exactly what was going on. It didn’t matter that their coloring was totally different, the eyebrows were the same. And the cheekbones. It was like a photograph of the same person except Patricia was the highlights and Andrew was the shadows.
“Hold on, Mom. You asked her to help with the goats?”
I felt a furnace kick on inside my face as Andrew confirmed that I’d just agreed to provide aid behind enemy lines.
“Yup! And I guess you two will be there at the same time,” Patricia said, not realizing that she was dousing the fire with gasoline. “You’re helping your father clear the leaves out of the gutters on Friday, right?”
Andrew took a step backward as his eyes flicked toward me. “Uh... I might have to reschedule because—”
“No,” Patricia interrupted, shaking her head. “If you can’t do it Friday then he’s going to do it himself, because he’s got that fishing trip this weekend and he wants it done. And you know how much I worry when he’s up on that ladder alone. I guessIcould hold it steady for him, but my balance can be funny sometimes...” She trailed off and gave Andrew an innocent look.
I could tell the glower on his face was all for me and not the fact that he’d been roped into chores on a Friday afternoon. “Fine, yeah, I’ll be there.”
He shot me a withering look then turned to go, with Patricia trailing behind them.
“See you Friday, Chelsea,” she called out, walking backward and waving at me. “Can’t wait!”
I managed a convincing smile as I tried to decide how I was going to lie my way out of it.
chapter seven
I couldn’t remember the last time my sister and I had gone out for coffee together, although it wasn’t for her lack of trying. We were finally sitting outside the Basic Bean in the shockingly mild October sunlight, Edith dozing in my lap, stealing a few minutes before Taylor set off for the day. She lived in Philly, in a gorgeous renovated brownstone in Fishtown, but she was in my neck of the woods for a store visit.
My sister had the coolest job in the world and it was literally written all over her face. Taylor Higgins Engelman was a divisional merchandise manager for Anthropologie in the beauty category, which meant that she had access to every cutting-edge, froufrou moondust elixir available. Between her proximity to a limitless supply of clean beauty products, the pregnancy glow, and a wardrobe filled with Anthro-designed jewel-tone velvets and cashmeres, my sister looked absolutely radiant. As usual.
Luckily she shared her loot with me, always giving me bags of goodies that never seemed to shine me up the same way they did for her. But between our similar hair color (though hersskewed more strawberry blond than auburn like mine) and the impressive “fivehead” that we both worked hard to camouflage, it was easy to tell that we were sisters. Taylor took after our blue-eyed, fine-featured mother, while I repped our Irish peasant lineage, with dark brown eyes that were a touch too far apart for my liking and a square jaw. During my awkward stage, when all of my features seemed like thrown-together pieces from mismatched puzzles, kids used to tease me and say I looked like a mix between a cat and an alien. But once the growth spurts ended and everything settled into place I came to like the way I looked.
It had taken me years to realize that it was because I took after my handsome father.
“So, Thanksgiving at my place is a go,” Taylor said, taking a sip of her green tea. She pointed at Edith. “Bring that little one.”
“Are you sure you want to host?” I countered. “I know I was pushing for it with Mom, but it is a lot of work. I hope you don’t feel like you have to.”
“No, we’re excited to do it. New tradition, you know?”
She gave methe lookafter she said it. The appraising, vibe-check glance that only I could pick up on. But it was always there anytime she even alluded to the way things used to be, before Dad died.
