My shoulders shake of their own accord,and my teeth rattle. I shouldn’t have come here. Fuck my pride. My friends would help me without a blink, but I just couldn’t admit to them this new level of low.
Besides, that bistro is our father’s. Tessa should care. She never has, but she was still my first natural choice.
She knows how poorly the business is doing, and I don’t care about her opinion of me enough to feel embarrassed. I don’t need to apologize to her for trying to save our family’s heritage.
I don’t expect her to jump at the idea, of course. I know she would make me suffer for it, but I still hope she will bail me out.
What I didn’t expect was that my perfect, always well-put-together sister would be in the midst of her own personal crisis.
“It’s not pity; it’s compassion. I’m sure the girls just imagined Florida means an all-year spring break party. They will miss you soon enough.”
My words break the dam, and my sister allows herself a moment of complete vulnerability and cries. “You really think so?”
I have no idea. I don’t know what really happened between her perfect husband and her, or why her daughters would side with their father. Or if that’s really even the case.
I don’t know whether they would return. Iwouldn’t live with my sister voluntarily. But perhaps this is a time when a kind lie counts. “Of course. Tell me what happened.”
Tessa blows her nose into a linen handkerchief, her shoulders shaking. She sits down on a settee in her entrance hallway, her hiccups bouncing around the walls in the cavernous space.
Between her sobs, she retells me the story of Paul’s cheating, and how she finally decided to throw him out.
Despite my being freezing and her circumstances, for a moment I feel like we’re girls again, sharing our pains like we used to before our parents separated.
Maybe we still are those girls somewhere deep down; we just buried them to cope with the new reality in our lives. I miss those girls.
“We didn’t handle it well with the twins. I always hid his affairs. They idolized their father, and now I’m the villain in the sordid story.”
“I remember when Paul came to pick you up the first time. Boys used to just honk in front of the house, and you rushed out. It rained that day, and I sat in the window. He stepped out of his car and walked to the door to hold an umbrella above your head. I found it so romantic, I almost fell in love with him.” I sigh.
“Yeah, he was very attentive at first.” She hugs herself, rubbing her arms. “Jesus, why don’t you go geta towel?” she snaps suddenly. “Let me make you some tea. The last thing I need is you accusing me of getting sick.”
And just like that, the bonding session comes to an abrupt halt. Tessa shuffles toward her kitchen.
If I weren’t chilled to the bone, I would turn and fucking leave. Instead, I venture into her guest bathroom upstairs and take a long, warm shower.
The water loosens my numb limbs, but it doesn’t dislodge the lump in my throat, nor does it unclench my stomach.
I might be able to find a new employee. I might be able to find energy to work more and train them. I might be able to implement a few ideas on the menu that may help the bottom line.
What I’m not capable of doing is generating the income needed to pay the increased rent. Not without a sizable investment. One I don’t have.
I towel-dry my hair and put on a plush robe I find on the door. I look at my jeans, T-shirt, and underwear, crumpled in a sad, wet heap. The idea of traipsing downstairs barefoot isn’t appealing, but I guess that’s my only option.
When I open the door, I almost trip over something soft—a neat pile of leggings, a sweatshirt, and a pair of socks.
In the kitchen, I find Tessa sitting on a highstool by her enormous square island. I take a seat beside her and wrap my fingers around a warm cup. “Thank you for the clothes.”
“Have your tea; I’ll go put your things in the dryer.” She leaves, and for whatever reason—exhaustion perhaps—her act of help brings tears to my eyes.
Jesus, I really need to take some time off.
“What are you doing here anyway?” Tessa asks when she returns.
Gathering the strength to broach the topic, I study her for a long moment as she moves around the kitchen doing I don’t know what.
“The rent at the bistro has just been doubled.”
“Good,” she mutters.
