She has multiple degrees. Her own thriving business. A home. Children. While I’m chasing fantasies. Will my desires ever become more than daydreams?
Jewel is who I want to be, and she loves to remind me of it. But even if I never inspire Karson to overcome his anger, maybe Karson can inspire me to overcome this thing with my sister. I tap the green phone icon before I can change my mind.
The phone rings, and I picture her snuggling her kids on the couch while eating ice cream and reading the picture book I made them. They might be too comfortable and relaxed for her to even bother picking up the phone.
“Hi, Gemma.” Her tone sounds more breathless than content.
“Everything, okay?”
“I’m only putting Forrest back to bed for the fifth time. I need to get some work done for a presentation tomorrow, but he keeps getting up to ask questions about firemen. What a day, huh?” She pauses but not long enough for me to answer. “Were you calling to check on Daisy? She’s doing fine now. Doesn’t even have a headache.”
“Oh, good.” Yeah, I should have been calling to check on Daisy. What kind of aunt am I?
“I’m tempted to hassle you about arriving on the fire truck, but I’m glad you were here.”
I’m too shocked to respond. I don’t think those words have ever come out of her mouth before. Finally I say, “I’m glad I was too,” and actually mean them. Now there’s an uneasy silence on both ends. “What did you think of Karson?”
“Aww … That’s really why you called, huh?”
“Perhaps.”
“Yeah. Well.” She groans as if she’s settling into her couch for the first time that night. “He’s not the most hospitable.”
I smile at the memory of those long-suffering expressions he liked to give me. “No, he’s not.”
“I’ll bet that makes him good at his job.”
I recall his willingness to deal with the most combative of the two thieves on my ride-along. “He plays bad cop.”
“In a relationship with you, that would balance out your toxic positivity.”
What’s wrong with positivity?
“And you could balance out his cynicism.”
Ah … I see her point. Maybe that’s why we fit together so well. Or why we would, if not for the other woman. Tonight we said goodbye. “I’m not going to see him again.”
“Hmm …”
I sigh and roll onto my side, feeling lonely even while talking to my sister.
“Because he’s been married before?” she asks.
That’s part of it. “Yeah.”
“And because you are tired of being compared to someone else.”
So he’d told her. “Yeah.” I hope she doesn’t blame herself. Though with the animosity that has been between us lately, she’ll probably see it as a badge of honor.
“Gem.” Her tone dips like a bucket, dumping out its judgments and scorn. “Until Karson told me, I didn’t realize you played the comparison game too.”
My heartbeat thumps to a stop. What does she mean bytoo? It makes us sound like we are the same in more ways than our genetics. Like we’ve both wanted to wear each other’s shoes.
But what would my shoes get her? Taken advantage of in Hollywood? Killed off in a bunch of TV roles? The upstairs bedroom of a townhome?
I don’t say any of this because I’m not ready to go there. I’m not ready to confess my failures to Portland’s Woman of the Year. “Of course I’m envious of you. You can eat dairy and gluten.”
She snorts. “You can’t really have allergies. We’re identical twins.”
