Another knock at the door and Kate answers it.
“She’s here.” Ellie, donning a giant snowman sweater and ribbon-tied pigtails, beams at us.
“We’ll be right there!” Kate bounces on the balls of her feet before turning toward me and giving my arm a tight squeeze. Her excitement for the night is palpable, and almost contagious.Almost.
But the nerves in my throat seem to have tripled in size, constricting my airway and making it near impossible to feel anything but terrified.
I shove the feeling as far back as I can and head towards the front door, with Kate at my side. Kate’s grip around my arm loosens as she rushes to greet our last guest of the evening.
“We’re so happy you could make it!” She hugs her tight before pulling her toward me.
“Mackenzie, hi. Thank you for coming.” I hug her and guide her into the living room.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she says, smiling.
“Let me introduce you to everyone.”
I direct her attention to the living room, introducing Benny and Ellie, Emma, Bill and Margaret, Gary, and even Daniels who goes a little greenish-pink with the introduction.
“This is everyone,” I wave to the group again, “everyone, this is Mackenzie.”
Confusion seems to work its way across the room at whoever this person is. I gulp, dislodging the nerves and clear my throat.
“My sister.”
A collectiveoh’sandah’sspread across the room as they swarm my tiny, innocent sister with questions. Mackenzie takes it in stride, partaking in the overly personal questions from Margaret, and even the philosophical questions from Gary, without hesitation. She’s always been good at that, being friendly. Growing up she could talk to anyone, and she talked to me most. As a teenager, I hated it, but after we lost Brennan, I’ve looked forward to those conversations like when we were kids. It took me eight years to man up and get back to the way things were with my sister. Just hearing her voice, grieving the loss of her husband and my best friend, broke something inside of me bit by bit. I didn’t ever consider that she might actually be alright one day.
I can be ignorant.
Or as Dr. Ford would say,“lacking in knowledge.”
Basically, I’m the worst, and I assume if I’m struggling with something, then other people surely are too because there’s no way someone else can cope with the loss of someone better than me. Especially my baby sister.
But last month, I found out she was doing well. Surprisingly well. I can’t imagine being a twenty-eight-year-old widow, butsomehow she has overcome it. And knowing that helped my own healing in its own way.
I watch Mackenzie take the invasive questioning in stride, feeling a sense of pride swell at how far each of us have come.
“Can you help me in the kitchen?” Kate’s arms wrap around my waist as she tugs me away from the crowd. “She’ll be fine,” she assures me as we disappear around the corner.
Not missing a beat, Kate stirs the Crockpot, pulls a pan out of the oven, and pours me a glass of brandy. “You can relax now.”
Relax.She has no idea what’s coming in just a few hours. I won’t be relaxing for a while. It’s honestly a miracle I haven’t collapsed from the insane amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
She strokes my cheek once, then drags her hand down my neck, chest, and arm, before interlacing her fingers with mine.
“I’ll try.” I say, feeling the tingle of her touch down the path she just made. Like an electrical shock that just blasted through a powerline, it sizzles deep into my skin.
I tug Kate closer, feeling her flush against me, and push a curl out of her face. Her eyes flutter closed as I rest my hand at the nape of her neck. On the other side of the kitchen wall, we can hear music, laughter, and clinking of glasses—noises that would usually be overstimulating and suffocating—but being wrapped up in Kate right here in the middle of our kitchen, they’re not nearly as overwhelming. She squeezes my waist tighter and rests her chin against my chest.
My heart stutters, and she fights a smile. I know she can feel it practically skip a beat anytime she touches me.
A timer dings, and I look around for what else could possibly need attending to in this small space. Every inch of the counter is covered in holiday dishes and spreads, with garland, tinsel, and Christmas lights intertwined throughout. My well-used cast iron and stained coffee pot stick out like a sore thumb mixed inwith the vibrancy of Kate’s dishes—pinks, yellows, and greens cover each piece, along with small birds and flowers scattered across some of them. A stark contrast, her and I. Opposites. But it works. A warm sizzle moves down my throat and across my chest at the picture of seeing these little things everyday for the rest of my life.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” I whisper.
“It’s our first holiday party as a couple,” she shrugs, “I had to.”
I bite my lip as sheer joy threatens to break me in two. “I don’t deserve you.”
