It’s a little after five when I pull up outside Shannon’s house. I’m not sure I make the conscious decision so much as I just start driving.
I have never been here before. All I’ve seen of this house are the pictures from the listing—sent to me by Mom—after they first bought it. Shannon’s car in the driveway is the only reason I’m confident I’m at the right place.
The house is an old-ish split-level covered in a sandy red brick that’s common in our part of the world. Like everything in Shannon’s life, it has been chosen meticulously. It’s on the older, more historic side of town, facing out over the park. There’s a path cutting through it which you could follow all the way to town hall, if you wanted to—perfect for an aspiring mayor—and the leafy, tree-lined street is quiet, the houses all charmingly well-groomed.
I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell, listening to her footsteps approach.
The door swings open.
I give her a perky “Hey!,” wildly overcompensating for how I actually feel, which is like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest. I’ve stopped crying but the evidence of it is still all overmy face. My eyes are swollen and glassy, red splotches on my cheeks and neck.
She’s just home from work, I think. She’s barefoot, her black silk blouse untucked from her pencil skirt. Stillsomany bangles. What a tragedy it would be if she never forgives me—I’ll never be able to tease her about the fact she’s turning intoMom.
Shannon has yet to say a word. She inspects me, her arm poised over the door, ready to slam it shut in my face at a moment’s notice.
“I’ve come to apologize,” I say, shakily thrusting a bottle of wine towardher.
Bringing a bottle of wine is a thing people justdoin the suburbs, and I thought, maybe naively, that it would be better to show up here with something to offer her. It feels pathetic now. The longer she stands there without taking it, the dumber I feel.
If she’s going to leave me on her doorstep, fine. I came here to apologize. I don’t need to be inside to doit.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking a leaf out of Connor’s book, thinking of the sweet, unfussy apology he gave me after I kissed him. Sometimes simplest really is best.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you at the dress shop. You were right that it’s none of my business, and that I don’t get it. And…” I hesitate, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Worse than that, I didn’t even try to get it. Not just that weekend, but before. I thought I knew better than you about what’s best for you, and I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I won’t make that mistake again. I know you said you hate me, and after how shitty I’ve been that’s fair enough. But if you ever want to be sisters again…” The word quivers, shaking with my tears. I swallow, then give her a pitiful smile, likeno need to worry, I’m not crying, it’s fine.“If you everwant to be sisters again,” I continue, stronger now, “I miss you all the time. Now would you please at least just take this wine?”
I wag the bottle in her direction, andfinallyshe takes it, stepping aside to wave me in as she does. It’s as close to forgiveness as she’s going to offer me. I grab it with both hands.
—
Her house—as expected, it’s Shannon—is beautifully high-spec. The inside is a lot more modern than the exterior suggests, with sparkling granite countertops and engineered wood floors. It’s somewhere between a showroom and a living Pinterest board; the entire place is done in neutrals, and though there’s more “live, laugh, love”–style quotes on distressed wooden boards than I’d recommend to anyone, it’s also comfortable, and modern, and very on trend.
After a tour of the bedrooms, she steers me back to the main living space and opens a door leading down to the basement, flicking on the light as she descends the wooden stairs.
“The basement is mostly Dan’s space,” she tells me. “He calls it his man cave, or whatever.”
Now I understand why the rest of the house is so nice. She’s managed to sequester Dan to the basement, where he’s clearly taken full advantage of his design liberties.
If you took a teenage boy and gave him a work placement at an interior design firm, this is what he’d come up with. Ridiculous leather furniture; a fully stocked bar tray on top of a mini fridge for his beers. A guitar hanging on the wall. I know for a fact he can’t play, so he’s bought that just to make him look cool. It’s so quintessentially Dan I almost laugh.
“Where is he, anyway?” I ask as we return upstairs and into the sunny living room.
“Out, don’t worry.”
I try to say something likeoh I’m not worriedorthat’s too bad,but I don’t want to upset our fragile truce with a blatantlie.
I expect her to walk me back toward the front door, but instead, she leads me out onto the back deck and orders me to sit. Seconds later she joins me, the bottle of wine slung under her arm. She pours herself a glass, hands me a can of beer, and then pours a bag of chips out in a bowl between us, her signature chive and onion dip in a container beside.
“How long are you here for?”
I look out across the lawn. “Permanently, I think.”
“How come?”
“I got fired.”
She digests this piece of information, swiping a chip across the bowl ofdip.
“What about Connor?”
