I nod. “He’s probably still feeling guilty.”
“Will you tell me what happened?” she asks seriously.
“You really want to know?”
“I do. I wanted to ask you about him that first night we went out, but I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t want to talk about him then anyway.”
She listens with compassion and empathy as I tell her about that day at the park and the conversation Scott and I had afterward.
“He said he felt I sometimes looked down on him.” I screw up my nose, because I’m embarrassed to admit this part.
“Did you?”
“No! Of course not! But I get the feeling Nadine lookedupto him, and maybe he needed more of that. I never hung off his every word or constantly sought his opinion. Perhaps I never looked at him completely adoringly either. We were equals. I thought that was a good thing.”
“Wereyou equals, though?” Bailey asks astutely, narrowing her eyes.
“Salary-wise, we were pretty much on a par.” Architecture really doesn’t pay that well considering the seven years of training it takes to become fully qualified. “But hewasintimidated by the fact that I was an architect.” As professions go, mine can seem a little daunting. “I don’t know. Maybe Ididget a bit snappy when I felt that he didn’t understand the pressures I was under. And maybe I did come across as a little patronizing when I accused him of not getting it.”
“Nah. He’s just an insecure jerk,” Bailey replies loyally.
I can’t help but laugh.
“Anyway, enough about Scott,” I decide abruptly.
“Fine, we’ll talk about something else,” she agrees. “Who were you on the phone with?”
I grab a pillow and whack her with it.
She bats it away, undeterred. “Oh,pleaselet me live vicariously through you!” she begs. “I’ve been with Casey for four years. I’m bored!”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
I turn on my side and prop myself up on one elbow, my head resting on my hand. “Are things not okay between you?”
“They’re fine,” she replies, chewing one of her nails.
“Don’t do that, you’ll ruin your manicure,” I chide.
She obeys, pulling her finger out of her mouth and then lying down beside me so we’re facing each other.
A tiny bottle of something carbonated opens up inside me. It has felt so good to talk like this, on a deeper level. As with my dad, I’ve only ever had a surface-level relationship with my sister, but I realize that I’d like to change that.
“Wren! Bailey!” Sheryl calls up the stairs.
“Yes?” we shout back in unison, shooting our heads toward the door like a couple of meerkats in sync.
“Anyone for a drink?” Sheryl asks.
Bailey and I look at each other and grin.
“Yes!” we shout back simultaneously, giggling as we scramble off the bed.
“This conversation is to be continued,” I warn, gathering up my clothes because Istillneed to get dressed.
