Tail tucked, she cleans up the baking supplies while I turn to my family.
Who are here.
Unannounced.
“What a wonderful surprise,” I repeat.
Aaaannd now my eye is twitching. It hasn’t twitched since I left investment banking, where I regularly was awake for fifty-six hours at a time, and now here we are. Back to eye-twitching circumstances.
“I really don’t have the space…”
“Zillow said this was a two-and-a-half-bath, three-bedroom house.” My dad rolls up his sleeves and looks around appreciatively.
“One of those bedrooms is my office.” I run after my dad. “And another is Fidget’s room.”
“The dog has its own room, Winifred?” Mom sniffs. “You desperately need a husband and a child.”
“No, she just needs a turkey baster and sperm.” Gran swats my hip.
My family parades into my dream kitchen. My dad fishes out one of my pans from the cabinet and hefts it in his hand.
“And dirty dishes in the sink.” Mom clicks her tongue.
Kathy collapses, wailing. “I wanted a baby with Knox.”
“Oh, Winnie, help your sister.” Mom chides. “She needs her big sister. You two can share a room again, just like when you were little girls.”
My eye twitching is morphing into a headache.
“Yeah, like, I just don’t see how that’s my problem, you know?” I press my finger to the underside of my eye socket, trying to relieve the mounting pressure and fury. “Not to be a bitch, but I told you when you got with Knox. I warned you. I had diagrams, charts, testimonials. There was a PowerPoint presentation! A man is not a plan. Especially not a narcissistic NHL captain.”
“I had a job. I was a model.” Kathy sniffles.
“No one who is serious about modeling stays in Minnesota, Kathy,” I tell her.
“That’s where Knox was. He needed my support.” My sister’s lip trembles.
“Yeah, someone has to wipe his dick off after he plows through all those puck bunnies,” I scoff.
“Winnie! Knox is a good man.” Mom tuts.
“No, he’s not,” I argue. “His PR team just wants all those brain-dead hockey fans to think he’s a good person so they can sell the image of the wholesome hockey kid from rural Minnesota. Kathy was just a prop to sell his transition from kid to wife guy.”
Kathy’s sobbing pitifully now. Dad starts cutting up potatoes, telling her he’s going to make an omelet. Because that’s the cure-all for wasting your life.
“Kathy, I’m sorry, but you were with this man for fifteen years. I told you he was stringing you along. I told you—no ring, no marriage, no babies, he’s not serious. Here we are, facing the consequences of your inaction. You wanted to bea stay-at-home girlfriend and play NHL hockey captain’s wife.”
I know I sound mean, but I’m so tired of always being the responsible one, the one who has to clean up my sister’s messes.
“Your sister isn’t a gold digger!” my mom hisses at me.
“Damn right she ain’t no gold digger—a gold digger gets paid. I don’t see any gold. I wanna know where the gold’s at,” Gran announces. “She should have gotten preggo.”
“Dad, please don’t use a metal spatula on that pan.” I turn back to Kathy. “It’s tough love. This is Seattle. It’s not Minnesota. You can’t just be a pretty face here. Men expect you to have something to your name. They’re all highly allergic to useless freeloaders.”
“Your sister is not a freeloader, and I expected you to be more supportive.” Mom chastises me as she refolds my dish towels.
“Mom, Kathy can go get a job. She is an able-bodied woman with a high school diploma. Food service is hiring. Dad, that’s Fidget’s dog food, that’s not—”
