I bark out a laugh and wipe away the tear that somehow escaped. Jo isn’t one to gloss anything over, and I love her for it. My youngest sister is shamelessly blunt and wildly confident, but I know how soft she is at her core.
“Birdie came over and helped me plant a few of the rosemary bushes when I first started renovating,” I say, dragging my palms along the bandana from my back pocket. My bare feet squelch along the freshly drenched dirt as I weave my way back toward the paver walkway I installed myself. “Those are the only two things still alive”—I glance at the potted plants that are in dire need of shade and water—“and they’re barely holding on.”
When I came back to Tennessee, the house I’d been renting was no longer mine. Most of my things were either in storage or taking up space in Birdie’s house. Coming back meant starting over,again. There have been so many starts and stops, and this time has felt even more dizzying than the last. When I passed this old barn at the edge of my uncle’s property, I didn’t overthink all the reasons why it wasn’t a good idea, I asked him if I could rent it. Of course, he said yes. I looked at this run-down structure for my entire life, and I always imagined what it could be if someone took care of it.Iwanted to take care of it.
“Do you remember the ducks that used to live in the pond across the street?” Jo asks as she tries smelling the bunches of wildflowers that are probably the only pretty thing out here—and another weed.
I pause, thinking back to when we were kids. It wasn’t really very quiet or easy in our house, but getting lost outside always felt good. “You mean the one’s Mom said would be great as duck l’orange?”
“God, she’s such a bitch,” Jo says with a heaved sigh, and it has me barking out a laugh
“What am I missing!?” Stevie shouts to us from her car. “You’re not allowed to have fun until I get there!”
“Just reminiscing about how mean Mom was about the ducks,” Jo shouts back to her.
Stevie chuckles. “Ah, yes, our mother . . . a real fucking Snow White.”
The level of asshole our mother is capable of being has always been one of our ways of connecting. I’m not sure what that says about us as siblings or daughters, but when you grow up with Tallulah Crowne as your primary example of responsible adult behavior, there are only two ways to go: lean in and endure, or throw yourself as far away as possible. Stevie and Jo chose the first, and I took the second route, yet somehow, we still find common ground in half loving and half tolerating the woman who raised us. Thankfully, it was Birdie who kept us grounded when Lu was living her most destructive life.
I can’t help but wonder if my sisters know what I walked into the other night. What our mother and grandmother might be involved in. I don’t have it in me right now to broach that topic with them.
“I need meat and cheese right now,” Jo says, moving toward the patio doors. “Stevie, I swear, if you didn’t bring shoes this time, we’re going to your place to get them.”
“Have no fear, my bitchy little sistah,” Stevie calls out in some atrocious British accent. She walks to the back of her car and pops the trunk. “I have the shoes!”
I shake my head and laugh as she hoists two very large garbage bags out of her trunk.
“Did you seriously put eight-hundred-dollar stilettos into a Hefty bag?” I ask, wiping my feet off and stepping inside my place.
I hold the door for her as she shoves inside. When she drops them, she says, “Don’t be a snob. Who gives a hoot how beautiful things arrive, as long as they arrive. Right, Jo?” Stevie says, giving Jo a side-eye.
“I stopped listening when the truffle cheddar entered my mouth,” she says over a mouthful.
Stevie drags her eyes from my feet to my top and then back down again. “I’m glad you’re in a good mood. It’s the perfect time to tell you that you’re officially on the schedule with us this week.”
I glance at Jo.I’m absolutely fucking not.“I already said no to that. I have a job. And it’snotat The Whispering Fool.”
Jo smiles wide. “Everyone could use a little mad money, Wyn. I mean, we have a semi-expensive obsession,” she says, pointing to the garbage bags in front of our sister.
“Oh, come on, Wynnie,” Stevie says, cocking her hip and dumping a garbage bag filled with clothes and shoes onto my floor. “And according to the very delicious looking man at dinner, you’re a great bartender. Hmm, should we elaborate on that? And bywe, I mean you.”
I furrow my brow and skirt around the kitchen island to my fridge, pulling out the latest cake Lu delivered. I never thought I’d eat cake again, but now I eat it every damn chance I can.
“Wouldn’t mind a little detail about that one, if you’re feeling up to it,” Jo says as she slathers a piece of bread with Brie and honey.
I take a bite of the jam cake and the chopped pecans with the brown sugar coats my mouth, instantly making me feel better.
Stevie flops her body on my bed across the open room. “What if we resort to begging? I would like to both have you pouring drinks alongside usandwitness the most dirtiest of details about exactly what kind of bartending skills Julian experienced,” she says, propping her chin on her fist.
“Begging doesn’t work with me, you know that,” I tell her.
“Does it work when he does it?” Stevie covers her mouth, and then says, “Wait, no, he’s so much more BDE. I bet he’s a make-you-beg-for-it guy.”
Jo sniffs out a laugh, knowing full well I’m going to cave. “BDE?”
“Big Daddy Energy,” Stevie says. “Or Big Dick Energy. Depends on the vibe, still trying to figure out Wyn’s guy.”
Jo looks at me, raising her eyebrows.
