“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Who’s everyone?”
Cece draws the blinds on the cottage windows. “Mostly you and Mom.”
“You’ve been through a trauma.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic? I’m the one who left Jonathan. You remember that, right?”
“Of course, Claire, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still hard.”
Cece hates it when Wynonna uses her full name. It makes her feel like she’s in trouble, like she isn’t the older sister, like she wasn’t the one who carried all their parents’ expectations, their aspirations and anxieties. By the time Wynonna arrived, Barry and Kim had mellowed: no AP classes, no hard push to pursue sports, no early curfews. It was as if they were raised by wholly different parents, and on more than one occasion, Cece must remind herself that none of this is Wynonna’s fault.
“I’m fine,” Cece says. “Can we not talk about this? How’s North Carolina?”
More muffled threats, something about eating food off the ground. “Sorry, what? Were we always such a nightmare as kids?I swear, I can’t remember ever putting Mom through the stuff these two get up to.”
“That’s because it was usually Dad taking care of us. Mom was always at the office.”
“No way. Mom was in the city a lot, but we always had sitters.”
“Yes, he did, Wynonna. That was when his business was still getting off the ground and he worked from home. You just don’t remember because you were too young.”
“I think I would have remembered something like that.”
This is typical for their conversations, unable to agree on even the simplest of facts. They’re blood, and Cece loves Wynonna, would do anything for her, but sometimes she can’t fathom how sometimes it feels like they’re living on separate planets governed by completely different rules. None of this should surprise Cece. They’ve never rowed to the same cadence, so it was predictable when Wynonna settled down soon after college, moving to Charlotte, where she had zero job prospects or friends to raise a family. “All Devin’s business is down here,” she’d said. “It just makes sense.”
Cece had tried not to judge, but she couldn’t help question whether Wynonna was actually happy. Marriage, popping out babies, furthering the species in the face of most certain climate destruction—did any of it make sense?
“Let’s just agree to disagree,” Cece says.
“You really aren’t gonna tell me how you’re doing?”
“Hey, don’t tell Mom or Dad about the oyster farm, okay?”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
“Have you been responding to her emails?”
“Which ones? I can’t keep up with all of them.”
“She’s gonna flip about the oyster job.”
“Not if she doesn’t find out.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Is it, though?”
“It is if you actually tell me how you’re doing.”
Even though she isn’t so sure, Cece reaffirms that she’s fine, never been better, in a lighthearted voice she summons from some unknown source.
“So, it’s over. He hasn’t tried to contact you at all?”
Maybe because Cece hasn’t thought about Jonathan since yesterday morning, or maybe because she doesn’t have anyone else to talk to about this stuff, she finds herself telling Wynonna about his text message and trademark concern.
