After a second on the toilet, I turned on the sink.
I pulled out my phone to text Kate.
Hannah
Don’t come over
Barry is here.
Kate
I already made the popcorn
Kate had gotten one of the stove-top popcorn pots for her birthday last year and used it as frequently as she could, always trying new seasonings and things. Friday Fright Nights were born because of the popcorn machine and were an excuse to watch scary movies every couple of weeks. Unless Jeremy was coming, in which case we made him watch a movie musical.
Kate
What is he doing? What does he want?
Hannah
Moving in, basically.
He’s staying in murder basement.
Kate
I’m coming over.
Hannah
Don’t
I texted the same text three times, but if I had to guess, she and Greg Sr. were already on their way.
Hannah
I’m serious
Kate didn’t respond, which was message enough that she would not be listening. Thank God Jeremy was busy tonight, I would have an aneurysm if I had to manage them both around Barry. The two of them knew every secret of mine, all my most embarrassing traits, and were not afraid to brandish them for the sake of sibling comedy. They’d probably get along with Scotty.
“Hey, have you eaten?” Barry asked through the bathroomdoor, which made me drop my cell phone onto the linoleum, where it bounced twice.
“Uh, just a sec,” I said. I flushed and turned off the faucet, then turned it back on to wash my hands. I was freshly out of hand soap, so I used the bar from the shower and made a mental note to get more immediately before Barry thought I didn’t wash my hands or something.
As I dried my hands, I heard a knock on the front door, followed by Barry’s heavy steps on his way to open it. Like he already lived here. I knew it was Kate before I even heard her voice, and when I exited the bathroom, there she was, putting on quite the show.
“Oh! I didn’t know anyone else would be here,” Kate said. Greg Senior loped into the room, dragging his rope leash behind him on his way to the dog bed in the corner. “I’m Kate.”
She offered a hand to Barry, who shook it and looked between us.
“You must be Hannah’s sister,” he concluded. “You look alike.”
This was true, at least mostly. Kate was taller than me, five foot ten, and had hair more brown than red which she kept long, water-falling over her shoulders or tucked into a neat braid. She had this athletic-chic look going on, and a less round face, which my pregnancy had only made more apparent. Sometimes I wished she’d get a neck tattoo or something so people would be distracted from immediately thinking “just like Hannah, only prettier.”
Though no doubt she’d pull off a neck tattoo just fine. Would look terrific on her.
“Yep,” Kate said. “Nice to finally meet the mystery man who knocked up my sister.”
