Nora blinked as if just noticing for the first time that Mariana had arrived. “I do. I totally do.”
“Great. I’ll eat just about anything at this point.” Luke had brought home sushi, bags of it. He always bought twelve rolls, never believing her that they wouldn’t eat more than three or four. Mariana couldn’t imagine stuffing anything else in her mouth ever again. But she’d do it for Nora.
“I got figs and I made those bacon-cheese biscuits you like. Oh, and I have the best goat cheese. A local gal makes it.”
This was better. “Yeah? Do you know how she processes it?” There was very little that Mariana could imagine caring less about than how a Marin local made cheese in her backyard dairy, but Nora’s eyes lit up.
“She showed me everything, and I got to meet the goats when I went to pick up my second order.”
“You’re kidding. Get it?”
“They were darling.” Nora took out a plate, prearranged of course, and knocked the door of the fridge closed with her hip. With her other hand, she slid two glasses off the wine rack, cleverly not breaking them the way Mariana would have had she tried that maneuver. “They jump, did you know that? Straight up into the air, like, well . . . like little goats, I guess. And their eyes looked like they were stuck on sideways.”
Mariana looked at the plate with growing distrust. “Huh.”
“The males and females are kept separate because they’ll start to breed at six weeks old. Think about that. I met Wallace and Gromit in her yard, and then I met Cliff and Clair in the pen.”
“As in Huxtable?”
“Oh!” Nora stopped pouring the white wine into Mariana’s glass, the liquid splashing to the countertop. She laughed. “I didn’t make that connection. One of the babies in the yard was Vanessa, I think. That’s kind of great.” She mopped up the spilled wine with a pristine white dish towel.
“So the woman who makes cheese is our age.”
Nora tilted her head again, as if checking in with someone before answering.
Mariana felt a thump in the middle of her chest. “Nora?”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I just assumed she was older than us.”
“Why?” Mariana settled herself on a kitchen stool.
“Don’t you do that nowadays?” Nora pushed the glass toward Mariana and filled her own. “Meet women you think are older, like middle-aged, and then you find out they’re our age? And it’s us who are middle-aged?”
Mariana nodded. “Oh, my god. Yes. And you’re shocked, convinced you look better than them, but you can’t be sure.” It had happened just that afternoon at Luke’s motorcycle shop. Mariana had caught herself noticing Eliza’s roots, thin sparkles of silver showing at her part. Then she’d realized that if she let her own hair grow out more than four weeks, it would have exactly the same white shine. “I do it all the time. But you look great,” said Mariana.
Nora glanced at her distractedly. “I don’t.”
“Really?” If Nora didn’t think she looked good, it was a judgment on Mariana. Sure, they weren’t identical, but they were close enough. “Did I tell you the other day at Whole Foods a woman accosted me and told me she loved my book?”
That got Nora’s attention. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“She recognized me?”
“Well, the point here is she recognized you by looking at me, but yeah.”
“Oh.” Nora twisted the stem of her glass. “That’s so nice.”
“I thought so.”
“What did you say?”
“That I didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“You didn’t.”
Mariana longed to move to the couch, to sprawl. It had been a long day, and she was perched almost formally on the stool. “Of course not. I thanked her sweetly and told her she’d made my day.”
“Thank you for that.” Nora dampened a sponge and started scrubbing at an invisible mark on the countertop.
“Come on, you think I don’t get PR?” Mariana had to be perfect in the minds of her app subscribers. She’d known that when she’d started BreathingRoom, her meditation application, which was just starting to take off—she just hadn’t known how hard it would be to continue pulling it off.
Nora didn’t look up from the sponge. “Sorry. The app, I know. You get it.”
“Hang on. If you scrub at that counter any more, you’re going to reach the basement.” Mariana slid off the stool and picked up both their glasses. “I’ve been sitting at my desk all day—” She saw her sister thin her lips. Naturally. Nora didn’t believe it yet, but the app would be important. This time, this venture: Mariana could feel it. Everyone wanted to meditate, and no one knew how. Mariana might be a fuckup in a lot of ways, but she knew how to sit, how to be mindful, how to breathe. She knew how to say it, how to talk people through it. The app, with its instructional guided meditations, was going to be her ticket. BreathingRoom would take off. Any day now.
She chose the big red chair and a half Nora had bought on her advice years ago. “I still think this is the most comfortable thing in the house. Besides my bed. So tell me. What’s wrong? I can tell something is.”
“Speaking of your bed, are you staying over tonight?”
“I think so. I don’t want to cross the bridge with the crazies after midnight.”
Nora grinned at her. “Sleepover!”
It was silly. They were forty-four, and still the prospect of a sleepover with her sister and niece made Mariana giddily happy. Popcorn and silly movies and staying up too late (till midnight tonight, obviously, maybe later), followed by a lazy morning in Nora’s perfect kitchen. Nora knew how much Mariana loved fresh orange juice and always had it made, squeezed by hand, by the time Mariana wandered downstairs. In return, Mariana—the pancake queen—would flip perfect chocolate chip pancakes, one after another, for Nora, who could pack away an astounding number of them. Once her sister had managed to eat seventeen while Mariana and Ellie roared with laughter. “I’ll make pancakes for you.”
“I hoped you would. But where’s Luke?”
“Home,” Mariana said shortly. He’d been going to come, but then they’d had that stupid fight. Again. She didn’t want to talk about him, though. “Hey, you’re avoiding my question. Are you okay? You’re all distracted and weird.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Nora had that face on, the one Mariana knew better than her own. The one that said she wasn’t going to answer the question straightforwardly. But Nora was the other half of her coin. Mariana knew exactly how to flip her into the air. “Where’s Harrison?”
Nora was ready for it. Smoothly, she said, “Next door, I’d assume.”
“Has Ellie used her Christmas present from him yet?”
“Just once. Why he thought a sixteen-year-old would like a turquoise and yellow backpack, I’m not sure, but she filled it with her library books yesterday before she left and made sure she went to ask him a question first. Then she actually took it with her to the library, if you can believe it.”
Mariana could. Ellie had always been good at taking care of other people’s feelings. She looked over her shoulder at the front door. “So come on. Is he really not coming over?”
“He said he might but not to look for him. He might fall asleep early.”
“When are you two going to fuck and get it over with?”
“Mariana!” One of Nora’s legs shot out and kicked the coffee table.
With some difficulty, Mariana stopped herself from laughing. “You always say you don’t think of him like that, but—”
“Stop.”
It was the way Nora said it. Her voice was thready. Thin. Usually Nora’s next-door neighbor was a topic ripe for teasing. They laughed about him when he wasn’t there, and Mariana was comfortable enough with him to tease him to his face.
She liked the man, genuinely enjoyed his company, and she’d suspected for years that if Harrison weren’t so into dating women with half his IQ, he and her sister would have had a fling a long time ago, getting it out of their systems.
The strange look that crossed her sister’s face did more to unnerve Mariana than anything else had.
“Oh, my god. Nora. You slept with him.”
“No,” Nora started, but her word was cut off by something that sounded like a cough even though she maintained the same facial expression.
Mariana flipped her legs off the arm of the chair and slid into a seated position on the floor next to Nora’s knees. “You did.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
Mariana’s spine loosened with relief. Just a man. Just a boy problem. Easiest thing in the world. Luke’s hurt face flashed into her mind.
“Tell me everything.” She rested her head against the couch’s seat cushion. “If you leave one single word out, I will know, and I will bite you in the kneecap, I swear to god.”
Chapter Five
Nora didn’t know where to start. She couldn’t believe she’d kept it a secret from Mariana for so many weeks.
In front of her, Mariana leaned forward and bared her teeth, aiming for her knee. “I’ll do it,” she growled. “I’ll bite you so hard . . . Tell me.”
“It was just once.”
Mariana narrowed her eyes. “Are you lying to me?”
“No.”
“Soooo hot,” her sister drawled. “A one-night stand with your best friend.”
“You’re my best friend. Duh.” Nora hated it when Mariana called Harrison that. It wasn’t like you got a choice when you were a twin. Nora’s best friend had been chosen in utero forty-four years prior. If Mariana had ended up being a psychopathic serial killer, it would have just meant that Nora’s best friend was on death row.
She took a deep breath and placed a hand over her bellybutton.
Mariana clapped twice. “Your best male friend. Whatever. Tell me.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“You’re killing me. So. When?”
Nora felt her face color.
“Oh, Nora. How long ago? You didn’t tell me?” Mariana’s voice was hurt.
They talked to each other. Every day. They always had, about everything. And yet, even yet, sometimes nothing was said.
“Eight weeks. Maybe nine.”
Mariana swallowed. Her neck was an inch longer than Nora’s—they’d measured once, when Nora had realized she wasn’t the same swan her sister was. “Wow.”
“I’m so sorry—” Eight weeks was an eternity not to tell her sister something this big. She told Mariana when Whole Foods ran out of the local Zocalo dark roast she loved best. She told her about her bad dreams. But she hadn’t told her about Harrison. Why?
Mariana waved her hand. “No, stop.”
“But—”
“Really, you’ll just end up making it worse.”
The words made Nora want to take back the apology, as sincere as it had been. There was no rule she had to tell Mariana anything at all. She hadn’t broken any laws. “It’s really not a big deal, anyway.”
Mariana’s hand crept up to grip the edge of the couch cushion her head leaned against. “You didn’t do anything wrong by not telling me. I’m sorry I reacted like that. Tell me everything.”
Her smile was an antidote to everything that hurt inside Nora. “Okay.”
“Most importantly, was it good?”
Nora folded her lips around her smile.
“Right on. More, please. Is he hung?”
Nora could only squeak. She held a finger to her lips and looked over her shoulder toward the staircase. It had been years since Ellie had hidden there, listening, but it could still happen.
“The reason I ask,” Mariana continued, “is because of his hands. They’re small. But I think they’re the deceptive kind of small, because his feet are frickin’ enormous. Remember when we went to the lake a few years back with Ellie and him? I couldn’t take my eyes off what was in his flip-flops.”
“Seriously?”
“I mentioned it to you then.”
“If you did, I blocked that out completely.” Harrison had brought an intelligent-looking but not-quite-smart-enough law student who hadn’t understood the importance of sunblock and had ended up with a blistered sunburn. Nora had shared her aloe vera gel.
Mariana shrugged, tucking her fist under her chin, catching it between her jaw and clavicle. “‘Friends with benefits’ isn’t a phrase because it never happens. Happens all the time. Look at me and Luke.”
“You met him in a bar and”—Nora broke off before almost whispering—“slept with him the night you met.”
“Yeah, but then he became my friend. Okay, and then my boyfriend. But whatever.”
Nora shook her head, but her heart felt light, like it was made of paper. She hadn’t realized how much she’d hated keeping the secret from her sister.
“Anyway. This isn’t about me. More.” Mariana rocked forward and backward once, tapping Nora’s knee with her forehead. “How did it start?”
“We had too much wine. Isn’t that always how it happens?”
“Where was Ellie?”
“At Samantha’s.”
“Ah. So you had too much wine on purpose.”
“No.” But she had. They had. She knew that. It was nice to have something to blame it on. The next morning, Harrison had rolled over with such a look, and it had cut something inside her, sliced her heart in a way she knew she couldn’t handle. He wanted more. She hadn’t seen that coming. Oh, man, she’d said to him. I drank so much last night. Can hardly remember a thing! She’d seen him pull back, a hurt snail retreating into its beloved shell. Yeah. Me, too.
They hadn’t talked about it. Not once in two months. He’d tried bringing it up one night, but she’d asked him not to. He’d complied.
“Whatever it was, I blew it.”
“Oh, my god.” Mariana sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “That means you’re admitting there was something to blow.”
“No, I didn’t . . .”
Mariana scrambled to her feet. “I’m going over there and dragging his ass over here.”
“No.”
“What?” Her sister cocked a hip. “I thought he was your best friend. Your other one.”
“Don’t,” said Nora, feeling as if they were in high school again and Mariana was teasing her, cajoling her to talk to boys when she could barely look at them. “Please don’t.” Tears thickened in her throat. Good grief, it wasn’t that serious. Mariana was teasing. Nora sucked in a breath. She couldn’t cry about it. God, don’t let Mariana see . . .
But she had. “Oh, honey. No. I’m sorry. Please, don’t . . .” Mariana sunk to the couch, pressing her knees against Nora’s. “Please don’t cry. You know how I get when you do.”
It was true. Sometimes it seemed like nothing in the whole world could truly upset Mariana except for seeing Nora cry. When Paul left, Mariana would climb behind Nora in her bed, unable to look her in the face while she howled, wrapping her arms around her, able to console Nora only from the back, only from where she was safe from the tears. When hit face-to-face with them (in the kitchen, at the grocery store), her cheeks went pale, her skin tone almost sallow. Nora suspected Mariana felt physically ill when she cried, actually experiencing nausea. It must be nice to be so strong you felt queasy in the face of weakness.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” said Mariana desperately. “You can’t cry. It’s bad luck. Or something. Have some goat cheese. Think of the kids.” A pause. “Get it?”
The damned crying—maybe it was a symptom of something. She really wanted to google it, but she was worried it would confirm a perimenopause diagnosis. Every day for at least the last
five or six weeks, she’d either fought off tears or given in to them somewhere quietly, privately. Once Ellie had almost caught her, but she’d pleaded something was in her contact lenses, and Ellie, who didn’t seem to be able to notice anyone but herself lately, had bought it.
Tears trickled down Nora’s face. She wiped them away impatiently. “I’m not crying.”
“You are. God, Jesus, you are. Stop it. Please?” Mariana’s hands were fists in front of her belly.
“Are we going to box?”
“Will it stop you from crying?”
“I swear to everything holy, I’m not crying. This stupid water keeps coming out of my eyes. I think it’s allergies.”
From the direction of the kitchen came Ellie’s voice. She’d sneaked down the stairs—when? How much had she heard? “Mom?”
She sounded young. Small. “We’re in here. Just talking,” called Nora, scrubbing at her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
“No, here. Don’t.” Mariana used a napkin, one of the cheerful poinsettia ones Nora had sewed herself, using discounted post-Christmas fabric she’d found one year. They had prompted an essay, actually, about finding joy in craft store sale bins.
Mariana blotted carefully. “There. Blink. Good.”
“Where’s that cheese?” Ellie poked her head into the room.
“In here, chipmunk. Come give me a hug,” said Mariana.
Nora watched the two of them embrace. Her sister and her daughter. If Mariana couldn’t handle tears, at least she handled happiness well. She was used to it, after all. Inside, Nora felt a tiny bloom of fear, a terrified algae spreading through her blood. She reached into her jeans pocket to touch the piece of beach glass she kept there. Smooth and warm, as usual.
Then she stood with them. “I want more wine. Ellie? Sparkling apple cider? It’s your favorite.” She ignored the eye roll that went along with her daughter’s assent.
They’d celebrate the New Year, by god, even if she had to drag them both along behind her.
Chapter Six
“Ten, nine, eight . . .”
Maybe Ellie could tell Aunt Mariana about what had happened. Later. When the house was dark and her aunt was in the guest bed. Maybe she could sneak in and tell her.
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