by S. Celi
But it wouldn’t be right. Deep inside, I knew that. We were family. Maybe not by blood, but certainly by everything else. I’d lived with this girl for decades. Grown up with her. Cared about her. We shouldn’t break that bond and go someplace unknown. We couldn’t.
“We can’t be together like that, Avery.” I opened the car door and hoped she’d see that as a signal that this conversation had to end. “Come on. You know that.”
My words hung in the air for a beat.
“God. I wish things were different,” she finally said. “Sometimes I hate my life.”
“You don’t hate your life. Come on.” I gestured at the house. “Plenty of people would say we have everything.”
She wiped her eyes with one hand. “I hate it.”
“This is the life we have.” I stepped out of the car and motioned for her to follow me. “Come on. Let’s just go inside. This will all look different in the morning.”
“Not for me.”
I sighed. “We’ll talk about it then, okay?”
OF COURSE, THINGS didn’t look different the next morning.
Well, I take that back. Our relationship looked different, but not in the way I wanted.
The next morning, when I stumbled down the staircase and into the kitchen, Avery already sat at the long breakfast bar in front of a kale smoothie and a cup of coffee. She had earphones shoved in her ears, her iPhone lay on the tile of the bar, and she held her Kindle in front of her as if it had the key to a better life.
She never looked at me once.
I pulled open the fridge, grabbed the orange juice, and poured it into a waiting cup. Once I threw the OJ back in the fridge, I slammed the door shut just to see if she’d look up from the Kindle.
She didn’t.
Frustrated, I sat on the opposite end of the breakfast bar. A note from Henry lay next to a stack of magazines. My mother wanted to have lunch with me at the Metropolitan Club as a welcome back to the city, and Henry didn’t want me to forget that she had a noon lunch reservation for that day. I read the note once, but it didn’t distract me from her.
Avery.
I don’t know how long I stared at my stepsister; I don’t know how long I studied her heart-shaped face and the way her eyebrows tightened as she read. I just did it without thinking as I played our conversation from the night before over and over in my mind.
Avery wanted me; she’d admitted as much. More importantly, she sensed I wanted her too, and she didn’t care about the ramifications of what that meant. She’d already made up her mind; if we crossed into something unknown, she wouldn’t protest at all. She wouldn’t get hung up in the grey boundary between stepsiblings.
I, however, still did.
She sat there wrapped in silence as if I didn’t exist. I knew her well enough to know when she was mad, and this time she really was. Avery didn’t like rejection, so she must have hated it from me. In fact, her sulking that morning came with a pair of tight leggings and a blue tunic tank top that put her breasts into full view.
“Avery,” I said after another swallow of bitter orange juice. When she didn’t answer to her name, I tapped her on the shoulder. “Avery.”
Her head twisted around to me. “Yes?”
I motioned for her to pull the earphones out of her ears, and as she did I noticed she wore lipstick. Oh, my dangerous and irresistible stepsister. She had wanted to make me notice her that morning. The lipstick proved it. This was going to be a hard conversation. Very hard.
Fuck.
“About last night,” I said.
“What about it?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot.” I gulped. “A lot about us.”
She turned off her Kindle and I knew I had her attention. “From what you said last night, there is no us. Even if I want there to be. There is no ‘us’ at all.”
“You know why there can’t be,” I said, and my eyes locked with hers. “This would never work. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I know. You told me last night.”
“We can’t do this to our family.”
“Fine.” She folded her arms. “By the way, I heard you the first time.”
I nodded. “But did you listen? Do you really know what you’re asking? Have you really, and I mean really, stopped and thought about this?”
“Spencer, I’ve thought about it so many times. Especially while you were gone.”
“While I was gone?” The words caught in my throat a little. I left for South Africa wanting her, but I’d never considered she might’ve had the same feelings for me. “Really, Avery? While I was in the Peace Corps?”
She sighed. “Really.”
I looked at what remained of the orange juice in my glass. What I had to say next would hurt. It would hurt a lot, and now I knew it would hurt her as much as it would hurt me.
“We can’t do this. Ever. No matter what. No matter how much we want to,” I said. Then I stood up from my chair. “And that’s final, Avery. I’m your stepbrother. Your brother, for Christ’s sake. You’re more of a sister to me than a stepsister. And no matter how much I may want this . . . No matter how much you do, too . . . this can never happen. Ever.”
She stared at me and said nothing.
“We have to go back to acting normal,” I said, then looked away from her and stared at the refrigerator. “The sooner we forget we had this conversation, the better. I’m your bother. You’re my sister. That’s all.”
Then I turned and walked out of the kitchen. By the time I got to the staircase, she’d called my name more than once. I stopped at the first stair and waited to see if she’d follow me.
But she didn’t.
MOM ALREADY HAD a seat at the table when I walked into the main dining room at Metropolitan Club. As always, she looked as if she belonged at the place, a vision of perfection accented by a short blonde bob and a pink Chanel suit. She had at least six of those, and seeing her not wearing one would have been a shock.
“Oh, honey, so good to see you.” She stood from her table when I walked over and hugged me. “You look so handsome. Thinner.”
“I told you I didn’t really like the food in South Africa,” I said, then took a seat. She already had a glass of iced tea in front of her, and I saw with amusement that she still took her usual two packs of sugar with it.
“I know you didn’t.” She stirred the tea. “But I hope that you see the Peace Corps as a good experience.” From the expression on her face, I knew I had only one appropriate answer.
“Yes. I loved it. It was a good decision.”
“Your father convinced me. I was skeptical at first. But he said it would make you more mature. Help you get some perspective about life. Focus.”
“Oh, trust me,” I said as the waiter walked up to us, “I’m focused.”
We both placed our orders. She wanted a large salad with chicken and I settled for the same, along with a Diet Coke. As we talked to the waiter, a typical mix of club members also arrived for lunch. Mom waved to a few she knew and introduced me to one, a pot-bellied man with a slight comb-over and an ill-fitting suit who she said had helped her plan the gala for Children’s Hospital last year.
“So wonderful to meet your son,” he said as I shook his clammy hand. “She’s told me all about you. Very proud.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“And you’re back in town permanently?”
“Yes.” I glanced from my mom back to the man. “Hoping to officially join the family business.”
He nodded. “We just leased some office space from your Dad for the law firm.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mom said, a gleaming smile on her face. She loved still having the Chadwick family name. “I’ll make sure David is a good landlord for you.”
Both my mom and the potbellied man laughed, as if this were some kind of inside joke. I just stared at them.
We’d never been close, my mother and I. She loved me, and I knew that, but raising a kid in her thirties and forties di
dn’t top her priorities. She wanted to spend her time bouncing around from charity board to charity board, always looking for a better gala to plan or a better party that could carry her name—or rather, Dad’s name. She got a thrill when her photo wound up in the social pages, and most of that came from people’s perception of her, not the reality. Growing up, she saw me every other weekend and let me accompany her to theater opening nights and cocktail parties when it suited her. I loved her from afar, and Linda gave me the kind of daily interaction I needed.
But at least Mom had an amicable split with my dad. You might have called them friends. They just didn’t work as a married couple.
“So,” Mom said when the man walked away to join his table of guests. “What do you think your father will have you do at the company?”
I shrugged. “Run it?”
She laughed.
“I’m ready. I’ve been ready.”
Mom sipped her tea. “You know, a hundred thousand dollar college education doesn’t make you ready to run a multi-million dollar company.”
“You forgot about all those summers I spent working for the company for nothing. I know Chadwick Properties and Construction backward and forward. When he comes home, I’ll prove it to him.”
“Ah, yes, two days.” She sipped her tea. “I’m sure he and Linda have had a good time.”
“They went all over Italy and the Mediterranean.” The waiter arrived with my Diet Coke. “And their latest email said they’re having fun.”
“And when they get back, it’s all about the Fourth of July party, right?”
I shrugged. “So much of that’s on auto-pilot now. You know how the house is. It’s so easy to entertain there, and Linda always plans so much stuff in advance.”
“She’s good at that,” Mom said.
“You can come to the party,” I said. “I know they always invite you.”
“We’ll see,” she said, and then our salad lunches arrived. She dove into hers, but I only took a few bites. Talking about the party got me thinking about Avery and her upcoming birthday on July 5th. Twenty-two. She’d be twenty-two.
Shit. Time was passing so quickly; I’d known this girl now for almost eighteen years. Might as well have been my whole life.
“I think you should come,” I said after a forced bite of food. “Dad said this year’s a big one, since it’s the tenth anniversary of the party.”
“And everyone knows just how much your Dad likes to make a statement.”
I smiled at her. “Just as much as you do, Mom.”
Mom put down her salad fork. “What about Avery? How is she doing?”
“Avery?”
“I haven’t seen her in a while.” A devious smile pulled her lips. “But isn’t she going to do Junior League this year?”
“I guess so. She’s old enough. I’m sure Dad and Linda will want her to,” I said, then took a large bite of my salad.
I didn’t want to talk about Avery with my mother. And yet, Mom always mentioned her whenever we had lunch or met for drinks. In some ways, she acted like Avery’s benevolent aunt, and when we were kids, Mom even got Avery presents for her birthday.
“She’s really turned out beautiful.” Mom ate another bite of her salad. She’d finish it soon, and I had to admit I welcomed that. Once she finished her meal, we’d be that much closer to the end of lunch, and that much closer to the end of any discussion about my stepsister.
I nodded. “And she’s very . . . She’s very put together. Both inside and out.”
“What’s she studying at grad school in the fall? Marketing?”
“Corporate Communications.” I sipped some more Diet Coke. “She hasn’t really talked to me about it.”
“That’s a surprise. You guys are so close.”
My eyes met hers and the conversation at the breakfast bar replayed in my mind. “Not any closer than a normal stepbrother and stepsister. We’re family. That’s all.”
My mother laughed so loud the people at the table next to us stopped eating.
GROWING UP, WE had traditions. Tons of traditions. And one of those traditions involved the way we picked up family members from the airport after long business trips, summer camp, or extended vacations. Whoever stayed behind at Chadwick Gardens made a big sign to take to the airport, often one as obnoxious as possible and covered in things like glitter and Puffy Paint. Then Henry would take all of us out to CVG and we’d wait at the baggage claim. This happened at least six times a year during my childhood, but we stopped once I went to college.
That summer, though, Avery insisted that we revive the tradition for Dad and Linda when they came home from Italy. She wouldn’t hear of any other way. We had to do it, she said, because the small things in life counted more than people wanted to admit.
The flight schedule said the plane landed at 12:23PM, so that morning she pulled out Linda’s craft box from the basement storage and made two large signs for us to hold, one that said “Welcome Home” and the other “We Missed You.” When she showed them to me with a huge grin, I decided I wouldn’t argue. No sense in hurting her feelings, though she had no artistic talent, and the last time we did this I was a senior in high school who had just visited Wharton for the first time with Dad.
“We have to make it special,” she said to me on the ride over to the airport. Henry drove us in Dad’s Denali, and we sat in the backseat like two kids. Her homemade posters were wrapped around our feet, and I wondered if the paint had dried. “This way, you get off on the right foot with them.”
“I think it might take more than Puffy Paint and some cut-out letters to please Dad,” I said.
She rolled her eyes and looked out the window as we turned off I-75 and onto 275. Henry, meanwhile, caught my eye in the rearview mirror and a smirk danced on his face.
“Just remember something,” Avery said as we drove past two more exits. “When it comes to your dad, whatever happened in the past remains in the past. And you have the power to change the way he sees you in the future.”
“Oh, I fully intend to,” I said. “I didn’t spend all that time kicking ass at Wharton just to waste it. I belong at Chadwick Properties. And no matter what, he’s going to see that.”
“And maybe, along the way, you’ll decide things aren’t so bad. It’s all . . . It’s all in how you choose to look at things. I learned that a long time ago. If you think everything is awful, then it will be.”
“I don’t think you’re so bad, Avery.”
“I’m not talking about me,” she said, still looking at the passing rolling hills and suburban sprawl of Northern Kentucky. “I know you don’t feel that way about me. But I’m talking about everything else.”
Once we got to the airport, we waited at the top of the long escalator with the signs. I didn’t know how I would feel when I saw Dad again, if I would be okay with him or not, and when I saw them at the end of the underground tunnel the tension in my stomach shifted.
In the last two years, Dad had transformed from a pot-bellied man with salt-and-pepper hair and a small bald spot to a slim older gentleman with white hair and long lines on his face from too much stress of contracts and budgets. I knew Linda’s latest low-carb diet made him lose a large amount of weight, but this made my mouth drop open for a second. It was as if he’d lost half a person, and now he looked tired of life. He wouldn’t be able to run Chadwick Properties and Construction much longer. I knew that from one glace at him.
That company needed me now more than ever.
“Avery,” Linda said as she stepped off the escalator first. Underneath the wide brim of her straw hat, I noticed a few changes about her, too. A few Botox injections had erased the small lines I remembered around her eyes, and her dark brown hair now had rust-colored highlights, with no trace of gray. She pulled my stepsister and her poster into a hug. “So nice to see you, honey.” The she pulled away and glanced at the poster. “What’s this?”
“A welcome home,” Avery said.
Lin
da’s glance fell on the poster again. “Well. Nice effort, honey.”
Linda and Avery sometimes had a tenuous relationship. Just like my father, Linda expected Avery to further the family. Showcase impeccable manners. Marry well—and to someone with an Ivy League degree. To succeed. Over the years, I’d seen it manifest in icy smiles and cold compliments because Avery didn’t always meet Linda’s standards. When she didn’t, Linda had a tone, a way of phrasing things that revealed more about what she hadn’t said than what she had.
I heard it again, right then, in the way Linda spoke to Avery. I would have said something to her, but Dad took a step toward me. At first he only nodded, but then he extended his hand.
“Son. Wonderful to see you.”
“Great to see you, too, Dad,” I said as I clasped his hand. He didn’t hug me right away, but that didn’t surprise me. Dad had never been one for huge displays of affection, except when he wanted to impress people. That was one of the reasons why we started the poster tradition during childhood. You might call it our sad way of asking our parents to be more affectionate.
“You’re looking good,” he said, then pulled me forward and hugged me once, with two quick taps on my back. I followed his lead and did the same. When we stopped hugging, he said, “I’m sorry we weren’t home when you got back from South Africa.”
“It was my decision to come home then.” I shrugged and looked at Linda, who by now had finished hugging Avery. “Linda.”
“Spencer,” she said, and gave me a stilted hug. She had a soft, round body like most women in their late fifties, but she’d maintained a lot of her beauty over the last few years.
“You look great,” she said against my shoulder.
“I do?” I said when I pulled away from her.
“Yes. Happier. A lot happier. I think South Africa was good for you.”
“People never describe me as happy.”
She frowned. “Well, something about you has changed, Spencer.”