The Curvy Sister

by Jordan Bell

  I kept the kitchen island between us as he started opening and shutting cupboards. I watched him uneasily. He looked good shirtless in my kitchen, barefoot and rumpled early in the morning.

  But it was a little too comfortable. Temporary distractions did not eat eggs in his underwear at your dining room table.

  Less than a week. He was gone in less than a week.

  “I’m more of a granola bar and apple slices sort of girl.” I tugged at the frayed strings of my robe and watched him lean into my nearly empty fridge.

  “Cassidy, there’s like, a half a stick of butter, four eggs, and some hazelnut coffee creamer in here. What do you eat?”

  “Look, I’m like three cats away from starring as the town spinster in ghost stories teenagers tell each other over bonfires while trying to impress girls. Thanks to YouTube I know how to make like, four things, all of which I make in large quantities and freeze so I only have to cook once a week.” His eyebrow arched while I rambled neurotically. I needed to get him out of my kitchen before I made a fool of myself. “I live alone. I don’t need much.”

  “You’re a terrible farm girl.”

  “Oh, you have no idea.”

  He grinned and scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. “Ok. Well, we can do something with four eggs and butter. Not a lot, but we won’t starve.” He placed the egg carton and butter on the counter. He kept his back to me while he pulled down bowls he’d found in his earlier hunt. “You’d love New York. Everything comes with a delivery boy and a tip. You never have to leave your apartment if you don’t want to. Sometimes I even have groceries delivered.”

  The offhanded comment startled me. He didn’t mean anything by it, but he said it like there was some possibility I’d ever find out about delivery boys and tips. As he cracked eggs against the edge of the counter, my anxiety grew like a tornado siren in my head. He was supposed to quiet the world, not make it scarier.

  I opened my mouth to tell him to stop and go home when he turned, ready to set the mixing bowl on the island, but froze, eyes falling on the mess between us.

  “Why do you still have that, Cass?”

  Jason’s voice sounded cautious and a little accusatory. I followed his stare to the blue cashmere box and mess of packing peanuts. The wedding invitation looked a bit smudgy around the edges where I’d handled it obsessively dozens, or possibly hundreds, of times.

  He eyed the invitation like it was a dangerous weapon, a bomb, a grenade, the only other person in the world who saw that little slick piece of pink and cream paper for what it really was. He didn’t know that it had stopped being the manifestation of my ruined engagement and had started being the countdown for his departure. He set the mixing bowl down and scooped the invitation up in one hand. By the time I realized his intentions, I was too late to stop him.

  “That’s none of your business!”

  “You don’t need this. It’ll only make you crazy.”

  I lunged for it, fingers only just scraping its edge before he yanked it out of reach.

  “It’s mine. You have no right to judge me. What are you, twelve? Give it to me, Jason!” He held it up at arm’s length, his mouth set in a firm, deep frown as I made a jump for it but missed by a mile. Panic suffocated me.

  “It’s been here for as long as I have and you don’t need it. Why would you do this to yourself? You have to let go.”

  Five words and whatever pleasure I felt when I was with him went up in flames. The hollow space where my heart had once lived throbbed raw and red and empty. I sagged, bewildered and ambushed.

  “No,” I stumbled. “Not you, too.”

  Of all the people in the world I thought I was safe with, it was this man. Strong body, strong resolve, passionate, charismatic, and mine. But he wasn’t mine, had never been mine, by virtue of my rules and his being a King. He was Jonathan’s, and by default Bailey’s, on loan to me while I self-medicated on his kisses.

  “You’re done with this.” His face hardened, his resolve making him look so much like Garton King in that moment. He pulled away and went for the sink in two long strides. “It doesn’t define you. It never did.”

  “Stop, please. Jason please. I’m begging you don’t do this to me.” I chased him, clawed at him, reached and pulled and punched him, but I was too small against his broad frame. When begging didn’t get through to him, I wildly changed tactics.

  “This is not your business! You are temporary and meaningless and you have no right to interfere! You don’t get to make breakfast or sleep over or make decisions about my life.” He pushed my hands away, wedged my body from the sink, but it was clear he knew he could hurt me if he really needed to keep me back, and he was trying not to let it come to that.

  But knowing this didn’t stop me from leaving scratches on his arms and beating my fists against him for all I was worth. He flicked on the hot water and reached for the garbage disposal switch. It erupted in a roar and shook the cabinets like an airplane about to take off. My heart careened into my ribcage, ripped itself apart. I didn’t even recognize my own voice, screaming his name, begging him to stop, calling him terrible words I’d never be able to take back. He didn’t look at me or stop or shove me away when I hurt him.

  I sobbed as he shoved the invitation down the sink, and when I tried to save it, he snatched my hands away from the drain and held them up and away.

  “Stop it! Are you crazy?”

  His hands were too hot around mine, no longer the comfort I remembered them to be. The blades chewed up the paper, some scraps fluttered into the air, but most turned into a wet pulpy mess that disappeared down into the dark.

  My hands sank when I couldn’t hold them up anymore. He only let go with one hand to flick off the disposal. The silence was extraordinary and painful.

  “You need to leave.” I didn’t look at him. I felt beaten.

  Jason reached over me and tucked me in to the circle of his arms, his hands still gripping mine like I might try to retrieve the shredded paper from the disposal anyway. He touched his cheek to my temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “And you’re not coming back.” I tried to twist away, not sure what was worse, the way he held on or the fear that he might stop.

  “It’s just a piece of paper. It doesn’t mean anything. Let it go.”

  “It meant something,” I murmured darkly. “Just nothing good.”

  I looked up, steeled myself for those eyes, but my attention caught on the dust clouds kicking up down the long road to my house from the highway.

  I could only name a handful of people who would stop by unexpectedly this early on a Saturday, and I didn’t want any of them to know Jason King was here. Not after what happened at the bar last night.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Hide.” I pushed him towards hallway and strained to keep an eye on the dust cloud getting closer.

  “People know now. I’m not afraid of whoever that is.”

  “Well I am and you’ve got a life elsewhere so you don’t count. Go. Hide.”

  I shook my head and gave him a little shove before using the cuffs of my robe to wipe the evidence of tears from my face. I wrapped the robe tight around me and tied it off, suddenly afraid of my own shadow.

  The car pulled to a stop beside mine. A black Toyota. Great gas mileage and a sun roof.

  My sister.

  I opened the back door before she could. She wasn’t alone.

  “Cassidy.” Jonathan’s voice was guarded and irritated, but it lacked certainty and expectation that I hadn’t noticed until Jason who had certainty and expectation in excess. Jonathan seemed thinner than I remembered noticing too, less bulky, more small town politician. He parted his hair on the left and kept it short. Jason didn’t part his at all. He looked pixilated through the rusted screen door. Not quite real. Like seeing a celebrity in real life you’ve only ever seen on TV.

  He didn’t look anything like the villain in my head I’d been tormented by for the last few months. The dissonanc
e put me at an uncomfortable loss for words.

  A small part of me took pleasure in seeing the bruise Jason left on his face. I was willing to bet Bailey was terrified it would be in her wedding photos.

  My bird-sized sister straightened sharply and took a look down my tattered robe and bare feet. I wished I’d shaved my legs or brushed my hair. She seemed so put together for this ungodly time of morning, especially after last night. Her small nose and wispy blond strands gave her an air she certainly didn’t inherit from our parents.

  “What do you want?” I inspected them both warily in the way you don’t let salesmen into your home because they could actually be axe murderers in disguise.

  “To take measurements.” She held up a silver tape measure and notebook in case I didn’t believe her. “Let us in.”

  Jonathan pulled the screen door open, quiet since Jason fixed it. When she stepped forward, I put my foot down to block her.

  “No.”

  “What?” Bailey jerked back. She’d clearly expected a row, but not a flat denial. It was always a pleasure to still be able to surprise my sister.

  “You heard me. You want to take measurements of my house, you’ll call first and schedule a time that is convenient for me.”

  Bailey collected herself and stared down the edge of her nose. “It won’t take but a minute.”

  She tried stepping inside again, but I didn’t let her by. She scowled and glanced beyond me to the treasures hiding inside.

  “Since when do you cook?” She said it like a curse, like I should be deeply ashamed of my mixing bowls left out on the counter for just anyone to see.

  “Not your business.”

  It felt like I was saying that a lot lately.

  Jonathan scowled. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  I didn’t answer that question. “You’ll have to come back another time. Preferably when I’m dressed. Now get off my property before I call the sheriff.”

  When she didn’t move, Jonathan took her hand.

  “We’ll come back, Bail. We’ll call next time.” This he said for me. He nodded. I nodded. Bailey tore away from us both and ran back to her car.

  I slammed the door, turned, and jumped to discover Jason standing not two feet behind me leaning against the wall, arms crossed. I scowled.

  “Get out.”

  I stalked towards the hallway leading to the stairs and my bedroom, but he caught my arm and whirled me back towards him. His baby blue eyes blazed hot and angry.

  “What was that? Why did they want in here to take measurements?”

  I exploded.

  “None of your business! How many times do I have to say that to people?”

  “Maybe it’s not, but I want to know.” He strode behind me down the hallway and up the stairs. “I need to know. Cassidy, stop acting like a goddamn child and talk to me.”

  I whirled on him, almost knocking him down the stairs. “Fine. They’re taking measurements because they are taking my house from me. I’m only the caretaker until one of us gets married. The first of us to get married, to be precise. That granddaughter inherits the house and the land and everything that goes along with it. She’s supposed to raise her family here the way my grandma had. But what my grandma didn’t count on was the fact the land is worth a lot of money. I’m sure they’ll try to sell it. Neither of them are the type to live out in the middle of nowhere.”

  To his credit, he looked horrified. I’d never seen him look so temporarily vulnerable as he did right then, but it didn’t last long. He pulled himself together, seemed to grow taller before me.

  “I don’t understand. I know my brother. He’s not malicious, despite what happened last night. And they don’t need the money.”

  “It’s not about the money.” All at once I didn’t want to fight anymore. It was exhausting having another enemy. I turned towards the landing window that overlooked the front yard and the barn. I jimmied open the window to let in a blast of hot, faintly humid summer air. “Do you know how I found out about them?”

  He didn’t come closer. I would have felt the heat of his body, but his voice felt close and a little hoarse from yelling.

  “Jonathan said you caught them kissing. I’m guessing that’s not entirely accurate.”

  “Actually,” I leaned against the window frame and gazed lovelorn down at the barn. The wind had nudged the door open a little. “There was no kissing involved at all.”

  “Tell me,” he said

  So I did. For some reason, it embarrassed me to tell him the truth. I didn’t want him to know I was the kind of girl a person could do this to. I didn’t want him to think I was fragile or small or unnecessary.

  “I was reconsidering our decision to have the reception at the hall where they have the holiday dances. I wanted something more personal, more special. I thought, maybe we could have it in our barn. So I left my mom’s early to check out the space and see if it lived up to my dream of it.”

  I wiped my fingers across the window glass. “I brought a measuring tape with me. This big, industrial thing of my father’s I’d swiped from his tool box. The barn door was open. I’m always forgetting to lock it, so I wasn’t surprised. The light came in through the west windows and I remember thinking, a late day reception in here would be breathtaking. It was exactly what I wanted.

  I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until it was too late to do anything about it. They were in the hay on a blanket and…I just stood there. I must have been shocked enough to let go of the measuring tape. It made such noise when it hit the floor. They stopped and looked up at me. They both looked right at me. Right through me. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and he looked back down at her, and they kept going.”

  Jason swore. It wasn’t the hard, broken edged sort of swear that’s meant to take you down a bit. He barely whispered it, the sort of word to fill in when the brain and heart can’t make sense of something important.

  “The invitation, maybe it wasn’t important, but it was supposed to be my life. That’s what my future was supposed to look like. And now?” I raised my hands and dropped them in defeat. “You were a wonderful distraction. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

  “Were?” His voice was quiet. When I turned to look at him, I could see it in his eyes that he knew what I was going to tell him before I ever said it.

  “You’re going home in less than a week. After the wedding, I assume. And it’s time I get back to figuring out what to do with the rest of my life. No more distractions.”

  “Cassidy.” He took a step towards me and I took a step back.

  “I’m going to get in the shower. I don’t want you to be here when I come out.”

  Before he could say anything, I turned and went up the rest of the stairs, hurried to the bathroom, and shut the door behind me. I listened against the white painted door for his footsteps, even and familiar. I waited until the front door closed and the screen door banged shut. When I was sure he was far enough away, I slid down to the cold tile floor, buried my face against my knees, and cried.

  13

  ____________

  My grandmother died of a heart attack three years ago, just shy of her eighty third birthday. Eighty-three years. She spent seventy of them with my grandfather before he passed away from cancer. It took him fast, so fast he never looked sick until those last few days. She spent nearly thirteen years without him. I didn’t realize it then, but she must have been made of stronger stuff than the rest of us mortals because five days without Jason and I felt like a hot mess. I had customers demanding to know when I’d finish their webpages, family demanding to know why I won’t answer the phone or the door, and town gossips dying to get a peek at the crazy Blue daughter dead set on driving herself stark raving mad.

  So when I couldn’t take another moment of the whole disaster, I fled the farmhouse for the hill overlooking the fields where our family’s cemetery plot hid amongst the big trees there protecting the sacred space. I went to my gr
andma who I was certain was the only person in the world who wouldn’t shame me in some way.

  I plopped down cross legged right on top of her with my back against her tombstone. There were no secrets between her and me. Not back when she was still alive. Not now.

  “Everything’s gone to hell and I think I might be driving the train,” I told her.

  She would have told me to stop fighting with my sister. She was always saying that, and we just went right back out there to fight louder and harder the next day. That day in the barn was not where things went wrong for Bailey and me. When she was born, she took one look at me and screamed her head off because she knew she’d have to fight me every step of the way growing up. Grandma told me I was the quiet one, the one who entertained herself when everyone else was busy. But Bailey, she told me, wasn’t as strong. She needed others more, and she’d never understand why you got any attention at all when you didn’t seem to want it or need it. You’re just different, that’s all.

  “I don’t even think I hate her, not really. She’s just so damn exhausting. She’s like a vampire that won’t let you die.”

  “That is maybe a bit dramatic.”

  I turned and looked over the edge of the gravestone to see Bailey climbing the hill towards me. I groaned and thunked my head back against the granite. “Figures you’d find a way to ruin a cemetery.”

  “Ok, a lot dramatic.” She slid down on the opposite side of the gravestone. I could feel her, somehow, through the engravings.

  “Don’t you have a wedding to be driving people nuts over? You’ve already done your worst. What more could you possibly want from me?”

  Bailey sighed, exasperated. “I don’t want anything from you.”