The Sister Season

by Scott, Jennifer

  Julia seemed to not really know what to say, and for a beat the only sound in the kitchen was Maya’s fingernails against the plastic of the buttons on the oven as she beeped it awake.

  “Is that a coffee cake? Where’d you get the recipe?” Julia finally asked.

  “Know it by heart. I made it every Sunday morning when Bradley and I were first married. It was his favorite. I saw last night that Mom had some extra apples in a bushel downstairs and decided to throw one together. It’s been a long time.” She seemed to get lost in thought, then visibly shake it off. “Wait till you smell it. It’ll make the whole house smell incredible. Great way to wake up.”

  Julia let out a breath. “Good. I can have a smoke.” She dug a pack of cigarettes out of her pajama pocket and lit one, leaning over to crack a window just a bit and angling her chair so her cigarette smoldered in the direction of the window. “It’s cold out by the garage. Too cold for first thing in the morning.”

  Maya regarded her sister for a minute. Queenie, they’d all called her, because she was so put-together, so regal, so in control, in charge, like a little queen. She even had the strong jaw, the long face, the sharp cheekbones that suggested royalty. How Maya had envied her sister. Smart, educated, driven. Married the perfect guy right out of high school, and when he turned out to be not perfect at all, had simply shrugged him off and kept walking, like leaving a discarded and outgrown piece of clothing at her feet on the floor.

  But something about Julia seemed different now. Was Maya imagining that? Being hopeful, maybe, that she was not the only sister struggling? No, there was definitely something off about Julia. She seemed nervous and unsure. Awkward around her own son, who, by the way, was the most angry and sullen teen Maya had ever seen. And now Queenie was a smoker too? When had that happened?

  The oven beeped and Maya bent to slide the coffee cake inside, then set the timer. She turned, brushed her hands off, and slipped out of her mom’s apron. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice, got two glasses from the cupboard, then set them on the table and filled them, sliding one toward Julia and sitting down in front of the other one.

  “Smoking gives you wrinkles,” she said, trying to sound light, but hearing in her own voice a tinge of judgment instead. Why did she always have to do that—sound so shrewy? No wonder Bradley constantly had his eye on other women. No wonder she was losing him, had lost him.

  Julia took a drag, blew it out toward the window. “Don’t bother. I have the entire lecture memorized. I live with it. Wrinkles, heart attack, cancer, death, blah blah blah.”

  Maya stiffened at the word cancer, but forced herself to shrug it off. “I wasn’t going to lecture. But when did you start doing that?”

  “What? Smoking? The day I found our father’s stash in the barn.” Julia laughed. “Do you really not remember the first time he caught me? Spanked the shit out of me. I could barely walk afterwards.”

  No, Maya didn’t remember. How could one spanking possibly stand out from all the rest? How could one lecture, one vile name-calling, one drunken beating possibly be memorable?

  Well, there were memories. The day he got rid of Claire’s horse and she’d been so heartbroken she’d lain in bed sick for days. The day he knocked Julia’s head against the car window and a crack had snaked down the glass. The day he kicked Grandmother Ruby out of the house and told her to never come back, to never visit again. Those days, Maya was not likely to ever forget.

  “Became a game after that,” Julia said. “I’d only take one or two per pack, would smoke them in little bits, to make them last longer. Would hide the butts, throw them in the pond, usually. See how many I could get away with before he’d notice. I think he always suspected, but he was never quite sure. It was the one thing I had the upper hand on with him.” She sighed. “Until I was in high school and could keep my own in Dusty’s car. So, yeah, I guess forever. But Tai and Eli are always after me about it. I’m trying, but this week is not a good week to quit.”

  Maya chuckled. “It actually may be a good week to start.”

  “You want one?”

  Maya shook her head, rubbing the pads of her fingers along her cheeks. “No. I was serious about the wrinkles.” Again, the word cancer echoed in her mind, and she moved her fingers down into her armpit protectively.

  A sweet apple scent began to waft out of the oven. Maya stood and filled the coffeemaker, which gurgled into life. Nothing smelled better with a sour cream apple coffee cake than a fresh pot of coffee.

  “You know,” Julia said, finishing her cigarette and walking over to the sink to run water over the burning filter, “you are probably the only person in the world who gets up at five a.m. on Christmas Eve to make coffee cake in high heels.”

  Maya bristled. “I doubt it,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with looking good.”

  “I suppose,” Julia said, but Maya could have sworn the words were laced with an accusation she couldn’t quite put her finger on. That was the other thing that had been sticking in Maya’s craw about Julia—the one other thing that had changed about her. She no longer felt like an ally.

  “So what’s up with you and Claire?” Maya asked, rounding on Julia suddenly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Queenie. You were all about Claire being the worst sister on earth for sleeping with Bradley, and now you’re buddy-buddy with her. What’s changed?”

  “Maya, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Claire is my sister, and our father just died. It’s been a long time.”

  Maya squinted her eyes. “You used to be on my side,” she said.

  Julia threw her hands in the air. “There is no side! Whatever happened or didn’t happen . . . it was years ago, Maya! Don’t you think it’s time you let it go?”

  Maya’s eyes darkened. “I will never let it go.”

  “Well, that’s probably not very wise. You think smoking will kill you? Try holding grudges. Try stress. Try isolation. It’s time to let it go.” She turned off the water and tossed the soaked butt into the trash, then walked back over to the window and shut it. “Look at what stress and isolation has done to Mom,” she said, lowering her voice. She sat in her chair again and took a drink of the orange juice, her serious gaze never leaving Maya. “She’s cracked up. Loopy. And she seems . . . secretive. Like she’s hiding something and it’s eating her up inside.”

  “She’s fine. She’s grieving.”

  “Haven’t you noticed she’s not said one word about him?” Julia asked. “Not a single thing. And she hasn’t shed a tear. Hasn’t even acted all that sad.”

  “Well, who has? Who would?” Maya said, and then felt her face flush with the ugliness of those words. But it was true. Nobody in the house seemed to really be what could be called grieving. Everyone seemed to be there mainly out of duty. Everyone seemed to be bumping around in their own little bubble, occasionally merging with another bubble and then separating again. Everyone seemed to be looking forward to getting this burial over with. It wasn’t the way she’d wanted her family to turn out, but it wasn’t entirely her fault that they had turned out that way. In fact, it wasn’t her fault at all. If anyone wanted to lay blame, they could begin with the man in the casket and work their way to the slut with the curly blond hair.

  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them. The coffeemaker finished brewing with one final growl and the oven ticked as it puffed heat around the rising cake inside. Finally, Julia leaned forward, her voice so low Maya had to lean forward too, just to hear her. “Are you sad about him being gone?” she asked.

  And despite herself, despite her desire to maintain her poise throughout this whole nasty nightmare, Maya couldn’t help but shake her head. “Not at all.” She pressed her lips together nervously, feeling the nude lip gloss she’d smeared on after her shower slip against itself. “When I told my
therapist that my father had died, she was surprised to hear that he’d still been alive. I never ever talked about him. Isn’t that weird? You’d think he’d have come up in therapy of all places. God, you’d think he’d have come up a lot. I think I wanted to forget that he still existed. It’s been a lot of years since I’ve felt comfortable here.”

  “Only the good die young,” Julia said.

  “Maybe Mom isn’t loopy or secretive or whatever. Maybe she’s relieved. And who would blame her, you know?”

  “Not me.”

  “Me either.”

  “And not Claire.”

  “God, do we have to keep bringing her up?” Maya angrily took a sip of her juice, feeling tense, wiry, as if she wanted to go lie down again, though she’d been awake for only a little over an hour. Normally she’d hit the treadmill at a time like this, do some sit-ups. But it had been weeks since she’d been up to her morning workout, and would be more weeks until she was up to it again. If ever. She shook the thought away. She would get back to the treadmill. She would return to sit-ups. She had to believe that.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Julia shot back. “Lighten up, would you? Jeez.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Julia sat back and crossed her legs. “Well, you’re right about that.”

  The two sisters glared at each other, and Maya was struck with an overwhelming sensation of being all alone in the world. Her father gone, her mom—yes, Julia was right—possibly barely hanging on to reality, one sister her betrayer and the other her betrayer’s champion, her husband . . . just . . . ugh. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about any of it. She wanted to sleep.

  But before either of them could speak again, Will burst into the room, the way he burst into every room, with energy to spare.

  “Mom! I dreamed I eated a dinosaur and I waked up really hungried,” he said, and something about the sound of his voice calmed Maya. Maybe she wasn’t alone in the world at all. Maybe these two children she and Bradley had created would be her champions. Even if it was wrong to want your children to be your champions, the thought soothed her.

  “Was it a French Toastasaurus?” she said, opening her arms wide, inviting him, playing along with their script. This was the way they started every morning, coming up with dinosaur names derived from breakfast foods—French Toastasaurus, Pancakagon, Muffineratops. He scrambled up into her lap, giggling, his neck still damp from sleep, and snuggled his whole body up against her. How much longer would she have this with him? How long until little boys decided that mommies were uncool or embarrassing? How many days until French Toastasaurus would get an eye roll and a frustrated grunt? She nestled her nose in his hair and took a deep breath. She was sure she could be blindfolded and would be able to pick her son out of a crowd by the smell of his scalp. “Well, you’re in luck, then,” she said against his head. “We’re eating cake for breakfast this morning, and it’s almost done cooking.”

  Will turned his head to look up at Maya, his mouth open in a huge smile that made her grin no matter what else was going on in the house and her world. Such a precious boy. She never wanted to leave him. She hoped she wouldn’t have to. “Chocolate?”

  She shook her head. “No. Apple.”

  “But I’ll bet Santa will leave you some chocolate tonight,” Julia said.

  Will turned back around in his mom’s lap and laid his head against her chest. “Molly said Santa won’t come because we don’t live here,” he said sadly.

  Maya manipulated her arms to turn him around again. “Well,” she said, “Molly doesn’t know everything, and I’ll bet she’s wrong about this.”

  “You think?”

  “I think.”

  “Can I have chocolate milk with my cake?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can I build a fort under the Christmas tree?”

  “Don’t knock it down.” Maya kissed him on his forehead and watched as he slithered out of her lap and scampered off into the den. “I’ll call you when the cake is done,” she said.

  After he left, the kitchen felt empty, as if Julia wasn’t even sitting there. As if maybe Maya wasn’t even sitting there herself. Something about Will’s absence made his presence seem all the more real, and all the more fleeting, and it was all Maya could do to keep from crying. She wanted so badly to capture her children and keep them at this age forever. She wanted to watch them grow, but if her fears came true and she couldn’t do that, she wanted them to stay forever this way so that she wouldn’t miss a thing.

  “Santa?” Julia whispered across the table. “How are you going to manage that?”

  “I’m going shopping later. Bradley will just have to stay with the kids for a few minutes whether he likes it or not. You want to come?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Julia said. “After the cake. It smells amazing.”

  Maya grinned. “I told you so,” she singsonged, and she and her sister both giggled as they listened to the lilting voice of Molly, who had apparently joined her brother under the Christmas tree. “The secret is in the heels.”

  Apples and cinnamon once again wafted through the house. One of the kids had turned on the Christmas tree lights, which blinked against the walls between the two rooms. Outside, the sky had turned white and begun to shed fat, wet flakes onto the ground. The poinsettias were gay and colorful in every corner, and if Maya closed her eyes and concentrated really hard . . . it felt like Christmas. A real Christmas.

  A happy one.

  Please, God, she silently prayed. Let it last.

  And, despite herself, she hoped the prayer would be answered.

  Nine

  By the time they left the house, it had turned into a family affair. Elise had jumped at the chance to run into town, going on and on about having forgotten the candy canes in a way that made Maya uncomfortable once again. Death of a husband or not, the woman was such a far cry from the stoic, stern mother who had forced them to so delicately toe the line that she was almost like a different person.

  And then Julia went and invited Claire, proving to Maya once and for all that she was no longer on her side, and Maya didn’t care one whit what Julia said about there not being sides—Julia just didn’t understand. She didn’t know how it hurt to even catch the tiniest glimpse of that stupid blond hair. She didn’t understand the full force of what she was expecting Maya to forget. And at what a bad time.

  But it was Christmas Eve. And she needed pajamas. And the kids needed gifts. And she wasn’t going to screw up what could end up being her last Christmas just because of one lousy person. She gritted her teeth and dug her French-tipped nails into her palms. It would not be her last Christmas. She had to stop thinking that way.

  The four of them climbed into Julia’s SUV and headed toward town, to the big-box store, the only sounds inside the car their blowing and gasping breath against the cold and the squeak of the windshield wipers fighting the snow, which was coming down hard.

  Maya remembered when she was a child and always prayed for a white Christmas. She liked the way the world seemed muted beneath the blanket of white. She loved the way it felt insulated and small and as if she could hide in plain sight. Hide from her dad, who always seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, and who always seemed to be looking for someone to dump it on. The feeling was liberating and empowering and it was during those moments, and those moments alone, that Maya felt like she could do anything. Like she could be somebody.

  She never felt that way at any other time of her life. She mostly wandered and waded through her days feeling ugly and stupid and insecure and as if she had to grasp onto things with a grip that might break her knuckles in order to keep them. She often raged against the unfairness of it all, how everything seemed to come so easily for everyone else.

  She hoped Bradley would be a decent father for once and take t
he children outside. Let them play in the snow. Let them hide in plain sight. Let them feel big. Maybe instead of buying a carload of junk for them, she should have stayed home and taken them out instead. Maybe that would have been the best gift she could have given them: the gift of confidence.

  The drive was slow and uncomfortable. Maya could feel Claire’s presence behind her, could feel the unspoken accusations from her mom and Julia, a noxious cloud floating above her. She knew they wanted her to speak, to make nice. It’s Christmas Eve, she could practically hear them thinking. It’s a time for peace.

  But they didn’t know. They hadn’t held a nasty used condom in their hands. They didn’t see their husband wrapped around another woman. They didn’t stand in front of the love of their life and watch him crumble away from them.

  They didn’t see newly wed Bradley break down into frame-racking tears, his back hunched dejectedly.

  They hadn’t been working for ten years to forget the image.

  You did it, didn’t you? You screwed my sister, you asshole! she heard herself saying, standing, shaking, in front of him in the living room of their new apartment, the memory as clear as if it had happened just yesterday, not ten years ago. Saw herself fling a book at him, saw him bring a knee up to cover himself, but the tears were not coverable. The tears had been there for her to see. Why don’t you just admit it!

  He shook his head. Maya, please, you don’t know what you’re—

  I know enough! I can see it on you! I can practically smell it on you! Her own tears were hot and furious. She picked up another book, feeling as if she could throw it clear through a wall. Was that how her dad had felt every day? Like he wanted to throw something through a wall? Had she inherited his rage?

  She winged the book at his feet this time, wanting only to see him jump, to see herself make him move, but she missed by miles, and as if she had flung all of herself with that book, she suddenly felt so weak, so tired it was as if she had no muscles left. Her fight was gone. Her anger replaced by a bone-dissolving sadness. God, Bradley, she’d cried into her palms as she sank to her knees and then to her butt on their dirty apartment floor. We’ve only been married for two months. How could you?