Laurel was waiting for her at baggage claim, looking anxious. Her gray hair was cut short on the top and sides, but in back it hung past her shoulders in straggly strands. Her face looked puffy, deep creases around her eyes and mouth. Instinctively, Jessie’s hand moved to her own face. Would she look the same, she wondered, when she was her mother’s age? Like Laurel, Jessie eschewed the trappings of femininity, and yet only rarely did she doubt her own attractiveness. Seeing Laurel now, however, she wondered how much of that confidence came from youth alone: her body strong and firm, her large breasts pushing out beneath her T-shirt.
When Jessie was fifteen, Sarah had gently suggested breast reduction surgery. Jessie had recently joined the cross-country team, and the straps of her sports bra made deep, red welts in her shoulders when she ran. Sarah had taken pictures and sent them to Blue Cross Blue Shield, but the insurance company had deemed the procedure cosmetic and would not pay.
Jessie had been secretly disappointed, not because she felt any great attachment to the idea, but because she had, without even admitting it to herself, enjoyed Sarah’s attention and concern, the rare sense that she and her stepmother were a united front.
A few years later, it had seemed that the insurance company might be persuaded if they pushed the matter, and Sarah had asked Jessie if she wanted to try again, but Jessie had refused. By then, Jessie was seventeen, and her breasts had long since ceased to feel new; they had become a part of her. She also had a boyfriend and was beginning to sense, with no small amount of surprise, that her generous bust might be an asset not to be underrated.
Looking at Laurel now, with her pendulous bosom hanging almost to the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt, Jessie wondered if she finally understood the reason behind Sarah’s concern. She shifted her backpack on her shoulder and surreptitiously hoisted her breasts, feeling the perspiration beneath her bra momentarily cool with the air she’d let in.
“Mom!” she called, waving. “Right here.”
“There you are,” Laurel beamed, holding out her arms.
Jessie smiled and stepped into her mother’s embrace. She put her arms around her mother’s back and felt the spongy softness beneath her touch; her mother’s shoulder blades seemed sunken in doughy flesh.
Laurel stepped back and gestured toward the baggage claim.
“Any bags?” she asked.
“Just this one,” Jessie said, slipping her other arm through the strap of her backpack.
“Good. Jim and Sue are right outside. It seemed silly to park.” Jim and Sue were not where Laurel had left them at the curb, but Laurel was unconcerned. “They must have circled around. We’ll just wait.”
After a few moments, a blue Honda Civic came into view. Laurel grinned and waved wildly. “There they are!”
The car pulled up and Jessie followed Laurel into the backseat, cramming her backpack into the foot well between her legs. Jim was at the wheel, but he turned partially in his seat and extended a cool, limp hand for her to shake.
“Welcome to Minnesooota,” he said, clearly forcing a Minnesota accent. “Glad you could make it.”
“Thanks,” Jessie said. Jim’s face was pale and lightly freckled; hazel eyes peered at her from behind large, plastic-framed glasses. She leaned forward to get a better look at him, but he turned away at once to watch for a break in the traffic, and a curtain of straggly red hair shielded his face from view. Sue was sitting next to him in the passenger seat. She wore a red baseball cap over short, dark hair, and her face below the bill was square and tan, strong-jawed. She smiled at Jessie and waved.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’d shake, but I’ve got carpel tunnel and it hurts.”
“We tried to tell her she was working too much,” Laurel said, settling back against the vinyl seat. “Where’s Mrs. Weasley?”
“What?” Jessie asked. Who?”
Laurel giggled. “I was talking to Jim and Sue. Well, where is she?”
“She’s in the hatch,” Jim said, pulling the car into the moving traffic.
“And she’s staying there?” Laurel laughed again. “How unlike her.”
“Well, it’s not like she has much choice,” said Sue. “We had to put her in a cage.”
“What?” Laurel said with mock indignation. “Cage Mrs. Weasley? Whatever for?”
“Vet’s orders,” Jim said.
“Ah.” Laurel glanced at Jessie, who had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.
Yes, Yes, Jessie felt like saying. I see what a tight little family you are.
“What are you talking about, Mom?” she said instead, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Who’s Mrs. Weasley?”
Laurel’s face lit up. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Mrs. Weasley’s our ferret.”
“Your what?”
“Our ferret. Our pet. Well, really she’s more like another member of the family.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “We think she might be a wizard. You know, an animagus.”
“A what?”
“An animagus. Oh, come on, Jessie. Harry Potter?”
“I only read the first one.”
“And you call yourself my daughter.”
Jessie shrugged and looked out the window.
“Jessie, please. I was joking. But yes, we have a pet ferret. She had to go to the vet in Minneapolis for her checkup this morning, so she’s along for the ride. Just wait ’til you meet her. She really is a remarkable little animal. So much smarter than a dog.”
Laurel’s voice was animated, almost giddy.
“That’s great, Mom,” Jessie said. She almost felt embarrassed for her mother now; it was clear how desperately Laurel wanted to show off her new life. “I didn’t know people kept pet ferrets.”
“Oh, yes,” Laurel said. “Just not very many. There are probably less than a dozen in all of Minneapolis.”
“Fewer than a dozen,” Sue said, glancing back.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said ‘less than.’ But ferrets are a count noun. Less milk. Fewer ferrets.”
Jessie glanced at her mother and saw her roll her eyes.
“Okay, Sue, you got me,” she said cheerfully. She turned to Jessie. “Sue’s a grammarian,” she said. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
“But a good-natured one,” Sue said.
Jessie didn’t know what to say to this. “You didn’t tell me you had a pet ferret, Mom.”
“Well,” Laurel said. “I suppose she’s really Jim and Sue’s. Jim’s and Sue’s?” She laughed uncertainly. “I mean, they had her before I, um . . . joined them.”
“Jim and Sue’s,” Sue said. “You were right the first time. But don’t be ridiculous, Laurel. Mrs. Weasley is yours, too. We’re family, aren’t we?”
Jessie glanced at Sue, wondering if she was making amends for calling Laurel out before.
Laurel beamed. “We are indeed,” she said. “Oh Jessie, just wait until you see the house.”
The house where Jim, Sue, and Laurel lived was just outside of Northfield on a wide, slow-moving river.
“There’s the river now,” Laurel said, leaning across Jessie in the backseat and pointing. Jessie, peering through the rain-streaked window, could just make out flashes of silver water between the houses that lined its edge.
“It’s supposed to clear up by tomorrow,” Laurel reassured her. “So you’ll be able to swim, if you want. Or we can go canoeing. But look! Here we are.”
Jim turned the car onto a gravel driveway that led to a large log home. As soon as the car was parked, he got out and opened the hatch to retrieve Mrs. Weasley. Jessie watched him curiously. He wore a black Carleton T-shirt that was too big for him, and his arms, lifting out the cage, looked skinny and pale in the gaping sleeves. Jessie, hoisting her backpack to her shoulders, had to resist the urge to reach out to help him.
She caught only a glimpse of the brown ferret inside the carrier as Jim turned toward the house.
“Sorry,” he called over his shou
lder. “But Mrs. Weasley really doesn’t like the cage.”
Jessie stared up at the house. It was constructed of large varnished logs which crisscrossed at the corners, just like the fairy houses she and Emma used to build with sticks in the woods at Baymont, except that the ends of these logs were as big as Frisbees instead of dimes.
She turned to Sue. “Did you guys build this house?”
“Well, not personally. But yes, we did have it built. Years ago now.”
Jessie felt Laurel watching her.
“Don’t you just love it?” Laurel said.
Jessie nodded, trying not to think about the small forest that must have given its life to yield all those perfect logs. She looked up at the house appraisingly, shielding her eyes against the light rain. High above her she could see a small balcony.
“The view must be pretty nice from up there,” she said sincerely.
Laurel face lit up. “It is! And guess what? That’s where you’re going to stay. Just wait ’til you see it. And the deck. The deck is amazing.”
Inside, the house seemed even bigger. The dining and living rooms opened onto an enormous deck that fronted the river. Standing under the shelter of the awning, Jessie could see a wide staircase on the other side that led down to a wooden dock. Two kayaks lay overturned along one side, and a canoe was moored in the water. The surface of the river was slate gray and dimpled with rain.
“Wow,” she said. “You weren’t kidding. You really are right on the river.”
“I told you it was amazing, didn’t I?” Laurel said. She reached for Jessie’s hand. “Come on,” she said, pulling her back inside. “I’ll give you the tour.”
The rest of the house was a maze of rooms on multiple floors, all connected by narrow, wood-paneled hallways, the planks worn so smooth that Jessie couldn’t resist letting her hand trail along the honey-colored wood as they walked. Leading her throughout the house, Laurel was giddy once again. She pointed out each of their rooms as they came to them.
“This is Sue’s room,” she said. “And this one is Jim’s.”
“And yours, too?” Jessie asked.
“Oh, no,” Laurel said quickly. “We have our own rooms. Mine’s upstairs.”
“Oh. Sorry. I just thought—”
Laurel let out a small breath. “I know. At first it didn’t seem fair,” she said. “I mean, if we’re both primaries, why should Sue be the one with the room right next to Jim? Especially since, you know . . .” she trailed off.
“Since I know what?” Jessie said.
“Oh, well. Just that Sue doesn’t really like sex that much. I thought I told you.”
Jessie suppressed a shiver. Laurel had mentioned something about this before, she remembered, when she had told Jessie about the personal ad that Jim and Sue had placed. But now Jessie had met Sue. She was downstairs in the kitchen. Surely, this was not Laurel’s confidence to share.
“Although I have wondered, you know,” Laurel went on, her voice turning conspiratorial. Jim is . . . Well, let’s just say Jim has rather specific tastes. In bed, I mean. I have wondered if maybe Sue just wasn’t so keen to—”
“Mom.”
“What? I mean, not every woman wants to—”
“Mom! That’s enough.”
“Oh, Jessie. You’re, what, twenty-seven years old? I would have thought by now we could have an honest conversation about—”
“Mom, stop. I do not need to know—I do not want to know—what Jim likes or doesn’t like in bed. I am your daughter. And it’s none of my business. We’re not . . . we’re not supposed to talk about stuff like that.”
“Well, pardon me,” Laurel said, looking wounded. “I’ll just keep my mouth shut then.”
An awkward silence followed. Laurel would not look at her.
“Mom,” Jessie said at last. “You don’t have to keep your mouth shut, okay? I want to hear about your life here. I’d just rather not hear the gory details, okay?”
Laurel nodded tersely. “Let’s go upstairs. I can show you my room. It’s nice—nicer than these, even.”
Laurel’s was a nice room. It had a high, rough-planked ceiling and windows on two sides that looked out over the river. The wood floor creaked pleasantly as Jessie walked across it. Outside, the rain had let up at last and steam rose from the surface of the river.
“You know,” Laurel said. “It’s not like I’m the lone ranger up here. Look at this.” She gestured to an intercom panel by the door. “It’s such a big house; it can be awfully hard to find each other. So Jim and Sue had these put in. It’s also convenient for—” She hesitated. “Well, you know. All Jim has to do is push the button and voilà!”
Jessie sighed. “I didn’t expect you to all have separate rooms,” she said.
“What? You thought we’d all sleep together?”
“No, I guess not. I suppose I thought you’d be with Jim, since you said that Sue and he were mostly just roommates—”
“That wouldn’t have been very fair to Sue, would it?” Laurel interrupted. “I mean, the only way polyamory works is if there’s total equality.”
“I didn’t mean that Sue wouldn’t be—”
“Oh, I know you didn’t. But think about it. It’s not just the s—the part you don’t want to hear about. It’s the dynamic it sets up. If Jim and I shared a room, and Sue didn’t . . . Well, it just wouldn’t feel equal. Plus, there are other reasons.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, Jim doesn’t like to sleep with anyone.” She giggled girlishly. “I mean, he likes to sleep with people, he just doesn’t like to actually—”
“Okay, Mom. I get it.”
“Plus, this way, if I want to have a secondary sleep over, it makes it easier.”
“A secondary? You mean, like someone else?”
“Of course. I mean, Jim and Sue don’t sleep together often, but they do sleep together. So it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t have someone else, too.”
Jessie glanced at the bed. “So everything’s got to be totally fair,” she said, aware even as she said them how mocking her words might sound to her mother.
Laurel nodded emphatically. “Well, it helps. Biamorous relationships are hard enough. Imagine how complicated it can get when there are more than two people involved.”
Jessie nodded vaguely, backing out of the room. “Is there more?”
“Well, at the moment, Jim is happy with just Sue and me as primaries. But if he were ever to want a secondary, too, well then I would have to—”
“To the house, Mom! I meant more to the house.”
“Oh! Sorry,” Laurel said, laughing. “I thought you meant . . . But yes. Just wait until you see the third story. I picked the perfect room for you.”
Jessie fell in love with her attic room immediately. The floor was rough-hewn hardwood, and the ceiling sloped down on either side almost to the floor. At one end of the room was a glass door that opened onto the small balcony that she had seen from the driveway. As soon as Laurel left her to get settled in, Jessie stepped outside. A rush of deliciously cool air greeted her; she wanted to lick the moisture from the dripping trees. To her right was the river, its dark water now almost completely concealed beneath a blanket of steam. To her left was what appeared to be forest, although Jessie instinctively mistrusted it. How much true forest could there be so close to Minneapolis, after all?
The street by which they had arrived at the house stretched out in front of her, following the river, and in the distance she could see the spire of a church rising above the trees. The entire vista—the shrouded river, the lush woods, the church spire— was so picturesque that Jessie stood gazing at it for several minutes. Then she laughed; she couldn’t help it. It all seemed so old-fashioned, and the irony of that—of Laurel’s postmodern love affair unfolding in such a quaint setting—tickled her.
No doubt Laurel would not call it postmodern at all. She would say that it was monogamy that was constructivist and unrealistic, a dista
steful remnant of a patriarchal society that ensnared women in the name of romance. But then Jessie thought of Jim, with his two primaries and his intercom button, and she cringed. So what if Laurel got to have her—what had she called them—secondaries on the side? Jim still had his little harem, didn’t he? She didn’t know how her mother stood it.
Jessie sighed, and for an instant she could see her breath suspended in the moist air. She suspected Laurel could stand it only because she saw Sue as no real threat. If Sue didn’t want to sleep with Jim, and Laurel did—well, of course Laurel would feel she had the upper hand. Not every woman wants to . . . her mother had said. Jessie shuddered, remembering. But at least it was a little clearer now why Jim had wanted Laurel on board; Jessie could stop feeling so puzzled by it.
Still, it all seemed so . . . so precariously balanced. What if Jim did take on a new partner? Laurel had made it clear that then she would feel she needed to have another one, too. And what about Sue? It didn’t sound like Sue had a secondary. Did she not care, like her mother so obviously did, about things being “fair?” Jessie let out her breath and gave her head a little shake. It wasn’t her business, was it? Laurel seemed truly happy for the first time in years. Wasn’t that enough? Jessie took one last look at the mist-shrouded river and went inside.
Back in her room, Jessie quickly unpacked her backpack. Laurel had emptied the top drawer of the dresser for her, seemingly into the other drawers, as the lower ones were crammed so full they barely opened for her to peek inside. When she had finished, she pulled off her boots and lay down for a moment on the quilted bed. The planks of the ceiling sloped over her, and she lifted her legs and pressed her feet against the boards.
The sloped ceilings reminded Jessie of the house at Baymont. Jessie and Emma had shared an upstairs room there, too, and at night they would both lie in bed with their sheets kicked off, their feet propped up against the peeling boards. During the first weeks of every visit, Emma had always cried after Laurel came in to wish them goodnight.
“What’s wrong?” Jessie would ask.
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