It is December 22, what would have been Daniel’s fortieth birthday, and I am waiting at the bar at Blue Ridge Grill for Meredith. We have yet to communicate since New York, except to email about plans for tonight, which I spearheaded. At eight o’clock, we will be joined for dinner by our parents, along with Gabe, Nolan, and Harper, but we agreed that the two of us need to talk first and find a way to put aside our differences, at least for the evening.
Determined not to be late, one of Meredith’s many pet peeves, I am actually a rare fifteen minutes early, and use the time to mentally prepare for what’s to come. Gabe and I plan to tell everyone our news tonight—that we are now eight weeks pregnant. But I start to second-guess myself, worrying that Meredith will accuse me of making this emotional anniversary about myself. It might be a fair point, but for the fact that this has been my only chance to see her—and I fear that it’s not going to happen again, at least not anytime soon.
Sitting at the corner of the bar, nursing a club soda with a lime, I keep my eye on the door, spotting my sister the instant she walks in. She sees me right away, too, and acknowledges me with a little wave. I take a deep breath and pray for the best.
“Hi,” I say as she approaches me. Her expression is serious, but not angry, and I take this as a good sign.
“Hi,” she says, slowly unbuttoning and removing her navy peacoat, then hanging it on the back of the stool. She sits, crosses her legs, then crosses them the other way.
“I was going to order you a drink,” I say as the bartender comes to take her order. “But I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
She tells me that’s okay, giving him a perfunctory smile and ordering a house cabernet.
“We have two,” he says, sliding her the cocktail menu on an iPad.
She pushes it back and says, “You choose, please.”
Only then does she turn to look at me directly. “So,” she says tersely. “How are you, Josie?”
“I’m doing okay,” I say, feeling doubly nauseated—both from morning sickness that lasts all day and from the mere thought of the evening that stretches ahead. “And you?”
She sighs again, but says she’s fine, too.
“Are you back at work?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “No. I resigned yesterday, actually.”
“Whoa,” I say. “Congratulations.”
I can tell it was the right thing to say, as she gives me a genuine smile. “Thank you. It was long overdue.”
“Have you thought about what you want to do next?” I ask, thinking that my sister could do just about anything she wanted.
“Not yet,” she says. “I’ll think about that in the new year….For now, I just want to focus on Harper and the holidays.”
I nod, smile, and say, “How is Harper?”
“She’s great,” Meredith says, her expression changing, softening. “She’s so excited for Santa. I get a revised list for him every morning.”
“I really miss her.”
“She misses you, too. A lot.”
“May I see her? I was thinking I could take her ice skating at the St. Regis?”
Meredith nods as the bartender brings her wine. “That would be really nice….She’d love that.”
I take a deep breath. “So about tonight,” I say, my voice rising nervously. “I wanted to talk to you before everyone else got here….”
Meredith takes her first sip of wine, waiting.
“I wanted to talk about what happened in New York,” I continue. “Our dinner with Sophie…our fight. All of it.”
“Okay,” she says, taking another sip. Her face is open, but she clearly isn’t going to make this easy for me, either.
“Did you tell Mom?” I ask.
“No,” she says, shaking her head.
“No, you didn’t tell her about Sophie? Or no, you didn’t tell her about our fight?”
“No to both,” she says.
I nod, resisting the slight urge to subtly point out that she’s doing the same thing that Nolan and I did. Trying to spare someone she loves.
Meredith must read me, because she says, “It’s only been a few weeks…I’m still digesting everything.”
“Right,” I say, understanding her point, yet also seeing how easily a few weeks can turn into a few years.
She doesn’t respond, staring into space, then suddenly looks over at my glass. “What are you drinking?” she asks. “Vodka?”
I swallow, then tell her, “No. It’s just a club soda.”
She raises her brows and looks at me. “What, are you pregnant?”
I can hardly fathom a less satisfying, more anticlimactic way to convey my news, but the last thing I’m going to do right now is lie to my sister. So I nod and tell her yes, I’m pregnant.
She laughs, then immediately realizes that I’m serious.
“Really?” she says.
“Really,” I say, my heart racing. “Eight weeks.”
“With Pete?” she asks.
I shake my head and say, “No. With Gabe.”
“Gabe?”