I nod as he offers his final summation. “People just need to be who they are.”
I stare at him, digesting his Gabe-like quote, as he hits play on his movie and I move on to an uplifting testimony from a grandmother of a donor-conceived baby being raised by her lesbian daughter and partner. I reassure myself that the positive, inspiring stories with hunky-dory endings seem to far outweigh the tales of woe, especially when everyone involved is honest from the beginning. At the end of the day, it isn’t so unlike traditional families, really, all of us vulnerable to tragedy and estrangement, lies and secrets.
“Gabe?” I say.
“Uh-huh?” he asks, this time not pausing the movie.
“Do you think I’m crazy for considering this?”
“Are you really considering it? Or is this just like your Buddhist meditation kick?” he asks, still staring at the screen.
“I’m more than considering this,” I say, feeling my first wave of genuine fear, which in a sense confirms my answer. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Yep,” Gabe says with a smirk. “But no crazier than usual. And like I said—people just need to be who they are.”
—
THAT NIGHT BEFORE I go to bed, I call Meredith, really wanting to talk to my sister about everything. I can tell right away she’s in a bad mood, which is pretty consistent these days.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“Nothing.”
“You sound pissed off.”
“I’m not.”
“All right,” I say. “So what’d you do today?”
“Three loads of laundry. Grocery shopping…oh, and I picked up Nolan’s shirts at the dry cleaner’s,” she says, perfecting her martyr routine.
“That’s it?”
“Hmm. Let’s see…I also took Harper to Buckles.”
“Did she get some cute shoes?” I ask.
“No. She pitched an epic fit over a pair of purple glitter sandals…and we had to leave.”
I laugh, and she adds gratuitous commentary. “Mom says there’s no justice in the world since I never pulled stunts like that. That was your department.”
Weary of the good girl–bad girl shtick, I sigh, but decide to use it as an opening. “So I guess that means I’ll have the perfect child!” I chirp.
She doesn’t react to this, nor does she even bother to ask what I did today, which is just common fucking courtesy. Instead she informs me that she ran into our old friend Shawna at the shoe store. She was buying her son his first pair of sneakers—little blue Keds.
“How’d she look?” I ask.
“Very good,” she says.
“Did she lose her baby weight?”
“Yes. She looked thinner than I’ve ever seen her.”
“Too thin?”
“No. Not too thin.”
“Did she seem happy?” I ask.
“As happy as you can be with a toddler,” Meredith replies.
“Did she ask about me?” I say against my better judgment. Meredith always accuses me of making things all about myself.
“No…but she did tell me y’all haven’t talked in months?” I detect a note of satisfaction in her voice, and feel another wave of irritation along with a stab of sibling rivalry at the mention of Shawna, our only shared friend growing up.
“I wouldn’t say months…but it’s been a while.”
“She wants to get drinks….”
“The three of us?” I ask.
“She mentioned me and Nolan. A double-date thing,” Meredith says. “But I’m sure she’d love to hear from you, too.”
“Right,” I say, thinking this is what I get for wanting to confide in my sister. “Okay, Mere. I’ll let you go.”
“If you want to go, say you want to go. Don’t tell me you’ll let me go,” she says, now just being a straight-up bitch.
“Okay, then,” I say, careful to keep my voice light. “I want to go.”
—