“Hey, that’s adorable, charming, and all-around-dreamboat dingus to you,” Dave says, and how he says it is like he’s almost but not quite convinced that the situation here is fine.
I put my arms around him and rest my forehead on his chest and say, “Mine.” His muscles loosen up a bit, and he pulls me closer, and I know he’s at least a little happy right now. But this lasts only a moment, because as soon as I’ve made Dave feel better, the part of my brain that doesn’t want me to use the word “boyfriend” or introduce him to my parents wakes up and starts stirring, and now all I can think about is that it’s lame as hell that right now I have to worry about Dave’s feelings while my own feelings and whatever is going on with Callie have to sit quietly until they get called on.
But before I can let the monster completely take over, the doorbell rings. Mimi jumps up to get it before I can, then returns with Stan behind her, and a looming and lurking Ted bringing up the rear. And then I see it side by side: their identical heights.
“Hi,” Stan says to me, then turns to look around the house, his 360 gaze making me realize how trashed the place is. “You’re having a party?” he says, his face fallen and sad, and I feel terrible, but then the monster whirls around again to remind me that this is just one more person whose feelings I shouldn’t have to take care of.
Dave puts his arm around me, which only makes my cheeks burn hotter. “Had a party. Kinda. Yeah. It was a totally last-minute thing, I didn’t even know it was happening until earlier today.” Stan nods, playing it cool. “Anyway, Dave, this is Stan. Stan, Dave.”
“We’re together,” Dave says, reaching his hand out to Stan, and my cheeks are completely and totally on fire.
“Hey. Stan,” says Stan, and then they shake hands without smiling, and it’s at once so masculine and childish that I could throw up.
“This is at once so masculine and childish that I could throw up,” I say.
“Um,” says Stan.
“Uh,” says Dave.
Mimi falls down laughing, and I smile real fast at both of them. Ted starts shuffling around impatiently behind Stan, and that’s when I see what he’s holding: a ham-fisted sculpture that looks exactly like an uglier and ham-fisteder version of Callie’s.
“Come on,” I say, and we all go to the greenhouse. Ted leads the way, holding his easy-chair-sized island over his head far more cautiously than anyone would ever hold an actual easy chair over their head. Callie follows, and I’m struck again by the fact that they are exactly the same height, with the same skin and eyes and hair. I’m used to weird, but, like. This is maybe actually weird. At least a little. Right?
We step inside, quiet and cautious, entering like we would a haunted house. Ted stops short right in front of Callie, and they’re looking at each other like they know each other. Like they know something about each other, like their lives are linked by some sort of shared secret. I don’t mean they’re fawning over each other, and they’re not bristling at each other either. They’re not retreating, not advancing. They’re just . . . they’re sharing something is what it looks like. Like they’re maybe acknowledging this shared thing between them, because I swear I can feel a palpable sense of relief and understanding here in this greenhouse. I look at this, and I’m so happy for Callie. I’m just so happy to see this peace flashing in her eyes, to know I was right: She can feel connected to people, and in a visible, real way. And then I’m immediately sad too. I feel something crushed within my chest as I realize she has never looked at me like that. It takes no time at all for the shame I feel about that thought to crash over me like a wave, washing me with sadness and happiness both.
I know Callie knows me, and she maybe even loves me. But I’m not someone she can share this with. She’s my sister, but I still don’t know her. I’ll maybe never really know her. And she’ll never really know me. But I have to swallow all this down, because all I want to do is cherish this, to be glad for her, so I banish the shame and the sadness and the portion of the happiness that led to this whole mess, and I turn all the energy I have toward trying to be a good sister.
“Wow,” Stan says, as if coming up for air from his own personal emotional storm. “Callie’s island is . . .”
“Decidedly un-ham-fisted?” I finish for him.
“I was gonna say ‘deft,’ but sure, that works.”