Authors: Kate Aster
This just wasn’t natural. If it kept up,
he might start thinking he was in love with her.
Not possible.
What had he been thinking? That Lacey
would suddenly decide that she was content to have a fling? She wasn’t that
type. She wasn’t
his
type. And he couldn’t become
her
type—not
with the life he had planned for himself.
“Come on, Jack. We can make it down to O’Toole’s
for last call.”
“I’m in bed.”
“It’s a Saturday night,” Mick insisted. “You
always tell me you’re never alone on a Saturday night.”
“Technically, it’s Sunday morning. And who
said I’m alone?”
Mick heard the soft laughter of a female
voice in the background. It pissed him off even more. Everyone in Annapolis was
getting laid right now except him. “You shouldn’t have picked up the phone then.”
“I had to find out how it went tonight. You
wore your dress blues, for God’s sake. Don’t tell me you still didn’t get lucky.”
“Then I won’t tell you that. You can just
assume it.”
“You must be dying. Don’t get me wrong. I
think Lacey’s great, but you better start meeting some other women or your dick
will shrivel up and fall off.”
Mick winced. “That’s why I called. I need
to get out. Now.”
“You’re out of luck, bro. I’m in some hot
company, and you’re not invited.”
Mick heard the rustling of sheets and
envisioned the lusty shifting of flesh over flesh. Envy simmered inside his
veins. “Next week then.”
“Can’t. Got too much to do before the
brigade leaves for Thanksgiving. And so do you. But the week after, you’re on.”
Mick shut his phone with a sense of
finality. After Thanksgiving then.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and
tried to shake the idea that looking for another woman was somehow wrong.
Lacey and he were just friends. She made
that clear.
And he had to stop thinking of her somehow,
didn’t he?
Twenty-one years ago
Till today, Lacey had never seen her
sister in pigtails. Even at nine years old, the sweetness of pigtails seemed
incongruous with Vi’s sharp business sense.
Hearing her sister approach, Vi didn’t
even glance over her shoulder as she stirred the lemonade. “Are you coming or
what?” she asked Lacey.
“I guess so. Why are you in one of my
dresses?”
Vi owned no dresses of her own. She
preferred pants or shorts. “I’m selling lemonade. Goes with the territory.” She
carried the large thermos of lemonade out to the wagon. “Grab those cups and
that sign, will you?”
Lacey did as she was told, as always, accepting
her role as Vi’s assistant in this business venture rather than a full partner.
“But no one ever drives up our street, Vi. We’ll never sell any lemonade.”
“That’s why we’re mobilizing our lemonade
stand,” Vi explained, heaving an impatient sigh as she taped the sign to the
wagon. It read:
“Ice-Cold Lemonade. Just 99 cents a cup!”
“A whole dollar for a cup of lemonade?” Lacey
gasped.
“Not a whole dollar. 99 cents,” Vi
corrected.
“But they’ll never pay that much for a cup
of lemonade. I was thinking maybe we’d ask for a dime. I don’t know.” Lacey
floundered, as usual, in matters of business.
“They’ll pay a dollar a cup where we’re
headed,” Vi said with a scheming glint in her eyes. “I saw they were laying tar
about five blocks away. Nothing more refreshing than a cup of lemonade when
you’ve been laying tar on a hot August day, I’ll bet.” She began pulling the
wagon down the driveway with resolve.
Lacey trudged behind her in the scorching
heat. Her eyes watered as the smell of tar eventually began wafting in their
direction.
Vi’s voice was laced in sugary-sweetness
as she locked eyes with the first man in a hard hat she saw. “Hi! Want to buy a
nice, refreshing cup of ice-cold lemonade?”
“Kid, you’re charging a dollar for a cup?”
“Just 99 cents, sir,” Vi responded, unwavering.
“It’s really good and I paid for the ingredients out of my own allowance.”
Lacey just stood there, pasting a grim smile
on her face, with no idea what to say.
“Hey, Bob! Get a load of this!” one of the
workers called out, attracting the attention of at least five more. “The kid’s
selling dollar-cups of lemonade. Paid for it all out of her allowance.”
“Cute.”
“Sure, what the hell,” another man said,
despite the company of such young girls. “I’ll take a cup. Here’s a buck. Keep
the change.”
“Thank you very much, sir!” Vi chirped.
“I’ll take one, too. Looks good.”
“Can’t resist the pigtails. I’ll take two,
kid. You got chutzpah.”
Within minutes, the thermos was emptied, and
Vi’s pockets bulged with dollar bills.
When they arrived home, Lacey watched Vi rip
the infernal pigtails from her hair with a scowl. “What are you gaping at?” Vi
snapped.
Lacey shook her head, comforted by the
return of Vi’s sharp tone. “Pigtails and a dress?”
Vi rolled her eyes and flapped the stack
of singles in front of her sister’s face. “A means to an end, Lacey.”
Today
A tidal wave of slush cascaded against the
curb as a cab pulled up, catching Lacey’s eye. Armed with a glass of
Chardonnay, she headed to her parents’ front window for a better look.
Sometimes when Vi arrived for holidays,
Lacey half-expected her to emerge from her cab or rented Volvo wearing pink
Reeboks and sweats, hair pulled back in an efficient ponytail, five-foot-eight
of gangly youth.
The years had raced by, and the changes in
her sister were more dramatic than those in herself—as Lacey was reminded
when the cab’s door opened and the first designer boot stepped onto the snowy
driveway.
If Maeve were here, she’d be applauding
Vi’s choice in footwear right now.
Umbrella snapping open, Vi stood from the
cab, her unbuttoned coat revealing a tailored pantsuit that probably cost the
equivalent of an average real estate commission. Definitely not the sweats of
Vi’s youth. Lacey glanced down at her borrowed clothes, thanking God for
Maeve’s open closet policy.
Over her shoulder, Lacey looked into her
parents’ great room, already brimming with holiday guests. Thanksgiving was
never restricted to family in the Owens’ household. It was an opportunity for
Lacey’s parents to call a caterer and invite fifty or so of their “closest”
friends. The crowded room, mostly people her parents knew through work, would
be a receptive audience for Vi’s news about her promotion—or whatever
work-related triumph her sister was poised to reveal.
Lacey waved through the window, and a
smile spread across Vi’s face when their eyes met. A warmth tugged Lacey’s
heart that could only come with thirty years of sisterly mischief, rivalry, and
love. Suddenly excited to see her sister, she sliced through the crowd to get
to the front door first.
Vi beamed when Lacey swung open the door,
a certain glow about her that Lacey imagined must come from huge success. “Welcome
home, Vi.” Lacey’s voice cracked with emotion as she reached for her sister and
squeezed her tight.
Vi pulled out of the embrace first, her eyes
sweeping over Lacey. “You look fabulous.”
Grinning at the first compliment she had
received since she had arrived, Lacey felt compelled to hug her sister again. “Thanks.
You look great, too.”
“Amazing what having a personal shopper
does for my wardrobe, huh?” Vi winked, sliding her arms out of her coat.
Lacey lowered her voice. “Thank God you’re
here. All these people speak in ticker symbols. I need you to translate.” She reached
out for Vi’s coat and paused, waiting for her sister to remove her gloves.
Right one first. Then the left…
…when she saw it. A strange flash that
streaked across the image of her sister as Vi raised her hand to brush a lock
of hair behind her ear.
The thin stream of illumination was
bright, like a meteor shooting across the sky.
Or a diamond catching the light of the
midday sun.
A diamond?
Instinctively, Lacey reached for Vi’s
hand, half to investigate and half to steady herself from sudden vertigo. “What
the—”
“I’m engaged!” Vi looked giddy with
delight. For a brief moment, Lacey wondered what was more shocking: the idea of
her sister engaged, or the sight of her giddy. Vi was never giddy. Even when Vi
was five and they were visiting a litter of playful puppies for sale, Vi hadn’t
been giddy. She had been calculating the pet shop’s profit margins.
Dumbfounded, her sister’s hand in hers, Lacey
stared at a rock the size of a grapefruit. Or at least it looked like it to
Lacey in her semi-delirious state.
“Can you believe it?” Vi’s voice filled
the silence. Behind her, Lacey could feel the presence of her parents closing
in, followed by an entourage of their well-dressed guests.
“Oh, honey,” Lacey’s mom pulled Vi into a hug.
Honey?
When was the last time her mother called anyone
“honey”?
Vi was quickly passed from her mother’s
embrace to her father’s, and then lost to Lacey in a string of handshakes that
slowly pulled Vi to the other side of the room. It was for the best. Lacey
needed to catch her breath.
Vi. Engaged.
Gazing at her sister now standing next to
the fireplace, a glass of Champagne magically appearing in one hand and showing
off her ring with the other, Lacey wondered why she hadn’t considered this
possibility. She knew something had been up. But with Vi’s strict rules about
focusing on work till she had her own show on CNN or an equivalent feather in
her cap, Lacey never would have thought
this
was the big announcement Vi
had planned.
So where are those rules now, Vi?
Sensing a burning in her chest that was
probably that last chunk of Brie she had devoured, Lacey tried to edge out the
jealousy from her mind and just be happy for her sister. Vi was glowing in a
way that even the most expensive makeup couldn’t replicate.
Just as a warm feeling crept into her
heart, Lacey was struck by an image of Vi’s inevitable future—a seemingly
effortless balance of family and work. Vi’d move to the suburbs, buy a newly
renovated historic house on a sizable lot, and have two perfect children. She’d
hire an au pair from France and Vi’s kids would speak two languages fluently by
the time they were three-and-a-half.
It’s was Lacey’s dream… on steroids.
Meanwhile, poor Auntie Lacey would be
crashing funerals, struggling to make a sale.
Broke.
And sexless.
Sexless? To hell with that
.
***
“I can’t believe you’re leaving early.” Poised
to take a sip, the vapor from Vi’s breath mixed with steam rising from the
mulled wine in her two-handed grip.
Hot spiced wine on the front porch after
Thanksgiving dinner had become a tradition for Lacey and Vi the past few years.
It wasn’t just the comforting feel of warm wine touching their lips against the
chill of early winter. It was an excuse to escape the guests and the
suffocating small talk of post-dinner coffee. No one in their right minds would
follow them outside in Chicago’s bitter November cold.
Ordinarily, Lacey looked forward to this
quiet time alone with her sister. But not tonight.
“Real estate emergency,” Lacey offered
evasively. “I’ll fly stand-by tomorrow morning.”
Vi’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
“Emergency?”
Lacey shrank down in the chilly cushions
on the wicker chair. She hated lying to her sister.
Vi shrugged at Lacey’s silence. “Well,
okay.”
Taking a sip of wine, Lacey decided it
safest to change the subject. “Good turkey, huh?”
“Dad said they tried a new caterer this
year.”
Lacey tilted her head. “You know, I don’t
think I’ve ever had a home-cooked turkey in my life.”
“Who’d want to? Everyone says they’re
always dry.”
“One of my housemates is cooking
Thanksgiving dinner back home. I’ll bet hers isn’t dry. She’s a great cook.”
Thoughts of sanctuary in Annapolis had Lacey wishing she could call a cab for
the airport right now.
“Handy having her in the house, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah. She makes homemade pizza every
Scrabble night. The dough’s even from scratch.”
Vi’s face scrunched, and for a moment she
looked surprisingly similar to the awkward twelve-year-old she once was. “Scrabble
night?”
“Yeah.”