Page 9 of No Place Like You

“Thanks, Dex.” I watch as my big sister leans into her boyfriend of two years. He presses his cheek into her temple before turning to kiss her hairline. “Were you just getting off work? It’s a little late.”

I shake my head. “I was at Hayden’s.”

She smiles. “Have they made any plans for their wedding?”

“He briefly mentioned Hawaii,” I answer. “But they just got engaged last week. Plus, Hayden’s pretty busy with the restaurant, and they’re just barely settling into their new place.”

“Well, I’m sure whatever they plan, it’ll be nice. Natalia is going to make such a beautiful bride.”

“Yeah,” I say, casting an endearing smile in her direction.

The way she talks about one of my oldest friends and his fiancée makes my insides feel a little warm and fuzzy. She talks about him in the same way one would talk about a beloved relative. Like when a cousin gets into an Ivy League college. Or when an adventurous aunt goes on a cruise and ends up getting food poisoning from the all-you-can-eat lobster buffet.

When Hayden moved into my apartment three years ago, after my previous roommate up and left, leaving me high and dry with no one to handle his half of the rent, it became a different type of living situation with me and him. One that differed from the standard roommate/roommate affiliation. Our friendship and past, one that rooted back to our freshman year of college, made me realize how much I lacked those types of conversations with Janet. My sister and I didn’t have family gossip to catch up on. We didn’t have parents to come home to, ones who should be sitting at this very table with us, showering Janet with tacky greeting cards—the kind that sings when you open them—and an over-dramatized rendition of the traditional happy birthday song.

Instead, Janet and I used to catch up on our latest TV show obsession, usually something likeSupernaturalorPeaky Blindersfor me andBig Bang TheoryorThe Bachelorfor her. We discussed the weather (“Why is it so warm this February?”) or work-related mishaps (“I swear, if Greasy Gavin steals another one of my pens, I’m going to report him to HR”). We didn’t meander through family updates or relative gossip over brunch because we didn’thaveany family members to update on.

But now, we have Hayden. We have Hayden and Nat and their wedding and Hayden’s restaurant and all of the in between that Janet asks about. We have family updates.

Our dinner continues, and at the end, a small strawberry cake with fresh cream arrives at our table, a single white candle lit at the center of it. We make a show of singing “Happy Birthday” to Janet, topped off with out-of-tune choruses and big hand gestures, before she takes a deep breath to blow out the candle.

Charles and I clap, quietly cheering on Janet as she smiles shyly.

“What did you wish for?” I ask, picking at the candle, now dripping with cooled wax, the burned tip of the wick letting off a ribbon of smoke.

“That the cake is as good as it looks,” she answers smugly. She’s interrupted by a fit of coughs she tries to cover. Charles’s hand moves to her back, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulders before she reaches into her purse for an inhaler. She brings it to her mouth and squeezes out two puffs while taking in a deep inhale before tucking it back into her purse.

“Since when do you use an inhaler?” I ask, taking a sip of the remaining red wine in my glass.

“Since two weeks ago,” she answers, picking up a fork to pick at her dessert. “I’ve been having some trouble breathing and this cough that won’t go away, so I went to the doctor, and they prescribed me this for now.”

“For now?” I ask. “Is there something else going on?”

“She’s going to run some more tests,” Janet explains. “It shouldn’t be anything serious. She said it’s most likely just a respiratory infection. It’s probably from all the air-conditioned air at the gallery.”

“Janet,” I say, unable to hide the disappointment in my tone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That I have a cold?” she teases with a small scowl and an incredulous tilt of her head. “It’s really not that serious.”

I turn to Charles, silently pleading for him to take my side. Instead, he laughs it off. “She’s taking care of herself,” he says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I’m making sure of it.”

“See?” Janet chimes. “I’m in good hands. You don’t need to worry.”

I scowl before schooling my features, being careful to not come off as annoyed or rude, but the simple fact is that Iamworried. I willalwaysworry about her. Just the way she always worries about me.

“Would it help if I tell you that I haven’t used this inhaler in four days?”

I shrug, rolling my eyes with a surrendering, “Sure.”

“You know, I was filling out the paperwork at the doctor’s office, and they have this long section asking about family history,” she says, leaning forward as if she’s telling me a secret. “And I realized I have no idea.”

“What did it ask?”

“Just the standard stuff. Like if I have a family history of asthma, diabetes, high blood pressure, cancer.” She pauses, glancing down at the stained tablecloth and the light bouncing off the handle of her fork. “I felt kinda dumb not knowing. You know?” she says, her voice sounding low and morose.

“Hey,” I urge softly, calling for her attention. “It’s not your fault you don’t know. I don’t know either.”

She responds with a weak smile.

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