Page 23 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“In your Land Rover?” I shoot my shot.

“Take the Brown Line to the Red Line and get off at the Argyle stop. It’s a five-minute walk from there. There’s mace on a keychain in the foyer for you.”

I let out a sigh thinking about traveling to and from Rogers Park. Up until now, the most physical distance my body has covered has been two blocks north to Scooter’s Custard Shop, usually towing a red wagon with two small boys who have each other in headlocks behind me. I can feel the agoraphobia brewing. In the meantime, I plop down on Nora’s fancy oversized, beige Restoration Hardware couch to rest up for the journey. The sun hits her ring finger creating a reflection that nearly blinds me when I do.

“Good god, Nora. Your ring is huge. What did Esteban do to wind up in the dog house this time?”

“He didn’tdoanything. This is what ten years of marriage and two kids gets you. It’s called an upgrade. You like?”

She thrusts her hand my way and dangles her fingers like she’s doing jazz hands. I can tell she wants me to marvel. Since I’m staying at her place rent-free, I oblige, grabbing hold of her palm when I do.

Before I can process what that potentially means for an untimely, unplanned flare up of my “gift,” I see nothing and I feel nothing. And to be quite honest, I’m relieved.

“It’s nice,” I say, keeping it short and sweet before letting go and taking a sip of my coffee.

“What are you doing? You’re not allowed to drink coffee on this couch,” she says.

“Have you talked to your doctor about the long-term effects of your Type-A personality? I’m worried for your blood pressure.”

“If you think I’m bad, just wait until you get to Olivia’s house,” Nora warns.

“Why? What do you mean?”

Olivia has always been proper, but she’s never been quiteascontrolling or bossy as Nora.

“I’m probably not supposed to be mentioning anything. But…she and Ted are trying.”

“Trying to…mass-market Liv’s cheesecake brownies into Whole Foods across the nation?”

My middle sister, Olivia, is a fantastic baker. For years, she’s worked from home for a food distribution company, specifically in the baked goods department. Perhaps she was rerouting a portion of her flour and sugar orders to be delivered straight to her Rogers Park condo, but whatever she’s been doing over the last ten years to hone her baking skills has paid off. Everything she touches—pies, cookies, tortes, and tarts—turns to sugary gold. While my baking skills cap at Pillsbury pull-apart refrigerated cookie dough, Olivia makes whipping up chocolate ganache look as easy as pressing “brew” on a Keurig machine. I wish, so badly, she could open her own place. But for now, she just posts recipes on social media in her spare time and I’m pretty sure her audience caps at my sister, my mom, and whoever she conned into following her online from her park district pottery classes.

Before I can daydream about Liv’s cheesecake brownies, Nora bugs her eyes out at me in a ‘don’t make me explain this’ kind of way.

“Oh. Trying for a baby. Got it.”

Nora gives me a thumbs up.

“Not going so well I take it?”

She turns to a thumbs down.

“Let’s put it this way: am I fighting her for your nanny services yet?”

The thought of having both my sisters vying for me to take care of their kids gives me pause—or should I say, sends shivers down my spine. When did I sign up to be Mrs. Doubtfire? I do love kids, especially the ones who share a blood relation to me, but being tossed back and forth between the Sisters Miller doesn’t exactly scream: “Congrats! You’ve found your new life purpose!” to me.

“What’s the rush?” I ask.

“Once she turned thirty, it just became this massive, big deal for her to get pregnant. It’s been going on two years now of nothing and she’s losing her mind. Like, literally, losing it.”

The way Nora describes Liv’s mental state is so far from anything I have seen over the last couple years living in Ocean Beach. The sense of urgency, about anything, is virtually nonexistent. While at times that was frustrating (seriously, how long does it take to self-checkout a single bottle ofkombucha?), I look back on it with an envy right now.No bad days, those were the days...

“Well, gee. Thank you for arranging my accommodations tonight. Sounds like the refreshing Chicago staycation I’ve been longing for.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t book a $500 suite for you at The Brockmeier. Can you not be so dramatic, Moonie? It’s one night with yourotherdear sister. If the baby thing comes up, tell her what I keep telling her: she and Ted need to split a bottle of wine, hook up, and it’ll just happen.”

Says the woman who cranked out two kids in her twenties with zero issues.

“I think I’m going to head out early,” I announce. “I haven’t seen fall colors in two years. I’m going to take the long way to Liv’s.”

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