Page 24 of Nothing Less than Magic
“Do you have Diet Coke?”
“No, but I have coffee and tea. We can go to the market later.”
She trails after me, showing the same enthusiasm for the inside of the house as she did for the outside. I leave her in the living room while I head to the hallway to turn up the thermostat.
“Where did you get this furniture?” she calls, and before I can answer, says, “Chelsea, you’re filthy rich, and this stuff looks like it came from the Goodwill.”
I plop down in the chair across from her. “First of all, I’m not filthy rich. I work hard and make a good living. There’s a difference, you know? If anyone is filthy rich, it’s your ex-husband. As far as the cabin, it’s the whole point. It’s supposed to be comfortable, relaxing, a place where you can put your feet up, not a designer showcase.”
“No risk of that,” she says, looking around.
“Should I put a pot of coffee on?” I get up and take the five steps to the kitchen.
Lolly is right behind me. “It’s like camping, not even glamp-ing.” She opens and closes a few of the cupboard doors, then takes a seat at the table.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, I stopped in some godforsaken town on the 5 and got a sandwich.”
I can hardly believe she’s here. “What time was that?”
“I don’t know. Noonish, I guess. The drive took forever. By the time I got to Sacramento, I was ready to book a hotel.”
“Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap?”
“I’m fine. What is this you’ve got going?” She points at me and moves her finger up and down.
“What?” I drop my chin to have a better look. “My clothes?”
“Chels, hon, you need a stylist.”
“This is the country, Lolly, not Rodeo Drive. Part of being stylish is dressing appropriately. Jeans and a sweater as opposed to . . .” I turn my finger on her and mimic her up-and-down gesture. “Hermès? Prada? Is that jumpsuit Prada?” I may not be as familiar with designer labels as my sister, but I know Prada when I see it. “Really?”
“Had I known it was going to be this . . .” She stretches outthis. “I would’ve worn my overalls. Oh wait, I don’t own any overalls.”
The overalls comment is funny, but she didn’t say it as a joke. In fact, from the moment I found her sitting on my back deck, I could feel the hostility coming off her in waves. She’s trying to pick a fight, and I don’t want to fight. I want us to be best friends again.
“Let’s not do this, Lolly. You came all this way. We should try to have a good time, make the best of our weekend together.”
The coffee maker signals that it’s done brewing, and I pour Lolly a mug. Hopefully coffee will warm her up.
“I have cookies in the car.” I race out to get them.
“None for me,” Lolly says when I return, waving the package of vanilla wafers in the air. “Carb overload.”
That’s when I take the time to look at her. Really look. She’s thin as a rail, and her face is hollowed out so that she’s all cheekbones and pumped-up Botox lips. If I didn’t know my sister better, I’d worry that she was sick. No, her waifish appearance is quite intentional. Her obsession with weight started when she met Brent, her now ex-husband, and apparently hasn’t subsided with her divorce.
“Well, they’re here if you want one.” I put a few on a plate and place it in the center of the table, then catch Lolly looking at them with hungry eyes. But I know better than to insist. That’ll only make it worse.
“I’m disappointed Taylor and Luna couldn’t come. Besides getting to see them”—I say that pointedly—”they would’ve enjoyed the parade. Ghost goes all out for Halloween.”
“It’s Brent’s weekend, and he would’ve thrown a tizzy fit if I’d asked for them. He was an asshole husband, but when it comes to the kids . . . he loves them.” She turns away, staring out the window.
“I’m sorry, Lolly.” Though I don’t know what I’m sorry for. We all knew she’d tire of him eventually.
“Yeah, well, what are you going to do?” She plays with the handle on her coffee mug. “So, Austin is getting married, huh?”
“Yep.” I let out a breath.
