Page 18 of The Thinnest Air
Trekking to the next house, I can’t stop thinking about my little sister with a bruise around her wrist.
CHAPTER 9
MEREDITH
Twenty-Nine Months Ago
The bells jingle on the door of Steam Coffee and Tea in Chelsea. Harris is working the register, and his expression hardens when he notices me. I place my pointed finger in front of my lips, a silent plea for him not to say anything, and he nods toward the back office, where my sister is hunched over her laptop next to a mountain of paperwork.
“Knock, knock,” I say, rapping on the door.
She turns to face me, squinting until my familiarity registers. I haven’t seen her in months, but I know I don’t look that different.
“Oh, my God.” She rises, still in shock. “Mer. What are you doing here?”
“Andrew’s in town for work. I tagged along. Thought I’d surprise you.”
Greer’s never been a physically affectionate type of person, so her face says it all. She’s surprised. And she’s thrilled to see me.
“Let’s go do stuff,” I say. “I have the whole day to myself, and we’re leaving tomorrow.”
My sister glances at the computer, biting her lip. She’s going to put me first, that much I know, but I can almost see her mentally calculating how late she’ll be staying up tonight to finish her inventory or accounting or whatever the hell she’s doing.
She’s always so rational and business minded, which is why she and Harris make the perfect business partnership. He’s artsy and creative and forward thinking, and he can make a mean cup of coffee, and she’s good at ensuring the bottom line is in check, filing quarterly taxes, interviewing staff, and keeping the paychecks from bouncing.
“I’m stealing her,” I say to Harris when I head back to the front. Greer is a few steps behind me, tugging a light jacket over her shoulders.
He pushes his tortoiseshell frames up his nose and stares. He knows he doesn’t have a say. Our bond is impenetrable, even by the guy whose name is tattooed on my sister’s heart.
“Have fun,” he says in a way that doesn’t sugarcoat his true feelings. I’m sure he resents the fact that we’re frolicking off to pal around the city and have fun while he’s stuck behind a register, but it’s not like we do this all the time. Besides, the two of them work way too damn much. My sister can take a break. It’s not going to kill either of them.
And by now, he should be used to playing second fiddle whenever I’m around. Everything ... the business ... Harris ... takes a back seat when I’m home.
Greer doesn’t say goodbye. She doesn’t need to. The two of them have been together for something like a decade—almost marrying once. They’re well past formalities, niceties, and taking anything personally.
“So I thought we’d get brunch at La Dolce,” I start, looping my arm through hers as we hit the pavement outside the shop. “For old times’ sake.”
Greer tries to diminish her excitement, but her steps grow faster.
“It wouldn’t kill you to smile a little more.” I nudge her side. “You’re always so serious, so ... controlled.”
“Your point?”
“I don’t have a point. Just making an observation.” Releasing my arm from hers, I step toward the curb and hail an oncoming cab.
“We can take the subway,” she says, pointing down the block, where a sign indicates there’s a station below the busy sidewalk.
“Cab will be quicker. Less walking, too. These heels are killing me.”
Her eyes land at my feet, specifically the red uppers of my shoes. We used to make fun of women who pined after shoes like these. Now I’ve become one of them. Manolos. Louboutins. Valentinos in every color and heel size. I own them all and for reasons that perplex even myself.
I’m slightly ashamed.
A cab stops, and I motion for her to hurry up when I see a scowling man carrying a briefcase run-walking in our direction, wielding the audacity to try to steal our ride. I miss many things about the city, the least of which are assholes like that.
The ride to La Dolce is quiet, which means my sister is lost in thought.
“What are you going to get?” I ask, a lame attempt to make conversation and bring her into the present moment.
