Page 5 of The Thinnest Air
And that I’m no longer her burden.
Wrapping my arms around her tense body, I squeeze her tight until her shoulders relax. “I love you, G. And I’m glad you’re here. I just want us to have a good time.”
My sister exhales. “We will. I’m sorry for gawking. It’s just ... this life you’re living is insane. You’re so young.” She pulls away from me, her eyes locking on mine.
“It’s not unheard of to be married at twenty-two,” I say. “And you can’t control fate.”
“I just hope you don’t forget whoyouare and whatyouwant, you know? I didn’t raise you to be a kept woman.”
I reach for her bag, winking to keep things light and to keep this conversation from having a mother-daughter dynamic.
“I believe we already had this conversation,” I remind her. “The night before my wedding?”
Her eyes roll. “I know, I know. You love him. He loves you. Everything’s perfect, and I have nothing to worry about.”
My lips pull up at the sides. “Glad you were listening. Want to see your room?”
The security system beeps twice as I wheel her bag through the foyer.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“Andrew must be home.” I glance toward the kitchen, waiting for the sound of his calfskin oxfords shuffling across the floor, his keys chinking on the counter, and the gentle whoosh of the wine fridge as he retrieves our nightly bottle of red.
“Mer?” he calls a moment later. “You home?”
“In here.” I wheel the bag toward the sound of his voice, Greer in tow. “Look who made it!”
He’s seconds from uncorking a bottle of Merlot when he glances up, meeting my sister’s steely gaze. I told him she can’t help it—she looks at everyone that way. She doesn’t trust most people, and she hardly likes anyone. She’s slow to warm up, but shewillwarm up ... one of these days. She just needs to see that what we have is legit and not the premise of a Lifetime Movie of the Week. Regardless, Andrew promised me it didn’t matter, that he had thick skin, and that it wouldn’t change the way he feels about me. Ever.
“Andrew.” Greer forces herself to smile. I can see she’s trying to be cordial, so that’s a step in the right direction. It suddenly hits me that this is only the third time they’ve met. Expecting them to be fast friends is unrealistic, so I’ll sit back and be patient and let this happen naturally.
My husband takes three crystal wineglasses with platinum-plated stems from the cupboard and pours them to the curve of the chalice.
“Did you have a nice flight?” he asks, sliding our glasses closer. “They were calling for snow. I was worried there’d be a delay.”
She takes a small sip. “Guess I lucked out.”
“Where’s your boyfriend? Harris, was it?” Andrew asks.
“Ex ...,”I remind him under my breath, twisting the stem of my drink between my fingers.
Greer shoots me a look, and I shoot one back. It’s not fair that my love life is always on the table, but hers is a padlocked diary. God forbid we discuss the fact that they broke up years ago but still act like nothing happened. They may not share an apartment anymore and they might have ditched the relationship labels, but nothing else has changed.
“My apologies,” he says. “You came to the wedding together ... I just assumed.”
Greer takes another swig, wallowing in silence as her gaze lands on the polished wood floor. For a moment, I think back to our wedding, which was rather elaborate and impersonal, everything taking place in a posh hotel at the top of a snow-covered mountain, no one setting foot in our new home for brunch or to watch us open gifts. We shipped our guests in. We shipped them out. A laundry list of festivities left little time for small talk and catching up.
“I’m going to show her to her room,” I say to my husband, leaving my wineglass untouched. My period is a few days late, but I haven’t shared that with him—or anyone else—yet. “Thought she could stay in the guest suite down the hall from us if that’s okay?”
Andrew chuckles, rounding the kitchen island and slipping his hand around mine. “You don’t have to ask for permission. This is your house, too.”
Now I feel silly, but I smile through it. I’ve lived here for months now, but it still feels likehisplace. I don’t think I could ever get used to living in a house the size of a megachurch. It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t feel like home yet, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it’s mine.
“That said, I had Rosita prepare the guesthouse earlier,” he adds. “I thought Greer might be more comfortable there.” He glances at her. “More privacy. Less noise.”
I turn to her. “He has a point. It’s his week—ourweek—with Calder and Isabeau. They’ll be here tomorrow.”
My sister grips her bag, studying him. He can’t see it, but I do. Her thoughts may as well be broadcasting across her forehead. If I know my sister, she’s fixating on how he’s trying to put a wedge between us, how he wants to keep me all to himself and create distance between us. But he isn’t like that. He’s only thinking of her, of her comfort. Andrew simply wants her to enjoy her stay. Once she gets to know him, she’ll see.
