Page 118 of The Home Grown
I set the iron on its end and move away from the board as she comes into view. She’s wearing her work uniform, her name badge fastened to a fleece, which she takes off and drapes across the back of the sofa.
“Kel,” I say. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, Johnny said you wanted to see me?”
Fucking Johnny. This is his way of saying‘tell her before I do’and considering she looks indifferent; I figure he hasn’t uttered a word.
Part of me wonders if I can get away with playing dumb until Hutch saunters back into the room, clad in his freshly ironed shirt.
“How’s life, Kel? Fancy Bettsy’s news, huh?”
She pulls her brows together and gapes at me. “News? What news?”
“I—”
“I’m going to check in on Ffordey,” Hutch says, making a swift exit stage left, letting the apartment door slam behind him.
“What’s going on?” Kelly says. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
I move back to the ironing board, straightening my shirt against the edge and getting to work on the sleeves.
“Mike?” she prompts. “You’re scaring me.”
I wince, then set the iron back on its heel, before I shift my focus to my sister.
“Do you want a drink or something?” I ask.
“I’ve got work.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “Do you … think I need a drink?”
I shake my head. Because if there’sanyonewho will understand, it’s Kelly.
“Remember Ellie?” I say, breezily. “Who lived next door?”
“Yeah … what about her?” She pauses, blinking a few times. “Wait—did she get in touch about that silly pact you made? The marriage one?”
I titter. Because now Kelly’s said it out loud, I realise howsillythis all is.
“Nah, but she did reach out.” I pick the iron back up and run it over the back of my shirt. “Turns out…” I cast Kelly a look, keeping my eyes settled on hers as she waits. Patient as ever. “Yeah, so … turns out we might’ve got married when we were eighteen.”
I expect questions. Gasps. Exclamations of horror. But she doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. It’s like she’s buffering.
I look back down at my shirt, adjusting it while I wait.
Still buffering.
I finish ironing the shirt before I decide to prompt her.
“Kel? Are you going to say something?”
“You … you got married?”
“Well, we think so—” I fill in her in the on the details while I pull off my tee and slip my arms into my shirt.
The Germany trip. The ferry ride. The wedding experience…
I come to a natural pause, waiting for her to respond.
She blinks. Starts. Then purses her lips.
