Page 149 of Forever Never
“Tried?” Kimber asked, pausing to make a slurping noise at the bottom of her drink.
“With Kyle, with the kids. You want something more than home improvement projects and that creepy whiteboard. What have you talked to them about?”
“Well, nothing really. I mean, I yell at Kyle for skipping out on yet another family event. And then I yell at my kids for making demands like doing their laundry faster so Ian can have his lucky underwear for his math test. Or Hadley forgetting to tell me she signed up for the junior high bake sale and needs four dozen cupcakes tomorrow.”
“Mm-hmm. So yelling,” Remi said, hopping down off the counter and strolling into the laundry room. She picked up the hot pink eraser from the chalk tray.
“How long does it take you to update this every week?” she asked.
“About an hour and a half. But that’s after I’ve worked out the meal plan, made the grocery list, and reviewed Kyle and the kids’ schedules,” Kimber said.
“Hmm. Interesting.” Casually, Remi lifted the eraser and swiped it right through the column labeled Monday, erasing the day from existence.
Kimber’s eyes went wide. “You erased my Monday.”
“Yelling,” Remi repeated, and wrote it on the board in red. “Did it work?”
Kimber shook her head, still staring at the damage to her weekly schedule. Then she went back into the kitchen, and Remi heard the telltale sound of vodka pouring into a sippy cup.
“What else?” Remi called.
“Guilt trips,” Kimber said, reappearing. “The back of the hand to the forehead kind of martyrdom as I carry another laundry basket up the stairs like a peasant woman in pioneer days.”
“Guilt trips,” Remi wrote. “Good. Any results?”
“Yeah. They all got even better at ignoring my under the breath mutterings,” Kimber said.
“If these are the only two approaches you’ve tried, I think there’s a lot of fresh options. For instance, have you considered kicking Kyle in the balls instead of doing his laundry?”
Kimber laughed, choking on vodka and tonic. She hiccuped. “I’m saving that for a last resort.”
“Now, feel free to ignore me because I don’t have children and a house to run. But I’m seeing a whole lot of doing things for other people and nothing like ‘take bath with waterproof vibrator and romance novel’ on your list.”
“You aren’t actually selling sex toys are you?” Kimber asked.
“Ha. Ha. We’re talking about you right now. It looks to me like you’re filling your hours with responsibilities and tasks for other people. What’s the worst that could happen if, instead of making turkey burgers on Wednesday, you just told the kids to make whatever they want.”
“They would eat ice cream for dinner, make a huge mess in the kitchen, and I’d be forced to spend two hours cleaning chocolate syrup off the dog,” Kimber said.
“So it’s easier if you do it all yourself?” Remi pressed.
“Well, yeah. No one else is going to do it the way I want it done. So it’s just easier for me to be the one to do it.”
“In theory,” Remi said, wielding the marker, “if your goal was to raise children incapable of making themselves a peanut butter and jelly or doing their own laundry, you would be correct.”
Kimber pursed her lips. “Shit.” She took another slurp from the straw. “You are making a point that I’m not sure I’m mentally ready to accept. I may need to linger longer in the martyr zone.”
“Understandable and valid,” Remi said, handing her sister the eraser.
Kimber hopped up on top of the washer and took another long pull on her straw. “I’m really sorry for being a raging asshole to you the other night. I hate people who take their existential misery out on others, and that’s exactly what I did to you.”
“Apology accepted,” Remi said, stretching out on the spotless bench perched above a neat row of snow boots.
“You shouldn’t accept apologies so easily. That just gives assholes like me the opening to be assholes again.”
“You’re not a real asshole. At least not a permanent one.”
On a sigh, Kimber dropped her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I just never had the path like you did, you know?”
