a roof, Georgie had been a goddamn disaster. But there they were, the older sister as an expert, the younger one without a clue: Cleo not knowing what to do about the umbilical cord scab; Cleo having bought the wrong size diapers; Cleo nearly fainting when his poop was bright green and then having to listen to Georgie assure her (in what Cleo thought was a quite patronizing tone) that this was all just normal.
Cleo, a rigid straight line, just wanted to scream.
She’d read all the books and done her homework, and yet still Georgie tried to grasp her breast and show her how to nurse; Georgie tried to reswaddle him when Cleo’s attempts weren’t sticking; Georgie knew how to bounce him on her shoulder to get him to both burp and sleep within two minutes. And it was all too much for Cleo—not just her kindness but that her sister was in her space telling her what to do and how to do it, and her feelings weren’t even rational—she knew this! She knew that her annoyance should instead be gratitude, but on the fourth night, while Georgie was demonstrating how to give Lucas a proper bath, Cleo could just not take it a second longer—what she perceived as condescension (which she later realized was not, but this took at least a year). She exploded on Georgie to give her some space and that she was his mother. Then continued with plenty of other unkind words about how difficult Georgie made life for her parents, about how Cleo didn’t want to be taking advice from someone who had once been brought home with a police escort (a house party where Georgie had been found falling-down drunk)—all words of regret now—shouting so loudly that Lucas cried for an hour straight. And even Georgie’s patented bouncing technique would not quiet him.
Georgie left the next morning, and they returned to their monthly phone calls (if that), and Cleo dialed an agency and found a very nice woman, Bernadine, who understood boundaries and didn’t try to shove Cleo’s nipple into Lucas’s mouth and arrived at eight a.m. and left at six p.m., and that was much more civilized than the messiness of family. At least, that’s how Cleo saw it at the time. Once she got herself into a routine, she put him in day care, which meant even more boundaries and no one in their home but the two of them. Cleo was happier that way.
Tonight Emily pulled back from their hug and reached down for an (organic reusable) grocery bag at her feet. “I was at Costco today and bought an extra rotisserie chicken. Thought I’d see if you’d eaten.”
Cleo reddened. She’d planned to just order a pizza. Again. Lucas could live off pizza if she’d let him. And she didn’t want to be Emily’s pet project. “I haven’t,” Cleo said. “But really, it’s OK.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—I have more free time than you. Let me help.”
“I just . . .” Cleo couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough. She didn’t want Emily to think that she regularly needed help for simple things like, well, like dinner. Carpool rides were amazing, but that was because Cleo couldn’t be two places at once. Stocking their fridge or making a pot of pasta was simple adult stuff, and Cleo should be more capable. Just like she should have known how to swaddle Lucas or eke out a post-bottle burp.
“You have to eat, and I had an extra, no big deal.”
“You’re right,” Cleo conceded and stepped aside, welcoming her in. “Thank you.”
“The boys ran off before I could tell Benjamin that we weren’t staying. Someone to FaceTime in Seattle? Does that sound familiar or . . . did I not eavesdrop correctly?”
They landed in her kitchen, and Emily heaved the bag to the counter. She removed the chicken, which smelled, frankly, heavenly and also nutritious, which was a change from Girl Scout cookies and plane food and vanilla macadamia muffins.
“No, you heard correctly. Do kids date these days? If so, I think maybe he’s dating someone, my old friend’s daughter, there.” It occurred to Cleo that Emily might have her ear to the ground on eighth-grade gossip. “But have you heard of any . . . romance here?”
“Oh, Benjamin wouldn’t say a word.” Emily pulled out a bottle of wine, then a salad. “But I’ll ask Penny; she’d know. She’s like the town crier.” Penny was their youngest, only sixteen months younger than Ben. God