movie. She planned to go the other night but Tory sweet-talked her into having dinner with them and their dad, so she’s off tonight.”
“And how’s it going with her?”
“Great,” Kit lies, not ready to voice her irritation at Annabel constantly helping herself to Kit’s clothes, her make-up, the mess Annabel leaves around everywhere; her unease at the way Annabel is making herself such a huge part of Kit’s life that she can’t possibly be ignored.
It’s amazing how much Annabel is getting on Kit’s nerves, particularly as she’s taken to disappearing for hours. Most of the time she’s not even there that much, but when she is, boy, does she make her presence known.
Kit should be grateful, should stop being so petty. It must be because she’s used to living on her own, she thinks, just her and the kids, who are used to one another’s habits.
For the first few days, it was lovely having the company, but now it seems that when Annabel is around, all she wants to do is talk. Just the other afternoon Kit found herself looking up from her book and thinking, “Do you ever shut up?” She instantly felt guilty at the thought, then resentful of Annabel curling up next to her and chatting about some inane thing.
She helps herself to food, but hasn’t offered to contribute a penny, nor lifts a finger to do the washing-up or put anything away.
Kit comes home regularly to find Annabel in her clothes, then is annoyed at herself for being angry as Annabel lays her head on Kit’s shoulder and says she always wanted a sister, and isn’t this fun, to swap clothes.
Kit has yet to wear anything of Annabel’s.
It’s like having another teenage daughter. Tory and Annabel both help themselves to Kit’s things, but she can yell at Tory, remove privileges—hell, she can ground her if she has to.
What is she supposed to do about Annabel?
I have to love her, she keeps telling herself. I must not be irritated. She is the sister I always wanted. She is family.
And no, she is not taking me for granted, even though that is exactly how it feels. She is not exploiting my kindness or taking advantage, and I will not think about the fact that I am the one working hard, clearing up, making her breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. The only thing she seems to do is make endless cups of English tea, and I don’t even drink English bloody tea, as Annabel would say.
I am just being grouchy, Kit tells herself. I must breathe. Do more yoga. Meditate. Find my inner peace because she is my sister and she is not going anywhere, and anyway, isn’t this what I always wanted?
Surely two grown women living under the same roof, in such a small space, is always hard work. Surely this will pass. And how long is she damn well staying anyway? I mean, when, exactly, does her visa expire?
Kit lets herself into her house and trips over Annabel’s boots in the hallway. Sighing, she picks them up and takes them out to the mudroom, where all the boots are kept, lining them up neatly on the boot rack.
Back in the living room she picks up Annabel’s coat, draped over a chair, and hangs it up in the closet, then hears a crash and a muttered “Bugger!” from upstairs.
“Hello?” Kit calls up the stairs. “Annabel?”
“Oh . . . hi, Kit. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Kit starts to walk up the stairs. “I thought you were going out tonight?”
“I am. I’m just getting ready. Hang on. I’ll be down in a sec.”
Kit heads toward her voice. Coming from Kit’s bathroom. She walks in and finds Annabel, on her knees, frantically clearing up a mess of cream and broken glass on the floor.
It is Kit’s favorite moisturizer. Designer, desperately expensive. She rarely buys it any more, but Adam gave it to her on her birthday last year.
It shouldn’t matter. Kit knows it shouldn’t matter, but she’s stressed and tired and emotionally fragile after her confrontation with Tracy, and seeing Charlie packing up her house, and she just stands there and starts to cry.
“Oh God, Kit, I’m so sorry.” Annabel’s face falls as she stands up and attempts to put her arms around Kit.
“Please don’t.” Kit pushes her away.
“I’ll buy you another one. Just tell me where to get it and I’ll buy you another one tomorrow.”
“It’s not the damn cream,” Kit says. “It’s everything. You’re standing here in