You're the One That I Don't Want - By Alexandra Potter Page 0,70
passes for my gym. You should come,’ she suggests, popping out the soybeans with her teeth. ‘Now you won’t be doing all that yoga.’ She smirks and I swat her with a chopstick.
I’ve already told Kate about how I’ve broken up with Nate. I called her last night and filled her in on the details, at the end of which I’d drawn breath and waited for her response. It had come in the form of one word – ‘Good’ – and then moved briskly on to a conversation about her new bathroom tiles.
‘Effusive’ is not a word you could use to describe my sister. Sometimes I wonder if she views words like the rest of us view money and tries to save them up and not spend too many all at once.
‘I think that was a lucky escape,’ she continues. ‘It will save you a fortune on chiropractic bills.’
‘I’m not that bad at yoga,’ I complain sulkily.
‘Luce, how are you going to get into the lotus position when you can’t even cross your legs? Remember that time in school assembly?’
Trust Kate to remind me of one of the most humiliating moments of my life. Aged twelve, I’d been sitting crossed-legged in the school hall, listening to our headmaster, and my legs had suddenly gone into cramp and I’d been unable to uncross them. I’d had to be airlifted out of assembly by Mr Dickenson, our PE teacher. I don’t think I’ve ever got over the shame. For years after I was teased mercilessly with ‘Don’t forget to cross your legs’, which took on a totally different connotation as I got older.
‘Excuse me. Your sake.’
I look up to see a waiter return with a little bottle and two small ceramic glasses. Ceremoniously he arranges them on the counter in front of us.
‘Domo arigato,’ smiles Kate, bowing her head respectfully.
The waiter beams. ‘Do itashi mashite,’ he replies, nodding profusely and backing away.
I stare at Kate in astonishment. ‘Since when did you start speaking Japanese?’
‘Since most of my clients are based in Tokyo,’ she says casually, taking the sake bottle and pouring me some. ‘I’m learning in my spare time.’
I look at her agog. My sister never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes I wonder if we really are sisters or if there was some mix-up in the hospital. I mean, can I really be genetically related to someone who learns Japanese? In her spare time?
There I was thinking spare time was for logging on to Facebook and sneaking a look at everyone else’s photos, bidding on lots of things on eBay that I don’t need and never fit properly, and watching TV with Robyn and discussing challenging subjects such as ‘Do we order a twelve-inch pizza and garlic bread, or shall we just go for a sixteen-inch with extra toppings?’
‘Now it’s your turn. You have to pour mine,’ she says, passing me the sake bottle. ‘It’s supposed to be good luck to pour each other’s.’
‘I thought you weren’t superstitious.’
‘I’m not.’ She frowns as if I’ve just called her a bad name. ‘It’s tradition. Not superstition. There’s a difference.’
‘So tell me, how’s work?’ I ask, changing the subject. ‘Any good . . . um . . . mergers and acquisitions happening?’
If there’s one sure-fire way to snap my sister out of a bad mood, it’s to ask her about work. It’s her favourite topic of conversation. If she had it her way, it would probably be her only topic of conversation. Unlike my girlfriends, she’s not interested in commenting on the fabulous new dress you just bought from Zara, speculating about what’s going on in the Jennifer-Brad-Angie triangle or talking about relationships. Not even when it’s her own.
In fact, the closest I think she ever got was on her wedding day, when someone asked her what the best part of being married to Jeff was and she replied cheerfully, ‘Our new apartment. With two salaries, we can now afford a two-bedroom,’ which I don’t think was exactly the gushing response they’d hoped for.
‘Exhausting but exciting,’ she says, suddenly galvanised. ‘The CEO is thrilled with the merger so far, which is superb on a performance note, but it looks like the Joberg-Cohen deal might need some extra . . .’ She trails off as she sees my glazed expression. ‘Are you interested in any of this?’
‘Of course,’ I protest. ‘It’s fascinating.’
And it would be. Truly, it would be. If only I had half a clue what she was going on about.