Fall in love with your best friend, said my mom.
Look where that got me.
I reach for my cell phone and dial the office, then ask the receptionist to connect me with Mary in HR.
Her warm, calm voice fills my ear. “Good morning, Lachlan.”
“Hi, Mary.” My chest feels like a cave where all light and happiness go to die. “I wanted to get back to you and Curt and David.”
Her voice brightens. “About the San Francisco position.”
My heart crushes a little. “Exactly.”
“And?” One hopeful word, hovering in the space between us.
My mouth feels dry as sand. I need something real in my life. And this job? There’s no pretense. I know exactly where I stand. “I’d like to accept the position.”
“Oh, Locke, that’s lovely. David and Curt are going to be thrilled.” Mary’s voice lowers a notch like she’s leaning closer to the mouthpiece of her phone. “Is there a reason you’re not telling me this in person?”
I wince. “About that. I’m actually not feeling well this morning.” I only had time for a single drink at the party, so I can’t blame my headache on a hangover. This is a good, old-fashioned, gut-wrenching, head-pounding loss. But Mary doesn’t need to know that.
“I knew we should have held the party on a Friday night instead of a weeknight.” She gives a low chuckle on her end of the phone. “That’s what we get for trying to get a lower rental rate.”
“Poor turnout today?” I ask, trying to play along. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry at all. Guess we’ll have to get used to you being gone, won’t we?”
“Yeah,” I say, and something heavy slides into my stomach. “I guess you will.”
“It’s not that I don’t love to see you, Locke, but shouldn’t you be at work?”
I don’t glance up from the painter’s palette that I’m washing in the sink of Maggie’s art studio, but I can feel her eyes asses me.
“I called in sick. Holiday party yesterday.” The rainbow colors of paint melt off the palette and mix together in a muddy brown swirl at the bottom of the sink. “Anyway, I didn’t think you’d turn down unpaid labor in the shop.”
“Huh.” My sister reaches for the tap and cuts the water midstream.
“I wasn’t finished yet,” I protest.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong?”
I sigh and shake my head. I should have known better than to think she wouldn’t be able to read my mood. “I took the job.”
My sister cocks her head at me. “Should I be congratulating you or consoling you?”
I hold back a scowl. “What do you mean?”
Maggie sighs and takes the palette from my soggy hands, then places it gently in the bottom of the sink. “You don’t look happy about it.”
I wipe my wet hands on the front of my jeans and lean my hip against the edge of the porcelain sink. “I mean, I had a choice to make. I was always going to have to give something up.”
“Greer,” she says, cutting straight to the heart of me.
“Greer,” I say. The word falls to the floor like lead, and the sweet, chemical scent of the paint stings my eyes.
“Does she know?”
“Not yet.”
“Locke.” My sister places a hand on my arm, and I try not to flinch. “You know you can always confide in me, and I’m glad you feel like you can come to me first. But don’t you think that’s a conversation you should have had with her?”
Yes.
I owed Greer that much, I know. But the knife of her betrayal cuts too deep for logic.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I say. I wave around my sister’s shop, pointing at all the holiday decor. This time of year, the kids’ classes are always filled with kindergarteners making last-minute art projects to wrap and place under the tree, and six days out from Christmas, this week is no exception. Twenty paintings of carrot-nosed snowmen dry on one wall, while tiny Santa statues made of clay line up and wait for their turn in the kiln.
“With the holidays and all, I need to figure out the right approach.” The second I say it, I feel my mouth twist. “Oh, god.”
Maggie takes a step back and holds up her hand. “Why do you look like you’re about to puke?”
“The holidays. Mom’s still expecting Greer to show up on Christmas Eve.” I know she’ll be fine if I don’t bring Greer, but I also can’t be that guy who dumps his girlfriend before Christmas.
Except that I already am.
Fuck me.
“Just don’t tell Mom yet, okay? About anything.”
Maggie looks like she wants to protest, but I shoot her a look and she closes her mouth. She leaves me standing by the sink and goes to pull the tiny, child-sized chairs off the table in the kids’ room and arrange them on the floor.
My sister lets the silence stretch between us, wearing me down. I’ve lived with her long enough to know this is a draw, and I’ve always been too quick to give in.
“Did you know about Dad?” I ask after a fractured minute.
I watch my words take impact, freezing Maggie’s back and making her shoulders bunch tight.
“Maggie?” My voice is a raw plea.
When my sister turns around to face me, her eyes are glassy and her nose is red. “Yeah, I knew. If you haven’t noticed, you and I don’t look anything alike except for Mom’s eyes.”
A cynical laugh bubbles up my throat.
Maggie laughs too, then shakes her head at me. “Even if we’re only half-siblings, I’m still one hundred percent your sister, asshole. It’s not blood that makes family, okay?” She sounds like Greer.
I hold up my hands. “Okay.”
Maggie reaches for another chair and moves it into place. “How’d you find out?” she asks.
“Food allergy test.”
My sister presses her lips in a line and nods. I think she’s going to leave it at that, but suddenly her eyes widen and
