Sisters Like Us. Сьюзен Мэллери
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through.
Sometimes Stacey wished the baby was already here so she wouldn’t be worrying about what was going to happen. She would already know if she could fake being a decent mother or not.
If only she was more like Harper, she thought. Talented and loving, with great mothering skills. But Stacey wasn’t. She and her sister had always been close but oh so different. One of her earliest Christmas memories was of opening an Easy-Bake Oven from Santa. She’d immediately started mixing together ingredients—not to bake a cake, but to get a chemical reaction.
Bunny had never understood and Stacey’s dad hadn’t much cared. He’d regretted not having sons instead of daughters. But Grandpa Wray had been there for her. He’d wanted to talk about things like jet propulsion and living on Mars, and she’d wanted to listen.
He’d been the one to show her how to use a telescope and a microscope. When girls her age had been playing with dolls, she’d been trying to find a science club and building computers. With Grandpa Wray’s help, she’d gotten to go to Space Camp when she was nine. The following summer, while the rest of the family had been at Disney World, she and Grandpa Wray had visited Cape Canaveral and been taken on a private tour.
“Grandpa Wray wanted me to be an astronaut,” she told Bay as they turned onto their street. “I would have been interested if there had been a Mars mission on the horizon, but that’s still so many years away. I went into medical research instead.” She smiled at the dog. “He was a great man. You would have liked him.”
Bay’s stubby tail wagged as she listened attentively.
“I always fit with Grandpa Wray,” she continued. “He didn’t care that I was smart or awkward or that I couldn’t make piecrust by the time I was eight.” Unlike her mother, who had cared about all those things. Bunny had always resented her youngest being more interested in how the world worked than how to knit, sew or decoupage. How many times had Harper stood up for her, defending her when Bunny went on the attack?
Stacey undid Bay’s leash as they entered the house, then lowered her backpack onto a chair. She checked on the Crock-Pot chili Kit had started that morning before walking into the bedroom to change out of her work clothes.
French doors led to their fenced backyard. Although they were only a mile or two from the ocean, they didn’t have a view. Stacey had never understood paying for something as silly as the ability to see something in nature. The brain responded to inputs that were essential for survival. Everything else faded into the background. She knew that she would cease to see a view within a matter of weeks, so why pay for it?
She’d already bought the house when she met Kit. The first time he’d come over, she’d told him her theory about views. He’d responded by telling her she was about the sexiest woman he’d ever met.
The news had surprised her. Stacey knew she was relatively attractive and she kept herself fit. There had always been men in her life—no one all that special, but she’d had boyfriends. Still, she’d frequently had the sense that they were more interested in her body than in her brain. Kit was the first romantic partner who made her feel safe and loved for who she was.
She changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt, then walked barefoot to the living room. Bay trailed along with her. Once the DVD was in the machine, Bay curled up in her bed by the sofa. She glanced at the door before putting her head down.
“Kit will be back in an hour,” Stacey told her. “He goes to a support group for stay-at-home dads.” Something he’d started when they’d learned she was pregnant.
“Kit’s like that. He asks for help. He solicits advice. He’s extremely well-adjusted.” All things she admired about him, probably because none of those characteristics described her. He’d suggested she look for a support group for working moms but so far she hadn’t been interested.
There’s something wrong with you! You’re not a normal girl.
The memory echoed unexpectedly in her mind, as vivid and uncomfortable as it had been when the words had first been screamed at her.
She’d been thirteen and eager to talk to her mother. Stacey had secretly scheduled a meeting with one of the high school counselors to talk about an accelerated program so she could go to college early. She’d already decided to focus on medical research—especially diseases of the central nervous system—so why wait to get started?
With the information in hand, Stacey was determined to convince her mother to let her start the process in the fall. Bunny had wanted to talk about the fact that a boy had called for Stacey.
Looking back, Stacey realized they’d talked at cross purposes for nearly ten minutes before figuring out what the other was saying. Stacey had dismissed the call while Bunny had refused to discuss Stacey starting high school in the fall and finishing in two years.
“No man wants a woman who’s that smart,” her mother had told her. “Accept who you are.”
“This is who I am,” she’d yelled back. “I want to go to college. I don’t want to talk to some stupid boy on the phone, okay?”
“There’s something wrong with you. You’re not a normal girl.”
She’d brushed off the assessment, raced to her room and had immediately called her grandpa Wray. He and Bunny had fought for days, while Stacey’s father had ignored whatever was going on at home and Harper had offered Stacey sisterly support. In the end, the outcome was inevitable. Bunny might not like it, but she could never say no to her father. He was, after all, a man.
As Stacey stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and began to concentrate on her breathing, she acknowledged yet more irony in her life. Bunny wanted her daughters to be exactly like her and she resented that Stacey refused to cooperate. That Stacey had been able to go to college when she was barely sixteen had happened because a man had intervened. She’d achieved her escape and her success in part because of her mother’s anachronistic worldview.
She should find humor in that, only she couldn’t. Instead she pressed her right hand against her growing belly and wondered if it was possible her mother was right. And if there was something wrong with her, how would that play out for Baby Joule?
HARPER HAD ALL the gift bags stacked together in boxes. Cathy had texted to say she wouldn’t be picking them up until tomorrow, after all, which left Harper nearly frothing. She could have had an extra two days to maybe get some sleep instead of staying up for two nights to get them done. She didn’t know if she was angrier at Cathy for playing her or herself for being played.
She heard a knock at the front door, then Lucas walked in. Thor immediately raced toward him. Lucas bent over and greeted the dog before calling out, “It’s me.”
Harper set the last box in place by the sofa and looked at her client/friend. Despite having worked all day, Lucas looked as fresh and handsome as he had that morning. His shirt was barely wrinkled, he was rested and tanned, while she was a hot mess. No, she thought, thinking of her mom jeans and stained T-shirt. Even her messiness wasn’t the least bit hot. She was a cold mess.
“Hi. Catch any bad guys?”
“A couple.”
“Want to stay to dinner?”
The invitation was automatic. She wasn’t sure when or how it had started, but Lucas ate dinner with them at least three nights a week. Thanks to Bunny’s skillful tutelage and years of training, Harper chronically overbought and overcooked, so there was always plenty for unexpected company. Lucas was funny, charming and a lovely distraction when things with her mother got too intense or moments with her daughter got too quiet.
Harper already had a salad made. She’d prepared vegetables for steaming and had Chicken Piccata ready to brown and simmer. The drama of this evening’s meal would be the—wait for it—store-bought