“Of course,” says June. “It’s, like, all Irish and Italians.”
“Well, not as good as our church,” says Mom. “It’ll be good to go together, June. You have so much to be thankful for. We all pray for you girls so much.”
When we hang up, I slap June’s arm. “What the hell?”
“What?” June slaps me back.
“Why are you going home all of a sudden? I know you don’t have a business trip.”
“Who the fuck cares?” she says. “I just…” She looks around my house. “I want to go home.”
“Yeah, but you have a home.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’ve got against Texas,” she says. “But I like it at Mom’s. It’s chill.”
It’s funny. Even though our parents are together, it’ll always be Mom’s house.
“I’m tired,” she says, and swallows. “I want to see Mom and Dad before all this shit goes down. I want the feeling of being in San Antonio, where people search for fucks to give about emerging markets, how fat my bonus is going to be, or what my bowl order is at fucking Sweetgreen. I’m wrecked. I just want to eat those little anchovies fried in garlic and that potato thing she makes with a mandoline. I want soup with every meal, and I want my mom to buy me shit at Costco.”
“Our Mom,” I correct her saltily, thinking about her clear soup with the oxtail and the turnip.
“Whatever. I’ve known her longer,” says June, scrolling through her phone for flights.
“I fucking knew you didn’t have a business trip. Liar.”
She shrugs, ignoring me. She’s not even going to Orbitz or anything, but going straight to the commercial airline app like some kind of millionaire.
When she clears her throat repeatedly, basically right in my ear, I want to punch her in the face. If I were June, I’d be so nice to my little sister. June is such a shitty older sister. She’s more of a shitty older sister than she is a good daughter. I know it’s a bonus that she gets to be mean to me and suck up to Mom at the same time.
If Mom’s dead baby were here, she and I would be best friends. We’d never put up with this shit. June would choke with jealousy. My middle sister would be Mom’s favorite because she was sick as an infant and then June would finally know how it felt to be left out.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I blurt once June’s entering her credit card security code.
Finally, she puts her phone down and smiles triumphantly. “You know what? I don’t fucking care,” she says. “No offense, but I wouldn’t mind not thinking about you for a few days either.”
“Thanks a lot.” I sniff. “I’m the only one who cooks or cleans. I washed all of your linens, had to practically run that shit twice with extra hot water and rinse. Maybe I’m tired too. I don’t want to think about you, either.”
“Well, then it’s perfect,” she says, putting her phone away. “Quality time apart.”
I can’t believe she’d leave me at a time like this.
“Serves me right for buying you that wine opener.” I also bought her some kitchen towels. They were on sale, but they have really cute taxicabs on them. I know it’s not unreasonable that she’s sick and wants to go home, but I still feel like she’s going home at me.
“You’re the one who doesn’t visit,” she says. “Such a fucking drama queen. New York would still be here when you got back.”
“Well, I can’t afford it,” I tell her. “It’s like four hundred and fifty bucks around the holidays.”
It’s not as if I didn’t look it up last year.
“Oh my God,” says June, sticking her tongue out on “God” and rolling her eyes. “If you want to come, I’ll buy you a ticket—just fucking tell me one way or another.”
“I’ll have to get off work.” Not everyone has a trillion vacation days like my asshole sister.
“So get off work.”
“Fine,” I tell her, looking up flights of my own.
“I’ll buy your ticket. I’ll get it on miles.”
“Fine.”
“Fine what?” she says, knocking my knee with hers.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you what?” she says, really joggling me this time.
“Thank you, Unnie.”
“That’s right, you little dickhead.”
We drink our teas. “I’m pretty sure this is expired.” I peer into my mug. The yuzu’s bloomed at the bottom, but it doesn’t taste like much.
“This shit always tastes kinda expired to me,” says June. She points at the empty bedroom behind her. “So, what now? Are you staying here? It’s so fucking depressing. Like, Christmas-morning-at-a-strip-club depressing. I feel like I’ve only seen places like this in night-vision goggles because the feds in the movie are about to do a raid.”
I look around. I don’t want to. In the last week, I’d forgotten how deeply unhappy I’ve been here. I’d only thought as far as checking if Jeremy had left. I can’t imagine closing my eyes and trying to sleep in this place. “I guess I should,” I tell her. “It’s where I live.”
I didn’t know I’d be leaving June’s for the night when we left. She’ll probably abandon all the wet towels in the washing machine and let them get smelly again. Plus, she’ll Seamless fried chicken instead of heating up the leftover lentils and turkey I made her. And we’re only halfway through the episode of Gilmore Girls where Christopher comes back. For the third time.
June gets up. “Okay.”
I get up too.
“Text me if you need anything,” she says.
“Thanks for the ticket.”
“It’s just miles.”
She holds her mug out. “Should I? Just put it in the sink or…？”
My sister moves toward me just as I step in the same direction.
“Sorry.”
“Let me…” I take the cup from her, relieved to have something to do with my hands. “I’ll see you soon,” I say, suddenly not knowing when I’ll see her. “I guess at the airport.”
“Oh,” she says. “Sure.”
“Okay.” Friday sounds like ages away.
We face each other.
“Actually, you know what?” she says abruptly, rolling her eyes. “You’re such a numbnut. Did you even bring any of your things? Do you have your toothbrush?”
“No.” I shake my head theatrically. “I’m so stupid.”
She kisses her teeth. “You know I haven’t had a single cavity?” My sister smiles big with her lips pulled back, going slightly cross-eyed from the effort.
I nod approvingly. “You’re really lucky,” I offer.
“Look, just come to my house,” she says. “It’s so fucking cold and depressing here. And you have fucking roaches.”
“I had a roach,” I correct her. “One. And it’s dead.”
“Okay, asshole, do you want to stay here or…？”
“No.”
“Besides,” she says, ordering an Uber. “You can’t sleep on someone else’s cum stains. That’s just not right.” I shove her as she laughs.