If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(78)

I wished my mom hadn’t lied to her sister, but arguing about that right now wouldn’t pave the way for me to move in.

I pushed the luggage aside. “I can’t stand my house. Everything there reminds me of Lyle, except it’s all different now—twisted and ugly. Lonely. I thought I’d feel better here with you and Erin. But if I’ll be in the way . . .”

“Don’t be silly. Stay . . . although, if memory serves, sharing a room with your sister won’t be relaxing.”

Now that Kevin’s old room was a dedicated office—cluttered with a desk and file cabinets—it wasn’t an option for me. But oddly, I didn’t mind.

“Don’t say that. Besides”—I gestured to the mess—“it looks like you two are getting along. Are you helping her with her business?”

“She’s pretending to do me the favor of keeping me busy, but secretly I think she knows she needs the help. It is a little relaxing to work with aromas for the sugar scrubs.” She had a slight sparkle in her eye, and I was surprised that Erin had stealthily diverted our mother from grief. Perhaps I never gave my sister enough credit.

“Let’s get you settled.” Mom went to lift one of my suitcases. “So far Becky hasn’t asked questions, but seeing your car here every day could raise some. And before you get upset about the irreconcilable-differences cover, remember it’s the truth. After all, you can’t reconcile with a thief. Months from now, when the divorce is final and we’ve settled things with Lyle, you’ll be grateful that you didn’t blab. Trust me, honey, never give people a reason to whisper about you at the grocery store or neighborhood party. It’s nobody’s business what goes on in this family.”

I understood—empathized, even—with the desire to craft a palatable version of the truth. Her past aside, pride was a strong motivator, and marital affairs did inspire feeding frenzies among my colleagues and others. Yet if we kept telling half truths, we’d never create an environment that encouraged—embraced—the actual truth. But announcing my decision could wait until Erin arrived, because I wanted to have the conversation only once.

“Voilà.” Mom grimaced as we entered the small bedroom carpeted with used towels and discarded clothes. “Some things haven’t changed.”

One only had to visit Erin’s old apartment to know that much. “Do you think she’ll mind the invasion?”

“It’s my house, Amanda. Even if she minds, she won’t argue.”

That didn’t make me feel better.

“Thank you for letting me stay.” I held my belly when I bent over with a grunt to pick up some of my sister’s things off the ground. “Where is Erin, anyway?”

“Walking Mo.” Mom heaved both suitcases onto the small bed. “I’ll let you settle in while I clean up the kitchen.”

“What’s for dinner?”

Mom shrugged, smiling at me in that worried way she did when one of her kids was hurting. “How about grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

We could do better than canned soup.

“Let me cook something. When I finish here, I’ll see what you’ve got on hand and maybe run to the store. Now that I’m home, my appetite should return.” When I kissed my mom’s cheek, she gave me a hug and pat on the back. My fingers and toes prickled back to life as numbness faded.

“Suit yourself.” She smiled and left me alone.

I hadn’t slept in this room since graduating from college twelve years ago. It hadn’t changed. Same white eyelet curtains. Same creaky dresser. Same scent of dusty old papers and aging vanilla candles.

Before I unpacked, I tossed Erin’s discarded socks and dirty clothes in the hamper, then folded the few things that appeared to have been tried on and rejected, setting those items on her bed. We’d had epic throw-downs about this space, like the time she sneaked my new bikini to wear to the beach and then put it back damp and sandy. But having now shown up without invitation, I’d sit on my impulse to complain. Maybe this time around we could be better roommates and make the connection we’d failed to find as children.

While I was stowing my empty suitcases beneath my bed, Erin returned. From the muffled conversation in the other room, I assumed they were discussing my arrival.

Bracing myself, I went into the kitchen to make myself useful. The baking supplies I’d brought this morning sat unused, reminding me of all that had happened today. On the upside, cookies for dinner would be my plan B.

Mo jumped up on my legs, eager for love like me, so I smothered him with friendly petting. “Hey, Mo. Are you happy to see me again?”

I glanced up at my sister, awaiting an answer from the person of whom I’d actually been asking that question.

“I’ll say this . . .” She smirked, a half smile in place. “Life’s been interesting lately.”

That much was clear. Less clear was whether she wanted me there.

“What do you think?” Mom held an open jar up to Erin’s nose. “I call it Peppermint Pop.”

Erin failed to stifle a grimace. “It’s a little strong, like an Altoid.”

“I like Altoids.” Mom took her little box of jars. “These will be for me, then.”

“Good initiative, though.” Erin rubbed Mom’s shoulder.