Running Wild(Wild #3)(16)
But then something shifted in Liz. She stopped coming around the clinic to help with the animals, and she no longer wanted to hang out. The usual sisterly spats turned into major blowouts, and what used to be friendly teasing morphed into vicious competition. It upset me until my father sat me down and explained that for all our similarities, there were glaring differences. Namely, how easily my grades came to me while Liz struggled for her mediocre ones. Playing pretend veterinarians was one thing; getting into a veterinarian school was another. Liz was beginning to see the reality of that, and she has never handled jealousy well.
The tension eased by the time we reached our twenties, once I left for school and Liz seemed content in her receptionist position at a car dealership in Anchorage, “running the office,” as she claimed. But the bond we once had has never returned, and that sense of rivalry still lingers.
Honestly, I’m not sure if my sister is bringing up Jonathan’s pregnant fiancée now because she’s genuinely curious where my head’s at, or if she sees it as a chance to feel superior. Liz, the happily married Lehr sister with two beautiful kids and a smart, successful husband.
Marie, the lonely, childless Lehr who still spends her days getting peed on by dogs.
I keep my fears to myself, but sometimes, late at night, when the rain beats against my cabin’s tin roof and I’m unable to sleep, I do question if I made a horrible mistake. I wonder how different my life would look had I chosen the other path, the one where I married Jonathan. Would I be happy enough?
I never wonder too hard, though, because if I’d truly been content with him, I wouldn’t have been so easily swayed by that hairy-faced bush pilot’s charm.
But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought long and hard about whether that choice tucked my desire for children into a sturdy coffin. I always assumed I would be a mother one day, once my career was established and the time was right. Longed for it. Nobody has to remind me of my climbing age and the challenges it might present, especially given our family’s history—the two miscarriages Mom had between Liz and Vicki, the one Liz had between her two girls. I remind myself of it every time I see a pregnant woman walk down the grocery store aisle or hear a baby’s cry.
Lately, I worry that I’ve already missed my chance and I just haven’t realized it yet.
I can feel Liz’s gaze boring into the back of my head as I set the last plate down. “I guess it’s good I never married him, then.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because he’d never have had a chance to name a son Clancy.” It’s the running joke in our family that to be born with a Y chromosome, you have to be canine. Mom has three sisters, three daughters, and two—soon to be three—granddaughters.
The door to the kitchen swings open and a gust of cold air sweeps in. “We’re here! We’re here! Don’t start without us!” Vicki waddles in, her cheeks puffy, one hand on her swollen belly, the other on her back for support. She looks as wide as she is tall. Of the three of us, she’s the only one who inherited our mother’s petite stature.
Oliver follows closely after, his lanky arms saddled with bags of empty Tupperware containers that Mom will gleefully refill for their freezer. Having children who still need her in their twenties and thirties keeps her young, she always says.
The smile that fills my face when I see my twenty-nine-year-old baby sister is genuine. “You look good.”
“I look like a beached whale. Get this thing out of me already!” she wails.
Liz’s snicker vanishes in her glass of wine.
*
“Whatever happened to that guy you were seeing?” Vicki looks ready to explode in her chair, her cheeks flushed, her palms rubbing over her enormous belly in a futile effort to help digest her meal. “What was his name, Tom or Cody, something like that—thanks, babe.”
Oliver collects Vicki’s empty plate and gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze. I’d label him a doting husband to his uncomfortably pregnant wife, but he has always been that way, catering to Vicki’s every need.
In contrast, my other brother-in-law has never once put his own dishes into the dishwasher, let alone anyone else’s.
“Toby.” I pass my plate to Oliver’s waiting hand and nod my thanks. “It didn’t go anywhere.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. He’s a really nice guy. He’s just not for me.” As I knew would be the case when I agreed to dinner with Jonah and Calla’s neighbor and friend.
“Oh.” Vicki’s brow furrows with disappointment. “That’s too bad. He seemed like your type.”
I laugh. “You’ve never even met him.”
“Well, yeah, I know, but you said he was big and burly and … and …” Vicki searches for words, settling on “hairy.” She caps that with a burp that earns giggles from Tillie and Nicole.
He sounded like Jonah is what she’s saying. Unlike Liz, Vicki has met my best friend before, and even though she married a man who couldn’t be more different—a gangly, baby-faced sweetheart with a total of four chest hairs (Vicki has counted)—she immediately saw Jonah’s rugged appeal.
But Toby is nothing like Jonah.
There is nobody out there like that guy.