First Comes Love (11 page)

“I wouldn't say
months
…but it's been a while.”

“She wants to get drinks….”

“The three of us?” I ask.

“She mentioned me and Nolan. A double-date thing,” Meredith says. “But I'm sure she'd love to hear from you, too.”

“Right,” I say, thinking this is what I get for wanting to confide in my sister. “Okay, Mere. I'll let you go.”

“If you want to go, say you want to go. Don't tell me you'll
let
me go,” she says, now just being a straight-up bitch.

“Okay, then,” I say, careful to keep my voice light. “
I
want to go.”

I
HANG UP,
pissed off at Meredith and pissed off at Shawna for giving Meredith that kind of ammunition, even unwittingly. She, of all people, knows our complicated history, the three of us going back to 1989, when the Ebersoles moved in across the street from us. Shawna was between us in age, but was precocious and had skipped a grade. Her mother, a Coke executive, had transferred the family from Hong Kong, enrolling Shawna at the Atlanta International School so that she could continue to use her Chinese. It was one of the many things that fascinated Meredith and me, along with her wealth of stories and breadth of travel (in stark contrast to the mainstay destinations of most Buckhead families, which included, give or take, Lake Burton, Sea Island, and Kiawah). The three of us went on long bike rides, built forts along the creek behind Shawna's house, and played Capture the Flag with the other neighborhood kids. One summer, we planted a vegetable garden, then went door-to-door peddling basil and tomatoes from Daniel's old red wagon. I remember Shawna coming up with most of the ideas, doing most of the talking, and generally entertaining Meredith and me. Looking back, I think Mere would agree that it was the only truly harmonious era of our sisterhood.

In middle school, Shawna morphed from our playmate into our fearless, experimental pioneer. The first adult penis Meredith and I ever saw was compliments of Shawna, straight from her parents' very own porn-magazine collection, which they casually stowed in their nightstand along with a tube of K-Y jelly (the purpose of which Shawna clinically described). I still remember how my sister and I vacillated between horror and fascination at the sight of that large slab of bratwurst-like flesh, slung over the muscular thigh of a burly Nordic man named Big John. We gagged and covered our eyes, then peeked, then gawked, then analyzed, parsing out the anatomy, where his hairless scrotum attached to the long shaft ending with that one-eyed pink head. Shortly after that, Shawna taught us about masturbation, the myriad ways she pleasured herself, even demonstrating the swirling of her two fingers through the silk fabric of her pajama bottoms. There was no such thing as a taboo topic with Shawna—and she was just as likely to research a provocative issue on her own as to ask her parents directly. What was the difference between gay and transgender? How could someone be against abortion except in cases of incest or rape—if killing a baby was wrong, wasn't it wrong no matter what the circumstances? And on and on.

In those years forming the bridge from childhood to adolescence, Shawna was not only our friend and confidante but also the source of many a secret that Meredith and I guarded together. Our parents, both conservative Presbyterian Republicans, liked the Ebersoles well enough, but they called Shawna “out there” and referred to her parents as “permissive” and “liberal.” I can vividly remember Dad's face turning bright red when she told us at dinner one night that creationism was an “ignorant myth perpetuated in red states” and how he had stammered a retort that the Bible was most certainly
not
a myth. Only Daniel could calm him down, shifting the conversation to “intelligent design,” how it was possible to reconcile Christianity with Darwinism and evolution. It also helped that Daniel enjoyed Shawna in much the same way he loved Nolan. Neither was ever dull.

In any event, we remained a threesome until the summer before Shawna and I entered the ninth grade, when she convinced her parents to let her transfer to Lovett, where Daniel and I went to school. The writing was on the wall, but Meredith fiercely resisted the inevitable shift in our dynamic. Her feelings were perpetually hurt, which only annoyed Shawna and me, as did her tattling to Mom and Dad that we were “blowing her off” and “leaving her out.” I insisted that it wasn't like that at all, Shawna and I simply had more in common. We were in the same grade, the same
school,
for heaven's sakes. Beyond that, we had different interests. Meredith listened to downer folk music; Shawna and I danced to R & B and pop. Meredith didn't speak to boys; Shawna and I had begun to date. Meredith was a Goody Two-shoes; Shawna and I sneaked cigarettes and beer.

“What's the big deal?” I'd say to Mom when she pulled me aside and talked to me about my “sister's feelings.” She pointed out that Meredith was a bit of a loner, and had come to rely on Shawna and me. I retorted that the age gap had become more significant over time, and that high-schoolers didn't hang out with middle-schoolers. Mom argued that Shawna had always been a neighborhood friend. Not anymore, I said.

Over time, Meredith moved past the big betrayal and made her own theater friends at Pace, but I think it always stung. Shawna remained a longtime sore spot between us. Deep down, I knew I was being insensitive and maybe even a little mean, and looking back, I can see there was definitely a competitive component, too. My sister, like my brother, was a parent pleaser. She wasn't as crazy smart as Daniel, but she got really good grades in honors classes, never got in trouble, and most important, had a genuine passion and talent for acting. Mom and Dad raved about her plays and performances, just like they raved about Daniel's baseball, while I was the classic middle child with no sport or hobby to make me special. It was lame to consider Shawna a feather in my cap, but I took secret satisfaction in beating my sister in this particular tug-of-war.

After graduation, Shawna and I both decided on the University of Georgia. Our freshman year, we were closer than ever, rooming together, then pledging the same sorority. We even started to look alike, wearing the same clothes and sporting the same superlong, overbleached, flat-ironed hair. Some people confused us, or asked if we were twins, which I found flattering.

Then, sophomore year, Shawna started dating Jacob Marsh, asshole extraordinaire. I couldn't stand him, and made the mistake of telling her as much—which almost always backfires. It certainly did in our case, the two of us drifting apart until Shawna finally came to her senses and dumped Jacob: his cue to leak a video of Shawna masturbating to Madonna's “Justify My Love.” It spread within days, not only all over UGA but across the SEC, to Auburn, Alabama, and Ole Miss. Beyond the fact that she was thoroughly humiliated, she was also kicked out of ADPi under the promiscuity clause. A group of us appealed the decision, arguing it wasn't her fault the video got out; it was supposed to be private. But the ladies at the national office weren't budging and Shawna had to move out of our house. She ended up transferring to Georgia State, and we drifted apart even more—much to what I perceived as Meredith's odd vindication. I remember when she heard the news, her first reaction wasn't sympathy—but an off-the-cuff announcement that she “always knew Shawna was trouble.”

The next time I saw Shawna was over the following Christmas break, when we ran into each other at a bar in Atlanta. I gave her a hug and told her how much I missed her. She said she missed me, too, but things felt strained. It made me sad, the emotion heightened by the encroaching holidays, but a little bit angry, too. After all, it wasn't my fault that she had trusted such a jerk. As I watched her hanging out with her new friends, I made the conscious decision to have more fun than they were having. I downed my vodka drink, then ordered another, on my way to a blackout drunken night—the kind with big gaping holes, followed by nothingness. In fact, I'm sure the entire night would have eventually been forgotten altogether, except that it happened to be the very night I lost my brother in a car accident.

A
bout a week later, Josie sends a cryptic group email requesting that my parents, Nolan, Harper, and I join her for dinner the following evening. She tells us “not to worry” but goes on to say that she has “something important to discuss” with us. She acknowledges how busy we all are, and that my parents might not be keen on the idea of seeing each other, but then essentially insists that we join her the night she is proposing. The whole thing is
classic
Josie. Calling shots, making demands, creating drama.

Mom calls me within five minutes of the email appearing in our inboxes.

“Do you think this is health-related?” she asks, panic rising in her voice. “Has she had a recent mammogram? Or any doctors' appointments that you know about? She never tells me anything….”

“Mom, calm down,” I say, putting her on speaker so I can continue to work on the answers to a set of interrogatories due by the end of the day. “She wouldn't include Harper if it were to tell us about a lump in her breast or anything dire like that. Frankly, I don't see her including Dad in that conversation, either. At least not initially.”

I quickly change the subject, as the only person I want to analyze less than Josie is my father. I'm certainly not going to tell my mother that he has a new girlfriend, although I'm sure Josie will bring that up tomorrow night, too. Hell, she probably invited her in a separate email.

“When did you talk to her last?” she asks.

“Umm…last Saturday night,” I say. “She called me at some ungodly hour….I was half asleep.”

“Did she sound upset?”

“No, Mom. She just wanted to chat….Apparently she can't keep track of my please-don't-call-after-ten rule any more than she can remember not to wear her shoes in my house.”

“So…do you think Josie might actually have
good
news?” Mom asks with pathetic hope. “Maybe a raise?”

“I doubt it,” I say, thinking that it is more likely to be a financial issue than a raise. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that Josie asked to borrow money from one of us.

Mom throws out another theory. “Maybe she met someone?”

“Wouldn't she just tell us that?” I say. “Besides, that doesn't seem possible given her current Will obsession.”

“I know,” Mom says. “I asked her about the first week of school, and all she really talked about was that little girl….It's sad….”

“Sad meaning pathetic?”

“Be
nice,
” she says.

I sigh, taking her off speaker. “I'm trying, Mom. But it's hard….She's so
selfish
. Everything is about her. This email is a case in point.”

“Meredith. Please give your sister a chance,” she says. “You always assume the worst about her. Maybe she wants to talk about Daniel and our trip to see Sophie. Or—”

I cut her off, confident that this meeting has nothing
whatsoever
to do with Daniel. “I'll tell you what,” I say. “Let's see what she wants to discuss. If it's not something completely self-serving, I'll start giving her a chance.”

T
HE FOLLOWING NIGHT,
when Nolan, Harper, and I arrive at my sister's house, she is nowhere to be seen. Instead, my parents and Gabe are sitting awkwardly in the living room, a hodgepodge of Josie's Anthropologie taste and Gabe's more contemporary leanings. Mom and Dad are both perched on hideous matching zebra-print side chairs that Josie bought at a flea market, while Gabe is kicked back on his leather sofa with a bored look on his face. Obviously I know he and Josie are housemates, but for some reason, I didn't expect to see him tonight, and his sullen presence irritates me more than usual. Or perhaps I'm just a little
more
irritated with Josie for pulling this stunt, including a non–family member, and not even bothering to show up on time. It suddenly crosses my mind that her announcement might actually involve Gabe—that maybe they've begun to date or are starting some crazy business venture. But I really think he has more sense than to try either, even though they clearly have some dysfunctional connection.

I say a terse hello, not even trying to hide my annoyance, while Nolan overcompensates with a more boisterous than usual greeting, hugging my mother, then my father, and saying all the right son-in-law things. They both adore him, although it's hard to say how much of that is
him
and how much is his connection to Daniel. In Dad's case, I really think it's the latter, which makes Nolan a constant source of both comfort and sadness to him. Inevitably, when they get together, the conversation will turn to the past, and they will rehash the same old stories, Little League games, and inside jokes. And even if they start out with laughter, Dad always ends up crying while Nolan does the consoling, proving it's way easier for a friend to move on than a parent.

“C'mere, Harper sweetie!” Dad says, still standing. His arms are outstretched.

I glance over my shoulder at Harper, who doesn't move, just continues to pet Revis, Josie's poorly trained rescue dog.

“Harper,” I say. “Grandpa's talking to you.”

She looks up, with a blank expression, as Nolan propels her forward with an under-the-breath “go hug Grandpa.” She begrudgingly obeys, backing into my dad's arms. It is visible evidence that the two aren't at all close—which Nolan blames on me rather than the alcoholic who checked out of our family. Harper makes a quick escape, then heads directly for my mom's lap.

“Where's Josie, anyway?” I say, pacing in front of the fireplace as I inspect her lineup of photographs—various snapshots of her with Gabe and other friends, along with one of Harper. There are none of me, Daniel, or our parents.

“She's just getting out of the shower,” Gabe says, his expression inscrutable.

“Harper, honey, go get Aunt Josie,” I say, still pacing.

As Harper hops off of Mom's lap and scampers down the hall, I make a snide comment about Josie's time being more valuable than anyone else's. Nobody bothers to defend her because they can't. Instead, I sit next to Gabe and ask him point-blank if he knows what's up.

He gives me a noncommittal shrug. I can never tell whether he dislikes me or just has a prickly personality, but I can count on my hand the number of times he has seemed to be in a genuinely good mood in my presence.

“She hasn't told you
anything
?” I ask him. “I find that hard to believe.”

Before he can respond, Harper bursts back into the room, leading Josie by the hand. Her hair is wrapped up in a towel, and she's wearing sweats that could pass for pajamas. “Hey!” she says, all easy-breezy. “How is everyone?”

“Just
fabulous
!” I say as sarcastically as possible as Nolan sits on the other side of me and squeezes my knee, in an attempt to either reprimand or calm me.

Josie stares me down, crosses her arms, and says, “Okay. That was
so
fake.”

“Listen, Josie,” I say. “We're all a little worried about why you called this meeting tonight.”

“It's not a
meeting
. It's dinner,” she says, tucking a strand of wet hair into her towel as she plops down onto the floor, center stage.

“But you said in your formal
group
email that you had something to tell us. Didn't you?” I say.

Josie nods.

“Well?” I say. “What is it, then?”

“Jeez. Settle down, Mere,” Josie says, which pretty much always has the opposite effect on anyone who is even the tiniest bit agitated.

“Josie,” I say, my voice just short of shouting. “Nolan and I are worried. Mom's worried. Dad's worried.”

“I'm not really worried, actually,” Dad says. “Should I be?”

“Yes,” I snap. “You
should
be, Dad.” I want to add—
and if you ever thought about anyone other than Daniel, you
would
be
. But I don't want to confuse the main issue.

“No, he
shouldn't
be,” Josie says. “There's absolutely nothing to worry about here. It's all good.”

I tense up, thinking that it's never
all
good.

“Just tell us you're healthy,” Mom says before kissing the top of Harper's head.

“Perfectly healthy,” Josie says. “I just wanted to have my family over…and talk to you about something….” Her voice trails off.

“Josie,” Gabe finally says; he's the only one who can ever really reason with her. “Why don't you just tell them so we can have dinner?”

She takes a deep breath, seeming to relish the moment.

“Wait,” I say, as it occurs to me that her news might not be rated PG. “Are you sure this is okay for Harper to hear?”

Josie glares at me. “Omi
god
. Could you have
any
less confidence in me?”

“I'm sorry,” I say. “But I have to put my daughter first.”

“Look, Meredith,” she snaps back. “I really don't appreciate the implication that I'd do anything—”

“Girls!” Mom pleads. “Please,
please
don't fight! This is hard enough—”

“Actually, Mom, there's nothing hard about tonight whatsoever,” Josie says. “This is a celebration. I have wonderful news.”

I shake my head, feeling certain that I won't agree, as she stands, looks purposefully around the room, and says in a loud, clear voice, “What I brought you here to tell you is that I'm going to have a baby.” She takes a deep breath, then smiles, looking triumphant.

At least five seconds of stunned silence pass before Harper begins to clap and cheer, mimicking the reaction to our good friends' pregnancy news last month, clearly unable to distinguish the vast difference between the two scenarios.

“A
girl
baby?” she asks, her eyes bright.

“Oh. That I don't know yet, sweetie,” Josie says, beaming as I grind my teeth into my tongue, determined not to be the first adult to speak, especially since the only words coming to mind are
what the fuck
.

“Hey, Jo,” Gabe says under his breath. “You might want to clarify here.”

She gives him a blank look as it occurs to me, once again, that he might have a role in all of this.

“Your announcement…It's a bit…misleading,” he says.

When she continues to look befuddled, he gives her his best don't-be-such-a-dipshit look, then clues the rest of us in. “She's not
currently
pregnant,” he says. “It's just her…
plan
to
become
pregnant.”

I watch Mom exhale with visible relief.

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” Josie says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “When I say I'm
going
to have a baby, I don't mean that I'm pregnant
now
. I mean that I
plan
to get pregnant. As soon as possible.”

“And how do you plan on accomplishing that, exactly?” I ask her.

“I'm going to a sperm bank,” she says. “That's how.”

I glance at Nolan and take twisted pleasure in the fact that he finally looks annoyed. “Josie,” he says, gesturing toward Harper.

“Oh, c'mon. She doesn't know what a sperm bank is,” Josie says under her breath, which, of course, is Harper's cue to ask what a sperm bank is.

“Harper, honey, why don't you get Revis a bone?” Mom says.

Harper happily takes this suggestion, but before she's even out of the room, Josie says, “I don't think there's anything to be so secretive about….I'm going to want Harper to know where her cousin comes from.”

“Fine,” Nolan says calmly but firmly. “When she's old enough to understand it…But we'd really like to avoid a discussion about the birds and the bees at age four….”

“That was not my intent,” Josie says, then launches into one of her know-it-all explanations about child development.