Page 12 of Mismatched

Anton and I share a look. Neither of us is sure why Celia and Adam named him for our dad, especially if we’re not even supposed to call him that, but before I can think too hard on it, my sister’s face morphs into a mask of sympathy. She reaches out to squeeze my husband’s arm. “Anton, I’m so sorry. My condolences about your mom.”

“Thank you.” He straightens, his voice becoming scripted the way it was through his mother’s service. “We miss her very much.”

Celia sets down the car seat, and Anton makes an excuse about checking the oven as she unbuckles the baby. She pulls him out wearing an outfit that matches her own, and smooths his wisp of dark hair, scanning our living room with him perched on her hip. “I thought you two were going to redecorate?”

I bristle. Here we go. The thing my mother and sister share most in common is an ability to pick out all of my shortcomings.

“We were going to. But I opened my second business instead,” I say, following as she takes the baby on a tour of our little bungalow like it’s a quaint, walkable dollhouse. I only remember my sister visiting one other time, shortly after we purchased the house as a fixer-upper. She’d been on her way to Vail for a girls weekend, and I was eager to show off the home we’d foregone a honeymoon to buy. The most she’d said at the time was, Well, it’s not Turks and Caicos.

Excited barking echoes from the backyard, and I step through the kitchen to let an eager-looking Heartthrob in from the yard. He rushes in to greet our company, tail wagging furiously.

“Lydia,” my sister shrieks. “Can you put the dog away?”

My view shifts from where Heartthrob stands politely trying to get a sniff of the new people standing in his home, to Celia holding her son high in the air like she’s trying to save him from a pack of wolves.

“Oh. Uh—Heartthrob, go to your place.”

My dog immediately, though reluctantly, obeys, retreating to his bed in the living room with a look like I’m denying him the chance to make friends. I appease him with a strip of dried sweet potato.

“Would you like to have a seat?” I ask my sister. “Can I get you anything?”

Celia eyes Heartthrob with a curled lip, like he might finish the chew and move on to her child. “Can’t you put him somewhere?”

My eyes narrow. “Heartthrob is in his place, in his home, and won’t bother us. He was just excited to say hello. Isn’t Gabriel used to Pookie?”

“That’s different,” Celia mutters at the mention of her elderly Pekingese.

I roll my eyes. “How about I get you something to drink?”

“Water, please,” she says wistfully. “You know. Breastfeeding.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” I eye her boobs. According to my sister’s social media, she’s happiest holding a glass of wine, but it makes sense that she’d give that up in the name of sanctimony.

“Thank you,” she says when I return with the water and a plate of bruschetta. “I’m so pleased Gabey could meet his auntie and uncle while Daddy works tonight.”

I cringe, wondering if she realizes she’s talking just like our mom.

“What is Dr. Adam up to these days?” Anton asks, stepping back into the room.

Celia raises her chin in her signature imperious style. This should be a doozy. “Well, he’s on track to be offered a position at the Mayo Clinic this fall. Of course, someone spilled news of a competing offer from Cedars-Sinai, but he’ll just have to make a decision if that’s how it pans out. This conference is all about schmoozing with future employers.”

“Wow,” I say, shooting Anton another look. “He must be thrilled.” We’ve only met Dr. Adam Cohen twice—the night before and the day of their wedding—but he made it clear in the space of twenty minutes that our lack of medical degrees made us unworthy of his time. I’m still trying to figure out how he and my sister happened in the first place. “Would that mean a potential move to California or Minnesota?”

“Well. California, hopefully,” she says with a tolerant smile. “It’ll be up to Adam. There’s such a demand for plastic surgeons.”

“What about your coaching, Celia?” I ask, because if there’s one interesting thing about my sister, it’s her self-built company. “Are you back yet, or are you still on maternity leave?”

“Adam’s been asking about that too.” Her face sours. “I’ve been doing some consulting here and there, but we’re fortunate enough that I don’t need to work. We might eventually pursue daycare, but right now I just want to savor my time with Gabey.”

I blink. Obviously, I’m aware some women make the choice to stay home with children when they’re little. I just never thought my sister, the junior version of Marion Stanton, our working mom extraordinaire, would be one of them.

“Don’t your clients need you, though?”

She shrugs, staring down at the baby who waves a blue rattle back at her. “I know it’s not for everyone, but I consider this time precious. Work can wait.”

I just sit there with my jaw hanging open. She sounds like she means it.

“My mom did something similar,” Anton says quietly over my shoulder. “Took time off to stay home with me, then with Seth. She said it was hard, but always insisted she’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

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