Page 10 of His Loving Wife

“You on the road yet?” Aster asks when I answer.

“No.”

I regret answering the phone. I can tell by the lackadaisical tone of her voice nothing serious is going on. She’s just calling for a chat, and I’m not really in the mood.

“Well, why not? It’s nearing eleven. You should have left earlier. It’s going to be nothing but traffic this late in the day.”

I exhale, having had an entire lifetime of hearing that voice with that tone. Aster is two years older but acts as though she’s some soul that’s on her fifth or sixth go around, and I’m on the first. That’s how she talks to me at least, her little sister with the husband and kids and menial teaching position. Aster is married to a man named David, and they have no children. They’re both college professors, like me, I would say, but she would be quick to tell you their careers are different. While I teach creative writing at the local community college, they’re both on the tenure track at the University of Georgia. David specializes in anthropology, and Aster focuses on psychology. They’re both leading experts in their respective fields.

My career ambitions stalled after having kids. Pursuing a career as a writer no longer seemed as important as ensuring a stable income for my family. Aster, on the other hand, has achieved every professional goal and then some. It’s never bothered me living in my sister’s shadow, I just don’t know why she has to be so damn smug about it. And, of course, there’s a lot of animosity between us when it comes to our parents. I’m not used to bragging about anything to my sister, so when I realize I have the opportunity to tell her about Andrew’s little surprise, my limbs tingle with excitement.

“Actually, we’re not leaving the beach house today. Andrew surprised us with booking the place for another week.”

I wait for Aster’s response, and much to my pleasure, there’s a long pause.

“Oh. You’re staying two weeks?”

“Yes. Andrew just told us last night. After the year we’ve had, he says we deserve it.”

Aster knows about what happened to us a year ago. Everyone does, it seems, but she’s one of the last people I want to talk about it with. I don’t need her psycho-analyzing my every move and claiming it comes from a place of professional expertise.

“Of course you do,” she says, her only acknowledgement of the incident in months. “That’s awful nice of Andrew. I’m impressed.”

“I am too.”

“Of course, you have all the time in the world for it. David and I are lucky to get a week off, even in the summer.”

And there it is. Because their jobs are so much more important. Not only do they sign up to teach summer classes (with student waiting lists a mile long, she’ll tell you), but they also sit on department boards.

“We’ve been on the road since six, but we won’t check into the hotel until late afternoon. We decided to split up the drive this time.”

I’d forgotten they were using this week for their vacation. They’re driving down to their beach house in Florida. A property they own, don’t rent.

“I have a fabulous idea,” she says, in that tone that makes me think it will be anything but. “We’re going to be passing right through your area tomorrow. We should stop by your place for dinner?”

Shit. This is what I get for bragging. In my mind, I’m already listing reasons why it won’t be good enough upon Aster’s arrival.

“I don’t know, I just—”

“Please, Kate. You can’t tell me you have plans. You didn’t know you were staying another week until last night.”

She’s got me there. “I’m just thinking about you and David. You’ve already spent so much time in the car. I’m sure you’d rather start your vacation. Before you know it, you’ll be back at work.”

“Don’t remind me,” she says in the fakest voice. “But I’d really love to see my niece and nephew. It’s been, what, Thanksgiving since we’ve seen each other?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I’ve dodged every invitation to visit them since then and offered a half dozen excuses why they can’t come see us. I’m sure she thinks what everyone else does when I turn them down.She’s been through a lot. And the people who think that are right, except when it comes to Aster. She’s my sister and I love her, but my irritation wins every time.

“It would be nice to see you too, you know,” she says, then pauses. “David thinks we’ll be passing through about six tomorrow. Want to aim for six thirty?”

“Sure,” I say, unable to offer up a good excuse.

“Fabulous. Text me the address. Send the kids my love.”

I click off the phone, half tempted to call it a day and roll over in bed. I can’t do that now, though. We used up all our groceries thinking our vacation was nearing an end. Now that we have another week here, we’ll need to restock on staples. And now that Aster has invited herself over for dinner, I’ll have to do more than that. I’ll have to entertain, the last thing I want to do.

Chapter 6

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