Page 124 of Things I Overshared
“I understand that.” Susan has her boss voice on. “And yes, Kristi, itislegal for you to have up to six chickens in your backyard now, but I keep getting calls about a rooster and roosters are in factnotlegal within city limits, which you know our neighborhood clearly is.”
Good to be back in the heartland.
I smile as I pad out into Sadie’s spacious living, dining, and kitchen area. Light is kissing every surface in the apartment, sparkling in all her sleek glass lamps and chandeliers. Little rainbows fall across her low couches, gargantuan TV, and expensive art collection. Susan paces in the large professional chef’s kitchen, already kicking ass and taking names. It’s not normal for me to be up so early, but I guess I have been asleep almost constantly for a week. Yikes.
“Uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . . well, it’s not up to me. So if the authorities come and take your rooster, please understand there’s nothing I can do.” She pours me a cup of coffee as she talks and rolls her eyes. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m actually out of town right now. I just thought I’d give you the courtesy of a . . . well, okay. Uh-huh, bye.” She sighs, and Sadie laughs at the breakfast table in the corner. “My neighbors, y’all, I cannot. We are in a fancy gated neighborhood in the city, and these women are trying to sneak a full-fledged farm into their backyards. I got one call from Mr. Henry, who insists he heard a goat. A goat! If you want a farm, move two miles up, where there’s nothing but acreage. I just don’t understand it.”
“I don’t understand why you’re on the HOA. As if you don’t have enough going on,” Sadie mutters.
“Agreed,” I chime in.
“Anyway . . .” Susan switches our focus. “How are you doing this morning?”
“All right. Much better now that you guys are here.” I give Susan a hug. She holds me tight, and tears burn the edges of my eyes again.
Sadie turns to me. “So what is our plan today? Spa? You wanna day drink? Pool? More movie marathoning?”
“Yes to the day drinking, the rest is optional.” Skye yawns as she emerges through the living room with Sally right behind her.
“And can we day drinkanddo a full-onRunaway Brideassessment?” Susan scoffs. “I think she knows exactly what kinds of eggs she likes, don’t you?”
“What? Are we having eggs?” Sally scrunches her eyebrows.
“You know,” Skye begins, “Julia Roberts always ordered her eggs however her man at the time wanted them, instead of knowing howsheactually wanted them cooked.”
“Oh, well, youdokinda lose yourself in your relationships, don’t you, Sam?” Sally asks gently, removing the hoodie from her head.
“I don’t think she does,” Sadie argues. “More like she loses sight of the guy and instead sees what she wants to see. But I think you keep yourself intact. You like your eggs hard-boiled, right?”
“I do.” I pause, thinking. “I do keep myself intact, but you know what? I could really use the wholeheroine hunkers down and overhauls her lifemontage.”
Concern takes over my oldest sister’s features. “Overhaul? What do you want to overhaul?”
“Umm, myself, my goals, my . . . job.” Every head pops up at that. They weren’t expecting me to say it, and I wasn’t really expecting to blurt it out either, but it’s the truth. “I . . . I haven’t really been happy with my work in a long time. I love our company, obviously, and I love some of the thrill of the job, but . . . well, how I explained it to . . . He Who Must Not Be Named is that you all each have your opus.”
“LikeMr. Holland’s Opus?” Sadie and Susan both say.
“Yes, Sadie and Skye, you have your art, clearly your calling. Susan, you popped out of the womb as the future CEO, no doubt. Sally, you’re going to be the best surgeon of all time, again, not a single doubt about it. And me . . . I’m what?” My voice cracks. “Really good at sales?”
All four of my sisters are stunned to silence.
“And what didhesay about that?” Sadie finally asks, carefully.
I sigh, letting a tear escape. “He said I was an opus all my own. Me, as a person.” I can barely get the last word out. It’s amazing, what he said, I know it, and so do all of them. Susan’s mouth drops open, Sally puts her hoodie back on with force, and Sadie and Skye curse under their breath. “I know.I know.Of all the people in the world, I never thought it’d be stone-cold Em— He Who Must Not Be Named — who really saw me.” My voice cracks again.
Skye clears her throat. “Uh-huh, saw you, got scared like a punk-ass little baby, dropped you like a deuce, and then acted like you were nothing at the office. He is Voldemort, everyone! Vol. De. Mort.Moving on!”
“Right. Gross. Okay.” Susan goes into problem-solving mode. “So, what do you want to do instead of sales? Have you thought about it?”
“It’s not too late to still be a pediatrician if that’s really what you want,” Skye adds.
Sally looks up in shock.
I nod, sniffing and reclaiming the use of my vocal cords. “I know, but I don’t want to go back to school for so many years. And even nursing, I don’t know if I can go back into medicine after Mom. I can’t imagine being . . . in the hospital.” My older sisters nod in understanding. “I’ve only let myself even think about it half-heartedly and haven’t gotten anywhere. I don’t want to teach, even though I thought I might. I think after the fast-paced, competitive work I do now, it just doesn’t appeal to me to be in the classroom all day every day.”
“Okaaayyy,” Susan says, her brain working. “We need to help you sort out what youdowant. Let’s dump it all out, the things about being a pediatrician. What did you like about that idea? What do you like about your current job? What parts of teaching appealed to you?” As she talks, my sisters start to go into execute mode without being asked. “We need to list it all out and find the common threads.”
“I’ll go get my big white board,” Sadie calls back to us as she goes down the hall.
