I still don’t understand why she came here. It wasn’t as if our lives were empty or lacked for happiness, but she came anyway, and then all of this darkness was dragged out of me and I don’t know how to put it back. I want her to go, but I’m terrified that she will. I want her to leave me and her sister in the peace of our life together, but the stronger, hungrier parts of me couldn’t care less about my girlfriend. I’m afraid that my girlfriend will find out, or that she knows already.
If I had been just a little stronger a few months ago, this may never have happened. It was a moment where my girlfriend was perched on a stool in the kitchen of our apartment, talking on the phone to her mother. She’s very good at false astonishment and faked sympathy; and I was paying only cursory attention, until she was looking at me with expectant eyes. I raised my eyebrows to indicate I didn’t understand what she wanted from me.
“I don’t know how long she could stay,” Jessica was saying. “We’re always pretty busy around here.” She looked at me with the expectant eyes again, though more frustrated now than anything. I returned a glance that indicated ignorance in the subject matter, although that was not really true. I had gathered from the half of a conversation that Jessica’s little sister was leaving her sparring partner of a husband after three months of wedded bliss, and their mother thought our roomy two-bedroom walk-up was the perfect place for the sister to decompress.
I pretended ignorance because I didn’t care, and because Jessica knew exactly what I thought about Charlotte. My Jess was the middle child of her family, with a brother three years older, and then the sister who was seven years younger, which led me to surmise that the latter was the result of an error-filled evening for her mother and father. Whatever the circumstances, she was so much younger that this little sister was the apple of her parents’ eyes, and had been spoiled to a fault. She wasn’t responsible for any part of her life, she was miserable to be around when everything wasn’t going her way, and she ran to her father for money at least once a month. He gave it to her with little more than a stern look and a grumbled admonition.
I say I should have been stronger, because I could have ended the problem with Charlotte at that very point. Had I shaken my head and told my girlfriend “absolutely not,” then no little sister. But, as it was, I had been trying to win over her parents ever since we decided to move in together. They were traditionalists, ol’ Mom and Pop, and were unhappy about my corrupting of their daughter. Ours had been a mutual decision, of course, but I was the villain. I had every intention of marrying Jess, and I told them as much, even to the point of making a joke about sharing expenses, which didn’t go over at all well. But I was trying to get on their good side, and if Charlotte in our spare bedroom accomplished that, then I wasn’t going argue. Jess wanted me to, and that was why she gave me the look. I felt bad hanging her out to dry like that, but I was a little tired of me always being the jerk.
It wasn’t more than a day later that I came home from work and Mom and Pop were in my living room, talking to Jess about how sweet she was to take the poor thing in. And there was Charlotte, on my favorite part of the sofa. I put on my happiest face and said hello to everyone. Jess must have been lobbying in my favor, because everyone smiled back, including Mom and Pop. We ordered pizza and talked for a while, the five of us. I helped Pop move a few things into the spare bedroom, and he shook my hand. Mom hugged me when she left, and gave me a beaming, toothy smile. To top it all off, Charlotte retired to her new room when her parents left, leaving me alone with my girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Things weren’t too bad at that point.
The next day was different. I work long days at the Post Office, and I like to come home to relax for a bit before we eat. Jess works too, although hers is clerical, and she tends to be less tired. We compromise by getting cozy on the sofa for a bit until it’s time to make dinner or go grab something. I walked in the door with kicked-off shoes and ESPN on my mind. The first thing I heard was the stereo playing some pop fluff, and I came around the corner to find Charlotte laying on the couch in a tank top and underwear. She jumped up at once and scrambled into the bedroom, shouting apologies the whole way. When she came back out, there were sweatpants over the underwear.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, both hands cupped around her mouth like a beak. “I thought Jess came home first.”
I laughed it off. “I’m sorry, too. No, Jess is in the middle of a project, and she’s had some late nights getting it done.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Sorry, I feel like such an idiot.”
“Hey, whatever you do in private is your business,” I said, laughing. “Just remember I get home about four-thirty.”
Jess came in the door about ninety minutes of awkward silence later, and Charlotte retold the story for her at once. My girlfriend chuckled, rolled her eyes at her little sister and said: “Why was it okay if it was me? What makes you think I want to see you in your underwear?” I was in the kitchen ordering Chinese food, and I had to ask the guy to wait a second because I was laughing so hard.
Dinner was fine, we eat there at least once a week and it’s always the same. The conversation was interesting and animated, especially considering it was Jessica’s snotty little sister we were talking to. She told us all about her marriage to Mike the drunk, the few good times they had, and most of the bad. Above all, how she realized that ten years between them was too much of an age difference. We responded with good-natured teasing and genuine concern.
Jess must have been feeling the bottle of wine we opened for dinner, because she even expressed her opinion that Mom and Pop hadn’t taken Charlotte back because they were trying to get her to grow up a bit. No sooner were those words out that we gave each other a quick, panicky look, fearing she had just shattered the pleasant buzz. But little Charlotte surprised us, and just nodded. “I know that’s why,” she said. “And they’re probably right.”
Most of my other memories of that first evening together are blurred or lost, all except Charlotte’s tank top. She never bothered to change into other clothes during the course of the night, and as we sat talking under the bright cone of light over the kitchen table, I was staring at her breasts. The shirt was white and tight, and I was fairly certain she didn’t have a bra on underneath. I tried to look away, of course, but my eyes always found their way back. She had at least three inches of cleavage showing as she was hunched over the table talking. I tried to keep my glance moving, but that caught my eye for most of the night. At one point, her nipples were making small bumps in the fabric, and Jess got up to pour some more wine. I looked up from the tight tank top and found Charlotte’s eyes watching me. My heart shook and I must have looked stricken, because she smiled. I found an apologetic expression, put my hand to my face and mouthed the word: sorry. She returned a glance that was half smiling and the other half puzzled. Then Jess sat back down and the conversation picked back up. We all went to bed late that night.
I was tired the next day, although I had a story for the guys at work: My girlfriend’s sister is staying with us. Yeah. Eighteen years old. EIGHTEEN. Yeah. When I came home yesterday she was laying around in her underwear. Yeah. In her underwear. Yeah. Understandably, I was the hero of the day, and more than one person tried inviting himself over.
Things were more or less normal for the next week or so. Charlotte was fully dressed each time I came home, and we laughed about it each time, for good measure. Jess was finishing with her project and her work days were ending earlier each day. We decided to celebrate by going to dinner and a movie the next night, which was a Friday. In a fit of good cheer we even decided to invite Charlotte, who graciously declined and said we ought to have some time alone together.
The next day I raced home from work, excited about our date evening. Jess was already home, which I found odd, and when I walked in neither the stereo nor the television was turned on. It was curious enough that I called out and strode into the bedroom. She was in there with a suitcase propped open on the bed and throwing clothes in. Her packing was laced with angry epithets and mild profanity, which was the only kind of profanity she ever used.
“Is everything all right?” I was panicked, as any man might be to come home and find the woman he loves furious and packing her bags.
She paused a moment to look at me, then look at the bags and look at me again. At once she started laughing and walked over to put her arms around me. “Sorry, sweetie,” she said. “I didn’t realize what this might look like.”
I was laughing, too, but more out of relief. “So, what is it, if it isn’t what it looks like?”
She shook her head and the glint of frustration came back. “We sent the project off, but the client is wavering. Jack wants me and Lucinda to fly to L.A. and hold his hand until he decides.”
“Why can’t he just send Lucinda? She’s the manager, you just work there.”
Jess put on an exaggerated, toothy grin, and gestured to her face. “Jack thinks a pretty face may be enough to sway the deal. He wants our best foot forward, his words exactly.”
I shook my head. “I think that qualifies as sexual harassment.”
“Probably,” Jess agreed with a laugh. “I should sue.”
“I’m serious,” and I showed her my serious expression to drive home the point.
“It’s all right. It’s not that big of a deal, and Lucinda thinks she needs me there. If it was anyone else I’d tell them to screw themselves, though.”
I agreed with a nod. “When do you go, then?”
Jess glanced at the clock and started packing again. “I’m supposed to be at the airport in an hour.”
“Tonight? But I was excited about our date night.”
She walked over, shirt in hand, to give me a hug and a quick kiss. “I know, me too. It’s only tonight and tomorrow night, though. We fly in early Sunday. We’ll do lunch and a movie”
I smiled and kissed her back. “I’ll take it. Let’s get you to the airport, then.”
So we packed her bag and I carried it out to my car. “Where’s Charlotte, anyway?”
“I think she was going to a job interview,” Jess said. “You know how she is. No note, no message on the machine, just gone.”
“I thought you two were getting along.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right: we are,” she conceded. “There’s just a lot of years of the spoiled little girl to wade through.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job, I think. It’s a nice thing for you to let her stay with us.”
