caroline
Everyone used to call Sloane and me either two peas in a pod or trouble. Both were equally accurate. When we were younger, Sloane was fearless. As free-spirited and wide open as she was, her big sister was the complete opposite. I’ve always been by-the-book, structured, regimented. I knew from the time I was small that I wanted to grow up and marry New York City royalty, have his babies, raise them, volunteer, and maybe get invited to the Met Ball one day. That was really it. I mean, yeah, I went to college because that’s what you did. But I was there to meet a man, plain and simple. If that didn’t work out, I’d have some cool job in the meantime.
The weird thing was that when our dad died, Sloane and I sort of flipped. Where I had been so uptight, I suddenly realized that today was all we had and that I had to take every chance while the chances were around for the taking. She, on the other hand, became more fearful. It evened the score for us a bit, his death.
I begged Sloane to come to NYU. But she said she didn’t think she’d ever be able to go back to Manhattan. True to her word, she hadn’t. Since she’d set foot on Georgia soil, the only relocating she’d done was to North Carolina, where Adam was stationed. And let’s face it, it’s the same place.
It made me sort of sad that our lives had diverged on such different paths. We weren’t as close as we once were. I mean, we were still sisters, sure. But in a lot of ways, we simply could not relate to each other.
Like when she pulled into the back driveway in her—wait for it—minivan. I about fell over. Because, you see, although I concede that they are quite convenient, I would never be caught dead in a minivan. But Sloane doesn’t think like that. She thinks about what is economical and what is practical. And yeah, sometimes I envy her that.
When she pulled into her spot beside Mom’s car in the driveway, we all made a mad dash for the van. The doors automatically opened to reveal my two nephews in their car seats, Goldfish crumbs everywhere, TVs in the headrests playing PAW Patrol. The interior smelled vaguely of sour milk.
That was the moment it really sank in. These vermin were going to have their mitts all over my fresh, pure, un-germed baby. My throat constricted.
But then Adam said, “Carowine,” with those sticky hands reached out to me, and he couldn’t help but melt your heart. He had Sloane’s big brown eyes, but everything else was Adam’s. It made complete sense for him to be Adam’s namesake, because he could have spit him out.
I reached in and pulled him out of the car seat, resting him above my protruding belly.
Sloane got out and said, “Caroline! He’s too big for you to hold now!”
I tried not to let my disapproval of her outfit choice show on my face. She had on these dumpy, flare-legged, faded black yoga crops that no one should ever wear and a too-tight T-shirt that made it very evident she hadn’t lost the last ten pounds of baby weight.
“Sorry for the outfit,” she said, as if she knew what I was thinking. “Taylor peed on me at about mile three-fifty.”
Gross. I had forgotten about all of that. Maybe this baby wouldn’t do that.
Mom was bouncing Taylor on her hip, and he was cooing delightedly.
Emerson hugged Sloane, and Vivi held her arms out to Adam, which was comical, because he was probably half her size. But he went to her.
“Wow,” I said, hugging Sloane. “These are some amazingly well-adjusted kids. Vivi never would have done that.”
Vivi shot me a look. “Thanks, Mom.”
I laughed. “It wasn’t a bad thing. Just a difference in personality.”
“So what have I missed?” Sloane asked. “You know how much I hate it when y’all are here together without me.”
I cringed. They had her now. It was official. Once you go “y’all,” you never go back.
I winked at Emerson, whose hair was piled up on her head, making her cheekbones even more severe. I put my arm around Sloane and led her to the back door. “How about I fill you in on everything while Emerson whips you up some . . .”
I looked toward Emerson, who looked down at her watch. “Celery juice!” she exclaimed. “Sixteen whole ounces if you want.”
Sloane looked disgusted, her nostrils flaring. “I think Taylor peeing on me might end up being one of the more pleasurable parts of the day.”
“What if I get these guys into the bath?” Mom asked.
“I’ll help!” Vivi called behind her, struggling to carry Adam up the steps.
And then there were three. Three sisters, standing around the kitchen island, Emerson pulling two bunches of celery out of the refrigerator while I removed the juicer from the cabinet under the microwave drawer. It wasn’t that I was naturally helpful or caring. It was simply that she was so thin I wasn’t sure she would be able to handle the weight of the machine.
I pulled one of the stalks off of Emerson’s cutting board and crunched. “So,” I said, “the rumor around town is that Emerson has already slept with a guy named Kyle.”
Sloane’s eyes got wide. “Wait. You mean Coffee Kyle?”
“The very one,” I said, chewing.
Emerson laughed. “It’s not true, of course.”
“If there’s going to be a rumor, which, duh, there is, at least it was someone hot,” Sloane said.
This was the good stuff right here, three sisters sitting around talking and laughing like old times. I missed these girls so much. Being home for a while might not be that bad after all.
Emerson handed us each a wineglass full of green, pulpy stuff. Sloane and I looked at each other skeptically.
“You’re going to drink it, and you’re going to like it,” Emerson said sternly.
She walked out of the kitchen, and we followed her through the dining room and the family room out onto the wide front porch.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and my stomach clenched. Before I even saw it, I knew it was James. Could I please talk to Vivi? I want to explain before tonight happens. Please don’t keep me away from her.
I laughed.
“What?” Sloane asked.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, continuing to walk toward my seat. I read in an article that more injuries occurred while texting and walking than while texting and driving, so I stopped. For the baby’s sake.
I am not keeping Vivi away from you. I can’t MAKE her talk to you. We are going to Peachtree. Need to get her out of the city.
The phone beeped again. You can’t take my kid away. What about school?
I typed back: I’m not keeping her from you. You need to give her some time to cool down. I couldn’t help it. I added: Best of luck on your TV debut tonight. I hope it’s everything you dreamed.
Then I turned the phone off, partly because I didn’t care what else he had to say, mostly because I didn’t want him to ask me the school question again. If I could hide it for a little longer, maybe I could make him see that keeping her in Peachtree this semester, while the show was airing, was a good idea. Which reminded me that I really did need to call a lawyer now.
Emerson and Sloane were chatting, but I was so distracted I couldn’t focus on what they were saying. I looked out over the porch railing. The views were by far the best part of this beautiful home. It seemed you could see forever from this front porch. Across the water, three wild horses roamed amid the sea oats, their hooves splashing in the tide. It couldn’t help but make me think of Emerson, Sloane, and me. When we were younger, our weeks at this house with our grandparents and great-grandparents felt like paradise.
The summer when Emerson was born is the first one that really sticks out in my mind, that I remember in detail. Our grandparents took Sloane and me over to Starlite Island almost every day while Emerson was napping. It was our special time to be with them. It brought us so much closer together.
That summer, Sloane and I spent hours exploring that island, wending our way through the trees and the marsh grass, occasionally coming upon a wild horse. We were always hunting for shells, and I’ll never forget the day I found one that I had never seen before. I was digging in the sand with Sloane, plotting how we would make our way to China. When I hit something hard with my plastic shovel, I pulled it out. It was a smooth, white rock with flecks of black, shiny spots. But the strangest thing was that on the top was a dark formation that looked like an X. I pulled it out, added it to the pile, and kept digging. Throughout the course of the day, I found two more of those stones. One for me, one for Sloane, and one for baby Emerson.
“Grandpop,” I asked later. “What is this?”
He pulled me onto his lap and, eyes big, said, “Why, Caroline. Where did you find those?”
“In the sand.”
“That is amazing,” he said.
Grammy came over to have a look, too. “Caroline!” she exclaimed. “Those are fairy stones!”
I didn’t know what that meant, but I liked the sound of it. “Fairy stones?”
“Yes,” Grandpop chimed in. “They’re fairy stones. Their real name is staurolite. The island is named for them. They used to be everywhere over there, though no one can figure out why. They’re normally found in the mountains.”
“Legend has it,” Grammy said, “the fairies who live on the island bring the fairy stones.” She paused. “Only very special little girls and boys get to find those, so you should feel honored.”
I was right at that age where the idea of fairies was still exciting, but I was also a bit skeptical.
“Keep it in your pocket,” Grandpop said. “It will keep you safe.”
“Keep me safe,” I repeated. “I got ones for Sloane and Emmy, so they’ll be safe, too.”
“That’s so nice,” Grammy said. “You can be the Starlite Sisters. These can be your special rocks, and Starlite Island will always be your special place.”
Sloane had been sitting on the floor, hanging on to every word. “Can we be fairies, too?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be a fairy, although anyone could see that being able to fly would be nice.
Grandpop said, “Girls, you can be anything you want.”
Now I wondered, sitting on Mom’s porch that day, if maybe we hadn’t become exactly who we wanted to be, at least in some ways. Just the thought made me hope that I wasn’t going to have to go back to work after this baby was born. I assumed that James would be fair to me and that our lawyers could reach an agreement—once the divorce papers were filed, of course—but who really knew? I’d heard horror stories about how these things went down. Thank God I hadn’t signed that prenup. And at least there was still the money from my dad. I made a mental note to talk to Mom about it later on.
I took a sip of celery juice and mirrored the face my sister was making. “Emerson,” I said, “this is positively vile. I do not know how you do it.”
She shrugged. “I kind of like it.”
“Blech,” Sloane said. “Can’t you mix some lemon or something with it?”
Emerson looked at the glass. “No. Too much sugar. You can only have one lemon per day, and I have to have it to balance out the kale.”
Sloane raised her eyebrow at me.
“I know,” I said.
“It’s for a role,” Emerson said. “Why doesn’t anyone get this? I’ve been acting since forever, remember? You always have to come to my D-list stuff?”
“Speaking of,” I said, “what is the role, anyway? You’ve been awfully cagey about the whole thing.”
She waved her hand. “That’s work. It’s boring. Let’s talk about something more fun.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like Mom,” Sloane chimed in. “How does she seem?”
I looked out over the water again. It was so hard to read my mom sometimes. Ever since our dad died, she had made it her life’s mission to be perpetually fine. “She seems good,” I said. “She looks fantastic.”
“Doesn’t she?” Emerson said. “Did you see her arms?”
“I know,” Sloane said. “It’s bad when you’re jealous of your fifty-eight-year-old mother’s body.”
I didn’t say it, because I’d been working on the whole brain-to-mouth filtration situation. But Mom definitely looked better than Sloane. So I politely said, “If anyone would like a copy, I’m happy to forward you the workout regimen I have Mom on.”
They both burst out laughing. They could laugh all they wanted, but Sloane would be receiving an e-mail. And Emerson would be receiving one about how being too thin ages your face more quickly. My therapist said my weight obsession was a control issue, a response to my father’s death. But, even if she was right, I couldn’t control my control issue, ironically. Besides, she didn’t get it. I did these things out of love. I was very misunderstood.
“Oh, my gosh!” Sloane said.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you think Mom has a man, and that’s why she looks so good?”
Emerson shook her head. “No way. I grilled Kyle about it, and he said there is no action at the Murphy house.” She paused. “But honestly, if you ask me, it’s about time. I mean, no, I don’t want to have to call anyone Daddy, but the woman can’t be alone forever. It has been sixteen years.”
We all got quiet. It might have been sixteen years, but it still felt fresh every single time it was brought up.
“I think we should make it our mission while we’re home to find Mom a man,” I said.
Sloane nodded. “I agree wholeheartedly. Can you imagine how lonely she gets around here in this big old house, rambling around alone?”
Emerson shook her head.
I heard the door creak open at the neighbor’s house. “Hi, Mr. Solomon,” I called loudly, waving.
He muttered something under his breath and walked back inside.
I accidentally took another sip of that vile celery concoction and said, “I think he’s warming to me. What do you think?”
We all laughed. I wrapped my thin sweater around myself.
Emerson said, “Who wants to go for a nice long walk?”
Sloane nodded. “I have nine pounds to lose. I’m going to be in the best shape of my life when Adam gets home.”
Whew. That was going to save me so much e-mail.
“You look great,” Emerson said, smiling and looping her arm around her sister’s.
“She’s lying,” I said, also smiling.
Sloane looped her other arm around mine. “I know she’s lying,” she said. “But sometimes it’s nice to hear something nice. You know?”
“Oh,” I said. “OK. Your kids are adorable. That’s the truth, and it’s nice. Aren’t you proud of me?”
“Growth,” Sloane said.
“Absolutely,” Emerson said. “We’ll get a little Southerner in you yet.”
I doubted that very highly, but it was such a nice day I didn’t argue. Walking down the street with my two sisters, I felt like life was going to go on—yet again. It might have been slightly south of simple. But like we always did, we’d figure it out together.