“So we are to countenance things and people which we detest, merely because we are not belles and millionaires, are we?”
—Little Women
I probably could have figured out the subway, but I didn’t want to go back underground. It wasn’t that late, the weather was nice, and even though the sun had set, there were lights everywhere: on cars and buses, inside restaurants and shops, shining down from streetlights and signs. After calling up a map on my phone, I set off on foot, glad I was wearing comfortable shoes. (Suck it, Hudson.)
It felt good to move at my own pace. I was happy to be outside, even if it didn’t smell too fresh. City energy was different from the rush of trees and wind and a big sky overhead, but I could still feel it, buzzing up through the concrete.
When my phone rang, I was surprised Hudson had noticed I was gone so soon. I was ready to send the call to voicemail when I realized it wasn’t his number.
“What is it?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s Beth,” Amy choked out. Her breath hitched like she was mid-sob. “She’s really sick. I don’t think she’s going to make it.”
There were so many strange things happening at once. Hearing my sister’s voice while walking down a busy street in the middle of New York. Imagining vibrant, healthy Beth dangerously ill. Amy caring that her nemesis was unwell. “Seriously?”
After several beats of silence, she replied in a normal voice, “If I say yes, are you coming home?”
“Is that why you’re calling?”
“Maybe.”
I detoured around a hot dog cart. “So Beth isn’t sick?”
“Had you going for a second, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” I expected Amy to either hang up, having gotten what she wanted, or brag about her dramatic skillz, but she was silent for a long minute.
“Where are you right now?”
“No idea.”
“Are you in a hostage situation? Say something like ‘baseball’ if you need help.”
“And then what, you’ll send in a team of commandos to rescue me?”
“If you can still be rude, I guess you’re fine. Which, by the way, the commandos would have been hot, so your loss.” The creak of a cabinet told me she was in the kitchen. “Way hotter than what’s-his-nuts. Your little shrimp.”
I didn’t remind her of Hudson’s name, which of course she knew. “He’s not mine.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“You could say that.” I was glad she couldn’t see my face.
“Everything okay?”
“Define okay. Besides ‘not getting abducted.’”
“Does this mean you’re coming home?”
“I thought you’d be glad to get rid of me.”
Packaging crinkled in the background; I pictured her digging a hand into the yellow bag of plain potato chips, and my mouth filled with the phantom taste of salt and grease. “It’s not as awesome as I thought it would be. The only-child thing.” Loud crunching accompanied this revelation.
“Things are different here, too. Not what I expected.”
“I thought you sounded weird.” More rustling. “Weirder.”
By Amy standards, that was practically a valentine. “Have you talked to Meg?”
“She met some grad student. Sounds like he does all her work for her. But she’s still pretty bored.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. It would suck if she wasn’t suffering a little.”
I snorted, vaguely aware that if we’d been in the same room, I would never have given Amy the satisfaction of laughing at one of her jokes. “Meg’s like a cat.”
“Makes a mess and waits for someone else to clean it up?”
“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I was talking about.”
“Oh, the napping.”
“I mean she always lands on her feet.”
“Huh. I guess.” She raised her voice to an earsplitting yell, not bothering to move the phone away from her mouth. “IN THE KITCHEN!”
“Is that Mom?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Just—take care of her, okay?”
“Fix your own mistakes, loser.” There was another voice in the background; I strained to make out the words, but Amy ended the call.
Which was probably just as well. I might have said something sappy otherwise.