26. Birdie

Confession: I'm a better sister-in-law than I am a sister.

Doug called me Friday night.

Doug never called me.

Fear seizing my chest, I immediately left the living room where Mara and I were watching TV and went to the guest room to answer.

"Doug? Is everything okay?"

"Er-kind of," he said. "Can you come over? I have a business dinner I need to get to, and Anthea is trying to paint the nursery."

I raised my eyebrows. "She's thirty weeks pregnant."

"Try telling her that. She's wearing two N-95s, and she looks absolutely feral."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

We hung up, and I went to tell Mara what was going on.

Giggling, she said, "I want you to tell me everything when you get back."

"Promise," I replied, reaching for my purse. I got in the car and drove to the richer part of Emerson, thinking Anthea must be nesting for the new baby. Her baby shower was still a few weeks away, but that was just an excuse to eat sugar cookies at this point. Everyone knew she and Doug could afford everything their baby needed and more.

I approached their multi-story home just a few minutes away from where Doug and I grew up. The yard was perfectly manicured and the path to the door lit with solar lights. It was already dark outside, and I wondered how long it would take Anthea to get tired and give up.

I was about to ring the doorbell when the garage door opened and Doug came out, dressed to the nines in a designer suit and brightly colored pocket square.

"Thank you, Birdie."

I waved my hand at him. "I'm happy to help. No big deal."

He nodded. "Well, she's back in the nursery. Come on."

He led me through the garage, which was perfectly clean and organized, then let me in the kitchen. "Third door on the left. If you can't find it, just follow the psychotic breathing and brushing."

I saluted him like I used to when we were teens and our parents let us take the sailboat out on our own. "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

He smiled for a moment, then a look of worry quickly darkened his features. "Take care of her, will you?"

"Of course."

He turned back to his car, and I walked through their house. I hadn't been here since the housewarming party a couple years ago, but it looked every bit as clean and put together as it had then.

Just as Doug had promised, I could hear furious brush strokes against the wall, and I peeked my head in to see Anthea double masked and angrily painting clouds onto a light blue wall. Feral might not have been the wrong word to describe her.

"Whatcha doing?" I asked.

She looked at me, a splotch of paint on her cheek. "Painting. Obviously." She turned back at the wall and continued painting. "I can't believe Doug didn't do this weeks ago."

"You could have asked me to come help. Or, you know, hired someone."

"I'm not turning into your mother," she said. "Wealth calcifies people. You just sit on your throne and forget how to lift your fingers, much less anything else."

"You're telling me." I went to the window and opened it so at least she'd have some ventilation. Whether or not it would get through her masks was another story. "Do you have an extra brush?"

"Just this one," she said slowly.

"Then why don't you let me paint and you can start sorting clothes?"

"How do you know I need to do that?"

I lifted my eyebrows. "You may not be calcified yet, but I guarantee you've bought every cute baby outfit you've walked past since you found out you were pregnant."

Her cheeks turned slightly pink. "They're so cute though."

"I've bought a few myself," I said. "Which you will have to fold after the baby shower. So hand over the brush."

Reluctantly, she gave me the brush, but she still held on to it tightly. "I'll text you a tutorial video I found. Watch it before you get started."

"Sure," I said.

She finally let go, and I held it in my hand as I waited for the message. As soon as my phone dinged and I began playing the video, Anthea seemed satisfied and left the room. The directions seemed simple enough, and soon, I was at work getting lost in the mindless strokes of my brush.

Within a couple hours, I had finished what Anthea had started. I stepped back and took a picture of the cloudy walls, smiling.

"It looks amazing," Anthea breathed behind me.

I turned toward her, smiling. "She's the luckiest little girl in the world." My niece would have the best life. I already knew Anthea wouldn't love her conditionally like my parents had me.

Anthea circled her arms around her middle. "Want to have some Rice Krispie Treats? I made some earlier."

"Is that a rhetorical question?" I said. "Where should I put the brush?"

"Just throw it away. I have a feeling Doug won't deal with another nesting episode involving paint past thirty weeks."

"You're not wrong." I tossed the paintbrush in a wastebasket and followed her to the kitchen.

The dish of Rice Krispie Treats had already been cut into once, but she got out a couple of oversized squares for us and set them on paper towels.

"What, no fine china?" I teased.

She half-glared, half-smiled at me. "We only do that for the guests who haven't been cut off by the Melroses."

"Fair," I said, picking up the treat and eating a bite. It was heavenly.

"Are you... doing okay?" she asked hesitantly.

I nodded, knowing she was referring to the called-off engagement. "I've had a few good leads on apartments. I'll make it."

She frowned. "Are you sure you don't want us to set you up? I know Walter is a dud, but there's this other guy in accounting—"

"Not interested."

"You don't even know him!" she argued.

"I know he's in accounting."

She giggled and licked some marshmallow off her fingertip. "True."

My phone dinged, and I looked at the screen, seeing a new message from Cohen.

Cohen: Can I pick you up at eleven tomorrow? Can't wait to see you and show you what I have planned. I think you'll like it.

"You're smiling!" Anthea accused. "Who is he?"

My cheeks warmed as I typed back a message. "No one." I hadn't even realized I'd been smiling. Or distracted for that long.

Birdie: That sounds great. Important question. Will food be involved?

Cohen: Of course. Four stars or better. See you then.

When I set my phone down and looked back at Anthea, her expression told me she didn't believe my previous lie. Not one bit.

"So you just smile all goofy when your girlfriends text you?" Her mouth fell open. "Please tell me you're not talking to Dax again. That guy is such a douche canoe."

My eyebrows raised. "Douche canoe?"

"Well, now that you're not dating, I can say what I really think of him."

"And that would be?"

She shrugged, taking another bite of Rice Krispie. "That his eyes wandered a little too much for my liking. And he has a stupid laugh. And his art was derivative and trying too hard."

Although it hurt to hear other people had noticed how wrong Dax was for me, the last part made me giggle. Dax hated when people said his work wasn't purely original. "Why didn't you tell me you didn't like him?"

"Would you have listened?" she asked.

I thought about it for a moment. "Probably not. But next time I date someone, will you let me know if you don't like him?"

She held out her pinky. "I promise."

With a smile, I linked my pinky with hers. And I made myself a promise that next time, I would listen.