the funeral home is more than just a job. It’s got to be your life.”
I thought of the recitals and graduations and birthday parties my dad had missed over the years. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“I have to go, Dad. I’ll see you at dinner on Sunday. Unless I have to work.”
I hung up and sat back in my chair. I knew it was more than a job. Didn’t I spend nearly all my time here? Giving it my best? Giving it my all? But try to tell my dad that. All he saw was the new gadgets and logo and the commercials on the radio and ads in the paper. What he didn’t understand was that just because I had nobody to sacrifice but myself didn’t make my efforts any less noble.
“You’re looking sparkly today.” My sister, Hannah, raised an eyebrow.
I flicked one of my chandelier earrings until the tiny bells chimed. They matched the Indian-style tunic top I’d bought from an online auction. The deep turquoise fabric and intricate beading could be described as sparkly. “Thanks—eBay.”
“I don’t mean the earrings. They’re cute, though. The shirt’s a little…” Hannah shrugged.
“What?” I looked down at it. The fabric was sheer, so I’d worn a tank top beneath to keep it from being too revealing. Paired with the simple pair of boot-cut black slacks, I hadn’t thought the outfit was too outrageous, especially with the black fitted jacket overtop.
“Different,” Hannah amended. “Cute, though.”
I checked out Hannah’s demure scoop-necked shirt and matching cardigan. She was missing only a strand of pearls and a hat with a veil to be the epitome of a 1950s matron. The outfit was better than the cartoon-character sweatshirt she’d been wearing the last time we had lunch, but not by much.
“I like this shirt.” I hated the defensiveness that rose up, hardwired to the buttons my sister knew just how to push. “It’s…sassy.”
“It sure is.” Hannah cut her salad into precise, astoundingly symmetrical bites. “I said it was cute, didn’t I?”
“You did.” She’d said “cute” the way some people would say “unfortunate.”
“Anyway. That’s not what I meant.” Hannah never spoke with her mouth full. She gave me a dissecting stare. “Did you have a…date? Last night?”
At the memory of Sam’s hand between my legs a few days before, I couldn’t hold back the smile. “Not last night, no.”
Hannah shook her head. “Gracie…”
I held up a hand. “Don’t.”
“I’m your big sister. I’m allowed to give advice.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Um…is that in the handbook someone forgot to give me, or what?”
Hannah didn’t laugh. “Seriously, Grace. When are we going to meet this guy? Mom and Dad don’t believe he exists.”
“Maybe Mom and Dad spend too much time worrying about my romantic life, Hannah.”
The more I denied having a boyfriend, the more convinced my family seemed to be that I was hiding one away. I thought it was funny, most of the time. Today for some reason, I wasn’t as amused.
I got up to refill my mug of coffee, hoping by the time I got back to the table my sister would have decided to abandon the topic. I should’ve known better. Hannah with a lecture was like a terrier with a rat. Probably the only thing holding her back from full-on rant mode was the fact we were in a public place.
“I just want to know what the secret is. That’s all.” Hannah fixed me with the glare that used to be able to yank any secret from me.
It was still pretty effective, but I had years of practice at resisting. “There’s no secret. I’ve told you before, I’m not seeing anyone seriously.”
“If it’s serious enough for you to look like that,” Hannah said with a sniff, “it should be serious enough to bring him to meet your family.”
This veiled reference to sex so stunned me, I could only stare. My sister, older and prone to lectures as she might be, had never been free with advice on lovemaking. Other girls had gone to their big sisters for advice on boys and bras, but Hannah, seven years older, had never made our relationship comfortable enough to discuss sex. I wasn’t about to start now.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do.” Hannah picked me apart with another look.
“No, really, Hannah.” I grinned, defusing her the best way I knew how. “I don’t.”
Hannah’s mouth thinned. “Fine. Whatever. Be like that. We’re just all wondering, that’s all.”
I sighed and warmed my hands on my mug. “Wondering about what?”
Hannah shrugged and looked away. “Well. You always make an excuse for why you won’t bring him around. We’re just wondering if…”
“If what?” I demanded. It wasn’t like Hannah to hold back on anything.
“If he’s a…he,” Hannah muttered. She stabbed her salad as if it had done her wrong.
Stunned again, I sat back in my chair. “Oh, for God’s sake!”
Hannah’s mouth set in a stubborn line. “Is he?”
“A man? You want to know if I’m dating a man? Instead of what…a woman?” I wanted to laugh, not because this was funny, but because somehow laughter might make this less strange. “You have to be kidding me.”
Hannah looked up, lower lip pushed out in the familiar way. “Mom and Dad won’t say it, but I will.”
In a moment of insanity I considered telling her everything. Which would be worse, admitting I paid for sex or that I dated women? Maybe paying women for sex would’ve been worse, and the thought of my sister’s face if I told her that curved my mouth into a smile. I resisted, though. Hannah wouldn’t find it as funny as I did.
If it had been anyone else asking the question, I really would have laughed, but because it was my sister I just shook my head. “Hannah. No. It’s not a woman. I promise.”
Hannah nodded stiffly. “Because, you know, you could tell me. I’d be okay with it.”
I doubted that. Hannah had a pretty narrow worldview. There wasn’t much room in it for sisters who liked girls or who hired dates. Not that it was any of her business.
“I just go out. Have a good time. That’s all. I’m not dating anyone regularly enough to bring him around the family, that’s all. If I ever do, you’ll be the first to know.”
Probably the easiest way to figure out if you’re doing something you shouldn’t is if you can tell your family about it. There was no question about me telling my family anything about my dates. Hell, I’d never even told my closest friends. I wasn’t sure they’d understand the appeal. The satisfaction of it. No worries. No hassles. Nothing to lose.
“Boyfriends take a lot of work, Hannah.”
She rolled her eyes. “Try having a husband.”
“I don’t want one of those, either.”
“Of course you don’t.”
I couldn’t win for trying. Her sniff told me what she thought of that—it might be fine for her to complain about her spouse, but for me to say I didn’t want one was like saying she was wrong to be married.
“I like my life.”
“Of course you do. Your life,” she said like an insult. “Your simple, personal, single life.”