<\/p>\n

My big sister\u2019s always had a certain power over me. When we were really little, she\u2019d play this game with my hands. My right hand was \u201cGristy,\u201d the ugly, evil one, and my left was \u201cCindy Relley,\u201d the beautiful princess who was sometimes duped by Gristy, but who always won out in the end. \u201cSee how beautiful she is? Look at her dimples,\u201d she would say, bending my left hand back at the fingers and flexing my wrist. We\u2019d play this game for hours, and to this day, my left hand is a lot more flexible than my right. It took me a long time to make the connection that my sister was left-handed and regularly \u201ccorrected\u201d for it, or that her name began with a \u201cG\u201d and mine with a \u201cC.\u201d<\/p>\n

So she had this pull on me, having convinced herself, and me, that I was the favored child, and she had every right to exhort a price for my stealing away the security she\u2019d felt before I arrived. It was understood. I always had to at least try to do what she asked, even when I knew it was wrong. Like the time she lured me to the stink pond deep in the woods, by teasing me about my being afraid of that crazy boy, Peter Harris, who hung out there, and then ran away and left me alone to deal with him when he showed up. Or, years later, the night she goaded me into picking up a hitchhiker, who pulled a knife on us and stole all our money before demanding\u2014thank god\u2014to be left off about a mile farther down the road.<\/p>\n

You might say I\u2019ve learned the hard way to take what she says with a grain of salt. We live far apart now, and it isn\u2019t exactly that I dread her calls, it\u2019s that I\u2019m a little bit wary as soon as I hear her voice. This time she\u2019s called to say that her husband\u2019s walked out on her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI feel like I\u2019ve been kicked in the stomach,\u201d she tells me. \u201cI got home from work tonight to find all of Bengie\u2019s things gone. I mean even that hideous abstract painting he hung in the living room over my dead body. He took it right off the wall. And left a note saying \u2018Think I need a break.\u2019 I feel like shit. Carley, you\u2019ve got to come out here. I really need you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Holding her in my arms at the airport and reassuring her, I realize how bone thin she is.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey! Hey! What\u2019s going on with you? You starving yourself to death?\u201d I ask, trying to assess just how frail she is.<\/p>\n

\u201cI weigh the same as always.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m used to this. It\u2019s her standard response. She\u2019s been bulimic for years and in deep denial.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s grab some lunch.\u201d I point her to the nearest restaurant.<\/p>\n

She slides into the booth opposite me, slips out of her trench coat, and says, \u201cI don\u2019t know what to do. I can\u2019t live without him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhoa! Slow down. I didn\u2019t hear you say it was over. I thought you said he needed a break. What\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s seeing another woman. I followed them to her apartment after work last Thursday. He said he had a late night meeting, and I was suspicious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you confront him? What\u2019d he say?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I just let it slide. It\u2019s not the first time.\u201d<\/p>\n

The waitress arrives, interrupting us at this critical moment, and I\u2019m hanging on what she\u2019s about to say. But I\u2019m starving, and I quickly order a BLT on wheat toast with fries on the side. My favorite. Gloria claims she\u2019s not hungry, but she orders a BLT too and a Diet Coke. \u201cHold the fries,\u201d she says. The waitress nods and disappears.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re kidding. This isn\u2019t the first time?\u201d I prompt.\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not kidding. But he always comes back to me when he gets tired of whatever bimbo he\u2019s been hooking up with. I\u2019m used to it. This time it\u2019s different though. I can tell when we\u2019re having sex. He\u2019s not there. He\u2019s actually got feelings for this one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t get it, Gloria. Don\u2019t you care that he\u2019s a chronic cheater? What kind of a marriage do you have?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not that I don\u2019t care. It\u2019s just the way it is. You wouldn\u2019t understand. You always get what you want from people.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not going to touch that one. Luckily I don\u2019t have to. Our food arrives, and she dives into it as if she hasn\u2019t eaten for days. She reaches across the table and grabs a handful of my fries. I know she\u2019ll duck into the ladies\u2019 room later and force herself to throw it up, but it\u2019s good to see her eating.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want me to talk to Bengie?\u201d I ask delicately, picking up my sandwich. I\u2019ve known him as long as she has. We grew up in the same crowd. I wait for her to answer. I\u2019m always walking a fine line with Gloria. She wants my help, but on her terms.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you told Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease don\u2019t go there,\u201d she says, looking up in a panic. \u201cI\u2019ll tell her when I have to.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We arrive at Gloria\u2019s condo, a luxury penthouse just off Rittenhouse Square. She\u2019s given me the silent treatment in the elevator, and she dumps her coat and stuff in the foyer as soon as we get inside. She\u2019s in the powder room now, and I know what she\u2019s up to, but there\u2019s nothing I can do to stop it. When I walk into the living room, the first thing I see is the bare spot on the wall where the enormous abstract oil Gloria and I both thought looked like an angry uterus had hung since Bengie bought it, over her loud protests, at an auction on Nantucket several summers ago. We were vacationing there together, my then fianc\u00e9 Peter and I with Gloria and Bengie in what had turned out to be a very stressful weekend for the four of us. I\u2019ve always thought of it as the beginning of the end for Peter and me, though they <\/em>had gone on, as they always did. I remember looking at her marriage that weekend and wondering if this was what I had to look forward to with Peter. At the time, I\u2019d reassured myself that my life would be better. By now I\u2019m not so sure.<\/p>\n

She comes back into the living room looking pale. I don\u2019t have it in me to get into it with her, so I ignore it and say, \u201cShould we talk about what\u2019s going on? Do you want to tell me what you\u2019re planning to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gloria\u2019s been weirdly silent since her outburst in the restaurant.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019re my choices?\u201d she says. \u201cLet\u2019s see\u2014there\u2019s groveling, murder, or suicide. I don\u2019t like any of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of all the many things I dislike about my sister, it\u2019s her self-pitying that I dislike most. \u201cWhat can I do to help?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t get it, do you? I told you. This time\u2019s different. She\u2019s a young law associate from his firm. Everyone\u2019s talking about it. I was the last to find out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, so it\u2019s embarrassing. But you\u2019ve got to talk to him. Want me to set it up?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know where he\u2019s staying. It\u2019s not with her. He\u2019s rented a furnished apartment in Society Hill. I\u2019ve driven past it, but I haven\u2019t had the nerve to stop. What if she\u2019s there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh for God\u2019s sake, Gloria, stop being such a baby. Call him. Get it over with, for better or worse.\u201d<\/p>\n

At this point, she bursts into tears, runs out of the room, and slams the door to her bedroom. I\u2019ve gone too far.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It feels weird to be back in Philly after all these years. When I left home for college, I went to California, to get as far away from my family as I could, and I\u2019ve never looked back. It\u2019s not that I don\u2019t love them. It\u2019s that I wanted to get some perspective. I knew there was a world out there beyond what I had grown up with. And I knew I would never see it if I stayed here with them. Gloria stayed home, like most of the kids in our group, eventually marrying the local boy and settling into what looked like a placeholder for our parents\u2019 lifestyle. She may not have been their favorite, but she turned out to be the one they were stuck with.<\/p>\n

So what if I was their pet\u2014the one they doted on\u2014I was also the one who got away. I stayed in California after I graduated, chose to attend a law school out there, found a decent job in environmental law in San Francisco, a West Coast boy to fall in love with, and a new way of life. I come back once or twice a year, but it\u2019s understood that I\u2019m not coming back for good, even though I didn\u2019t marry that California boy. My parents aren\u2019t happy about it. They\u2019d like me to settle down closer to home, marry someone from our crowd, and give them grandchildren to dote on in addition to me. They\u2019ve kind of accepted that this isn\u2019t going to happen, but that doesn\u2019t make them happy about it.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m alone in the living room looking at the enormous space the abstract oil Bengie removed once filled. My mind jumps back to that Nantucket weekend three summers ago. Peter couldn\u2019t stand their bickering and my sister\u2019s manipulation. He wanted us to get away on our own for at least a few hours, but I insisted we were here for that weekend only, and I didn\u2019t get to see my sister all that often, so it wasn\u2019t as big a deal as he was making it. I knew he was right. I just couldn\u2019t bear to let her down.<\/p>\n

When we got back to San Francisco, our relationship took a nosedive. I\u2019d waited till we were home to tell Peter I\u2019d lost my job in the law firm that had employed both of us. In fact I waited till we were about to go to bed on our first night back. I had to tell him then. He\u2019d have found out anyway at work the next day and never forgiven me.<\/p>\n

\u201cChrist, Carley, you waited till now to tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to tell you,\u201d I said. \u201cI just didn\u2019t want to spoil the weekend. That\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then I made it worse by refusing to let him comfort me.<\/p>\n

He put his arms around me, looked at me searchingly, and said something like, \u201cThese are the things we\u2019ve got to talk about. I want you to know I\u2019ve got your back. Anything you need.\u201d<\/p>\n

We\u2019d had quite a few similar conversations before this evening\u2019s about my exaggerated need to be self-sufficient and how I was never willing to share my feelings with him.<\/p>\n

I broke away from him. \u201cOkay. I\u2019ve got it. Let\u2019s not get corny. I\u2019m a big girl. I\u2019ll find another job. No big deal.\u201d<\/p>\n

We broke up about six months later when I thought things were getting back to normal. I\u2019ll admit it. I had a hard time for a while. But I fought my way into a competing law firm. I was sure Peter would be proud of me when I told him. And he was.<\/p>\n

\u201cJeez, Carley, that\u2019s great,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I guess I should have known something was wrong when he didn\u2019t give me a hug and spin me around till I was dizzy or do some other goofy, loving thing like he usually did.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d I asked. Come to think of it, he hadn\u2019t done anything like that lately. I\u2019d been too preoccupied to notice, I guess.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe this is a good time to talk about us,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure. What\u2019s up?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no easy way to say this,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve met someone else. I didn\u2019t go looking. It just happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

I backed away from him. \u201cWow. I wasn\u2019t expecting that. Can we talk about it? Can we go to counseling?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think so. I\u2019m sorry. It\u2019s pretty much a done deal. I didn\u2019t want to tell you while you were so down. It\u2019s been going on for a couple of months. I\u2019m tired of sneaking around.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t make a fuss. I even agreed to let him keep the apartment. I just needed a little time to find one of my own before I moved out. It was all very civilized, very un-Gloria-like. I didn\u2019t let him see me cry. But for weeks I hugged my body to my pillow and sobbed into it. On our last morning together, he had tears in his eyes when we said good-bye. I didn\u2019t get up from the breakfast table, although I had been counting down the days, dreading this moment. I looked up and waved. That was it. I wanted to say something. But that\u2019s not the way I am.<\/p>\n

Staring out the huge windows of Gloria\u2019s condo onto the square stories below, I feel suddenly dizzy. I realize how much I don\u2019t want to be here doing this. I\u2019m about to pick up the phone when it rings.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s my mom, of course. She knows I\u2019m here and what\u2019s going on. She keeps close tabs on her daughters, even though it\u2019s from a distance in my case.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThank god you\u2019ve brought her home, Carley,\u201d my mother says. \u201cMaybe we can talk some sense into her.\u201d We\u2019ve just walked in the door of the suburban Bryn Mawr house we grew up in, and she\u2019s fussing over me. Gloria\u2019s already run upstairs to her room. \u201cWe\u2019ve been worried sick about what people are saying.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maybe <\/em>she is<\/em>, I think to myself. My father\u2019s been checked out of the family melodrama for years. \u201cWhat are people saying?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe usual. Look, I\u2019m not claiming your sister\u2019s perfect. Far from it. But Bengie\u2019s a total shit. He\u2019s screwing one of the young lawyers in his own firm. Gloria\u2019s got to get tough with him. Move out. Stick him with the monthly condo fees.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToo late for that, Ma. He\u2019s already done it.\u201d Apparently, she doesn\u2019t know as much as she thinks.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, now this is serious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGloria\u2019s pretty devastated. I\u2019m really worried about her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease. You\u2019r<\/em>e<\/em> worried about her, Ms. California? How do you think we feel? We\u2019ve been dealing with this crap for years. Did she tell you that she followed them to her place\u2014the girl\u2019s, I mean\u2014and made a scene in the lobby?\u201d She reads my expression. \u201cI didn\u2019t think so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat exactly happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe threatened suicide if Bengie didn\u2019t come home. Apparently, he took her. That\u2019s the last thing I heard.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n

That night at dinner, we\u2019re seated around the table as a family\u2014just the four of us\u2014for the first time in years. My mom\u2019s made quite a fuss. She\u2019s prepared a butternut squash soup with yogurt, Moroccan chicken, one of her specialties, and a pecan pie. My father\u2019s at the head of the table carving the chicken when the phone rings.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want me to answer it?\u201d I ask. At my place, I would leave it unanswered until after dinner, but they do things differently here.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you don\u2019t mind, dear,\u201d my mother responds.<\/p>\n

I go through the swinging door into the kitchen. \u201cHello?\u201d Silence. She must have left her cell phone upstairs, and he\u2019s trying to reach her<\/em>, I think to myself. What a<\/em> selfish prick. <\/em>\u201cHello?<\/p>\n

Bengie?\u201d I say. Then I call out, \u201cNo one there,\u201d re-entering the dining room and taking my place at the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was him,\u201d Gloria says. She gets up.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit down,\u201d my father says. \u201cDon\u2019t ruin your mother\u2019s dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gloria storms out of the room and up the stairs.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t go after her,\u201d my father says. \u201cI\u2019ve had enough of their cockamamie relationship. Make up your damned minds.\u201d He raises his voice so she\u2019ll hear him. \u201cSHIT OR GET OFF THE POT.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sit there for a few horrified seconds, and then follow my sister to her room. Through the closed door, I can hear her sobbing.<\/p>\n

\u201cGloria? It\u2019s me. Do you want to talk?\u201d<\/p>\n

She doesn\u2019t answer. She\u2019s still sobbing, and I can hear that she\u2019s talking to someone on her cell phone. I knock again and try the door. Not surprisingly, it\u2019s unlocked. There\u2019s no resistance as I cross the room and take her in my arms. She feels small and vulnerable. Not at all like the bullying big sister I remember.<\/p>\n

\u201cBengie\u2019s asked me to forgive him, and he wants to come back home,\u201d she tells me through hiccups and mascaraed tears. \u201cWe\u2019ve been talking on and off all afternoon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you going to agree to that?\u201d I already know the answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat else am I supposed to do? Look, I know it\u2019s far from a perfect marriage, but I\u2019m almost thirty-two. I think it\u2019s time for us to start having kids, and I think that\u2019s what he wants. I know it\u2019s what Mom and Dad are expecting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think they want you to be with a man who runs around behind your back and publicly humiliates you,\u201d I say. \u201cI know Mom\u2019s really pissed.\u201d I look at Gloria as she lies crumbled in my arms. \u201cDon\u2019t sell yourself short. Fight for something better.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s promised he won\u2019t see her anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill he ask her to leave the firm?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe can\u2019t do that. He\u2019s afraid she\u2019ll sue for sexual harassment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are ways around that. He can offer her a settlement. Find her another job. My point is that if she stays on, this will flare up again, I guarantee it. Want me to talk to him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo what you want,\u201d she says. \u201cI\u2019ve got to go. Bengie\u2019s picking me up in a few minutes.\u201d She gets up and starts fixing her makeup.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I go back down to the table. Our parents are eating dinner as if nothing out of the ordinary is going on.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m thinking about what to say when my father makes it easy for me.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s no picnic, you know,\u201d he says. \u201cOver thirty and afraid to have a baby\u2026 afraid she\u2019ll get fat. I don\u2019t blame the guy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not fair, Mark.\u201d My mother rushes to her daughter\u2019s defense. \u201cYou have no idea how hard it is to lose all that baby weight. I picked up ten to fifteen pounds with each of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBengie\u2019s coming to pick her up in a few minutes,\u201d I say. \u201cLeave them be. They\u2019ll figure it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEasy for you to say. You don\u2019t live with it night and day the way we do,\u201d my mother says.<\/p>\n

When Bengie blows the horn a few minutes later, we don\u2019t leave the table. We watch Gloria rush down the stairs and out the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cSee you later, guys,\u201d she calls out to us. \u201cThanks, Mom \u2026 Dad. Oh, and Carley, catch you later. You can stop by anytime tomorrow after five thirty to pick up your stuff.\u201d I\u2019ve left my suitcase at the condo thinking we\u2019d go back there after dinner. She smiles manically\u2014frozen in the doorway for a split second\u2014and slams the door behind her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Hours later, I\u2019m lying awake in my canopied four-poster bed, staring at the Springsteen, Van Halen, and U2 posters still hanging on the walls. It\u2019s not only that I\u2019m still on California time; it\u2019s already four in the morning on the digital clock. I\u2019m thinking about Cindy Relley and Gristy and wondering what went wrong. I raise my arms and look up at my hands. Then I flex my left hand backward, pushing hard with my right, and I lie there staring at the dimples. Not even California\u2019s far enough if you take it with you. There\u2019s got to be some other way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

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