17. Platonic Professions [Part 1]

"Mom! Jessie! Camille just put her hand in her butt!"

"I didn't know it'd be stinky! My fingers were cold."

"You're so gross."

Too early. It was a Saturday morning, eight am, and I was sitting at the kitchen table, attempting to drink from the steaming mug of coffee Elizabeth had planted in front of me a few minutes ago. The kids' voices chimed through my head, shrilly, making me bury my face in my arms. After all these years, I still hadn't learned that I was a lightweight and should under no circumstances drink more than two glasses of wine, especially not when I had to get up at the crack of dawn the next day.

"Cami," Elizabeth called out, and I flinched, groaning. When I glanced up, she was standing in the door opening, looking entirely too put together in her cashmere cardigan, drop earrings dangling dramatically as she dried a cup with a tea towel. It was almost unfair how beautiful she managed to be after the events of last night, with her perfect make-up and not a hair out of place. "Go wash your hands, love. And put on a sweater if you're cold."

I winced. She didn't seem to notice, just continued clattering about, bending over the dishwasher to gather the plates. One thing was sure: Camille had not inherited any of her natural grace. I watched her for a while, just enjoying the way her honey-brown locks bounced slightly as she moved, my half-closed eyes ending up on the strip of bare skin she showed whenever she reached for one of the higher cupboards and her top hiked up.

The wind picked up, curling around the house with a dramatic whoosh, and I sighed into my coffee. Something tugged at my heartstrings, reminding me that this, just a calm start of the weekend with an incredible woman like her and kids playing in the living room, this had been everything I'd always wanted. Minus the hangover.

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder, the corner of her lips twitching momentarily at the sight of me there. My cheeks flushed, and I wrapped my bathrobe tighter around myself, suddenly conscious of my disastrous appearance. She noticed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Just stay home, Jessie," she said. "It's not like you're going to be any help to your brother like this." Her tone was firm, but then again, it'd been the same when she'd slipped me a box of painkillers earlier, and I liked to think it meant she cared.

It was tempting. The sky was whirling with thick woolly grey clouds, the branches of the magnolia tree sweeping against the window above the sink, and she was something, with her faded jeans and slippers — I could easily spend a few hours just staring at her.

But I couldn't. I'd promised myself. She was my boss, my friend, and that was all it was, and I shouldn't spoil a good thing, not again. Not like I'd almost done last night, entirely too content to sit so close to her, laughing and talking with Hakim and his boyfriend, sharing shared stories like some married couple. We'd had several dinners like those since the grandparents debacle, and I was growing a bit too fond of them. Maybe it was time to download a few dating apps.

"Nah, I just need to take a shower, and then I'll be fine," I said, ignoring the way she raised her eyebrows at me. For some reason, she didn't seem to want me to assist my brother with the move today, just like she had silently judged me for lending him some money for a van — before vocalizing her opinion on the matter with lots of huffing and puffing.

She opened her mouth, obviously about to raise the same concerns again, when my phone buzzed. Finally. Only an hour later than he'd promised. Before she could go against me, I picked it up. "Hi, Kenny," I said, smiling automatically at his enthusiastic reply. Elizabeth, on the other hand, rearranged her face into one of her sharpest frowns, abandoning the nearly cleared dishwasher to take place across from me. "What do you mean, the deal didn't go through?" The frown curved into a suspicious glare, the brown of her eyes smoldering dangerously. "Ah, that sucks, man. Oh, another place? That's awesome. So, should I still come? Oh. No, of course." I turned my head, away from Elizabeth, who was distractingly tapping her fingers to her elbow and listening in on the conversation way too intently. "What? An extra five-hundred?" She froze, matching my surprise, then nodded at me questioningly. I shrugged. It wasn't the first time Kenny miscalculated a budget. "Where are you moving to now, Great Falls? Yeah, sure, I've got it. Of course, I'll help y—."

My last word ended in a yelp — Elizabeth had all but crawled over the table to snatch my phone away. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she brought it to her ear, straightening her back like she was preparing for one of her business meetings. "This is Elizabeth Canfield," she said, her voice low and intimidating. "No, I'm not the girlfriend — no. Fine." I gaped at her. What in the holy hell was she doing? She crossed her legs now, which generally meant the game was on, and honestly, I would've protested, only I couldn't think of anything but girlfriend girlfriend girlfriend. "Just listen to me. You and your brothers need to stop using your sister as a piggy bank. She doesn't even have her own place; why should she fund yours?"

My heart was beating frantically, sweat dampening my forehead. I was too hungover for this. "Elizabeth—"

She just held up a finger, silencing me effectively, eyebrows rising as she listened to Kenny on the other side. He was talking loudly now; I could hear echoes of words, angry and harsh. "Good," she said, when he was done. "I happen to think you're a useless shit, so that makes us even." There was a frantic shout — then, she relaxed, ending the call with a satisfied tap on the screen. Without an explanation, she placed my phone back on the table, pushing it towards me.

I gaped at her. She was getting up like nothing had happened, resuming her position at the dishwasher, now with an unmistakable content tilt to her mouth.

"What did you just do?!"

She rolled her eyes, an air of superiority surrounding her, chin lifted, lips pressed tightly together. "I'm fed up with you getting fucked over by your brothers again and again. Do you honestly believe they're using your money for apartment deposits and van rentals?"

Maybe. Most of the time. Even if they didn't, what was it to her? They obviously needed cash for something, and did it matter what for? I was their sister. I was supposed to help them. And while her protectiveness was pretty adorable and made something flutter in my stomach, it wasn't her choice to make. "They're my brothers. I love them."

She nodded. "Good. Show them some tough love then. Don't give them your money whenever they ask for it."

Not this again. Ever since Mr. Miller had discovered I wasn't a trained professional and had cut my salary by a lot, she was extremely touchy about the subject. She'd told me she wouldn't hold it against me if I wanted to find another job — as if there were any available that made me this happy and still paid me a decent wage — and had been buying me stuff there and then under the guise of compensating for the dough I was missing out on. It was sweet and annoying at the same time. "I just want to look out for them. It's what family does."

"What about your sister?" Her tone was sharper now, and it sliced through my head like a knife.

"I'm sure my sister does what she can. And it's not like Ma has any money to spare. She cuts trees for a living."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes, again. "It's not your job to support your siblings, Jessie. God knows what they even spend it on."

To be honest, I knew she was right. It was an unspoken agreement between my brothers and me, though, that no one ever mentioned that. "Does it matter what they use it for? They clearly need it."

"Yes. It matters if your brothers are blowing your savings on drugs."

"They're not addicts!" I said, then, at the look on her face, added: "Okay, so, Kenny and Daryl like to smoke a couple times a week. And Mike has an opium problem, but that's only because he broke his leg once. It's not his fault." She gave me a pointed stare. I knew what it sounded like, but really, it was my money, and I could decide what to do with it. This way, I could at least be useful to my brothers, maybe get them back on the right track. "Besides, it's not any of my business what they use it for."

"Jessie," she said, in that exasperated tone she usually reserved for Ari. "It's your money. That makes it your business. It's not like you have too much of it."

"I just—"

"You didn't even buy yourself a new phone because you think it's a risky purchase."

"Well, it is—"

"What would you say if Ari and Cami grew up to be addicts and Manon kept funding their habits?"

"I'd say you probably should've tried a little harder to fire me. I must've messed them up real good."

A deep sigh, and she touched her temple with her fingers, muttering something under her breath. With more banging and clanking than necessary, she resumed unloading the cutlery, practically flinging them into the drawer. It was highly uncomfortable to my still throbbing head, but I knew if I complained, I'd just enter myself back into the argument, so I kept my mouth tightly shut.

She couldn't understand. She was an only child; she'd never had four little troublemakers screaming for you to tell them a story while you waited for your Ma to come home from the bar, never been woken by one of them to go stargazing in the middle of the night, never felt that pride you did when Daryl had to do a presentation about his favorite person and he chose you as his subject. She'd only met Daryl and Kenny, briefly, and had no idea how sweet their small excited faces used to look when I poured ketchup over their spaghetti or tucked them into bed.

"Fine." She flung the dishcloth onto the counter, spinning around abruptly to glower at me, her jaw set, shoulders tense. "I know you have a..." she gestured aimlessly, "...savior complex. But at least set a limit next time. You already gave him three hundred; there was no need to ask for an extra five hundred."

"I have a what?" I asked, startling at the loudness of my own voice.

Only, she wasn't paying attention to me anymore. Instead, she was focused on something behind me, her lips parted. I turned around too, just in time to see the kids march into the kitchen.

I almost laughed.

Manon had put on one of my beanies and my pair of fake Dr. Martens and was glowering at Ari, whose arms just peeped out of the long sleeves of their mother's forest green winter coat, their hands on their hips. Camille, for some reason, had slipped into her Olaf the snowman onesie and was pouting, twiddling with the zipper.

Ari cleared their throat, stomping forwards, their gaze going from me to Elizabeth. "Can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?" they said in a weirdly low voice.

That was Manon's cue, apparently, because she joined her sibling and said: "Chill, Elizabeth. Maybe don't use those words around the kids, you know. They pick up on everything."

Ari rolled their eyes. "I can say everything I want, Jessie." They flipped their hair, recently cut short so it now ended above their shoulders, and paraded around on what I recognized as Liz's fancy blood-red heels. "I'm an adult, so I can say 'fuck' if I want to."

I snickered at the same time Elizabeth exclaimed, "Ari!". Honestly, apart from the voice, the impersonation was spot on, especially since Ari resembled her so closely. I'd told her multiple times already that as long as she would keep accidentally cursing in front of them, the kids were going to copy her, no matter how often she laid down the rule that bad words were for people who were in possession of a driver's license.

"What is this supposed to mean?" she hissed, gesturing at the three of them. Though she was trying to come off as annoyed, her lips curved upwards momentarily, betraying her amusement.

Camille blinked innocently, hopping from one foot to the other. "We don't like it when you fight," she mumbled, tugging at Olaf's carrot nose.

Elizabeth's eyes found mine; they had softened, banishing all the hard edges from her expression, and I couldn't help but smile at her, suddenly much more comfortable in my warm and fluffy bathrobe than before. It was so hard to remind myself this wasn't really mine when stuff like this kept happening over and over again. "Jessie and I aren't fighting," she said. "We're in a discussion."

I huffed. "Please, that's what all adults say when they're fighting — I mean," I added, quickly changing my stance when I saw her face, "she's right. It's a discussion. A very mature one. It's what adults do."

Manon and Ari exchanged a look, clearly not convinced. "You should apologize to each other," Manon said. "Or whichever one of you started this."

"She did," I said, while Elizabeth said, "this is between Jessie and me." Before she could realize I'd pinned the blame on her, I rambled on: "It's fine. No harm done. Water under the bridge. Don't worry. Still love your mom."

The second those words flew out of my mouth, I realized what I'd said. Oh, crap. My heart immediately went into overdrive, the bathrobe now stuffy and hot, and I stiffened — maybe, no one noticed, and I could just go on like nothing was off, or maybe, it sounded platonic enough to label it as a declaration of friendship, or maybe, it was totally normal to make comments like that about someone you'd been living with for the past five months, and I was panicking for no reason at all.

If Ari's smirk was any indication, I had more than enough reasons.

I held my breath, rubbing my cheek. Conveniently, the band of my robe had loosened, and I took my time to tie it up again.

"Mom?" Manon said.

"What?"

"Don't you have anything to say to Jessie?"

"Like what?"

"Like 'I'm sorry,' maybe?"

So, no one was going to mention my awkward slip-up? I released the breath I'd been holding — you stupid, stupid blundering lesbian! One day, this was going to go horribly wrong, and I would get myself fired. I tried to lift my eyebrows at Elizabeth. It was too enjoyable to watch her struggle to apologize; after all, that didn't happen every day. "Fine," she gave in, throwing her hands up, "I'm sorry for taking your phone. But I'm not sorry for declining your brother's unreasonable demands. In fact, I should've done that sooner. You're not the Bank of America, Jessie."

Manon sighed, facepalming herself, though I couldn't really be mad.

Not when that had sounded uncannily like a love you too, you fool.

Platonically, of course.