“Do you think I’m a different person than I used to be?” I asked.
She moved fruit from a platter to Tupperware, pausing to bite into a strawberry. “Of course.”
I frowned. “You answered that really fast.”
“We’re both different. Especially after Mom’s death.” She leaned her elbows onto the island and had another strawberry. “You can be in touch with who you used to be and still be different. The idea is to keep getting better.”
“And you think I’m not?”
“Since when do you care what I think?” she asked, tossing the stems into the garbage disposal before capping the Tupperware. She knew full well I cared what she thought. More than anyone else in the world, now that it was just us. “Tell me about this Georgina person.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’d mentioned her once, and now Libby was peering into my eyes, trying to read my thoughts. I wanted to look away, but then I wouldn’t be able to read hers. “I already did. Like I said, she’s a pain.”
“How so?”
“How long do you have? For one, she’s fucking messy. She’s always losing stuff, walking around my office barefoot while she eats gummy bears of all things, and she can’t even read her own handwriting. Last week, she handed me her notepad and asked if I could decipher her last entry.”
“And could you?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point.”
My sister smiled to herself. “Cute.”
“Cute?” I gaped at her. “What’s cute about trying to turn the whole office against me?”
“I highly doubt she’s doing that,” Libby said.
“Want to bet? During her first meeting, she read excerpts from the exposé to everyone, then at happy hour, she drops a bomb on my game in front of all the guys.” Fuck. As soon as the words left my mouth, I understood my sister had just tricked me into revealing too much information.
With an annoyingly smug smile, she finished moving perishables into the fridge. “So, a new girl shows up at your office, questions your work and your character, and now you’re asking me for the first time in years if I think you’ve changed? Is she pretty?”
“It’s not the first time in years.”
“Whenever I ask about your personal life in Manhattan, you go monosyllabic. So, most of what I know comes from Justin or what I see in the society pages.” She plugged the sink and turned on the faucet. “Then this exposé pops up . . .”
“Not true. We talked about my love life after what Mom said those last few days,” I said. “You agreed I need to settle down and meet a nice girl.”
She squirted dish soap into the rising water. “Is Georgina a nice girl?”
I snorted. “Not in the least. Exactly what Mom warned me against.”
Libby tilted her head. “Really? Your usual type?”
“No,” I said before I realized that answer was contradictory—and would only incite Libby’s curiosity.
“Was she like your last girlfriend—what was her name? Wenchy?”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Georgina is like Wendy—minus several inches, plus a real job. And if Wendy dyed her hair red, had freckles, wore suits, and was fucking rude.”
“Wendy was rude.”
“So is Georgina.”
“To you or to others?”
“Both.”
“Then if she’s a bitch, forget her.” She pulled on yellow rubber gloves. “What’s bringing all this up?”
“Take your pick.” Scratching under my chin, I listed, “The one-year anniversary of Mom’s death. For the first time in my career I’ve stumbled, and now I have a handler. I’m entering my mid-thirties. Given all that, I’m allowed some introspection.”
“Okay, so what have you been introspecting?”
“I work hard, Libs. Mom taught us the importance of that, but she never reaped the benefits. I tried to get her to retire, but she wouldn’t. So why are people on my case for enjoying what I’ve earned?”
She began scrubbing the dishes. “Your values will change once you meet someone. Everything I do is for Aaron and the kids.”
“I don’t have that yet. When I do, I’ll settle down.”
“It’s the other way around—start settling now, and you’ll find someone, but she’s not going to fall into your lap.”
“You never know,” I said. “I’ve had a few girls land in my lap.”
“Isn’t there anyone at work who isn’t there to model? I’ve heard the office is an unfairly maligned place to meet women. Maybe a woman like . . . Georgina?”
I shook my head with a sigh. “She’s not a bitch, by the way. Just . . . frustrating.”
“How so?”
I rounded the island to take a dishtowel hanging from the stove handle. “She’s called me entitled, arrogant, a jerk, and an asshole—some of that before I even knew her name.”
“Back up.” She handed me a plate. “How is that possible?”
“We met in a café before work,” I said as I dried. “I had no idea she was the new consultant. She ran into me while I was in a hurry, then called me an asshole when my drink spilled on her.”
“Well, that’s understandable. Girl hadn’t had her coffee yet.”
“That’s an excuse to call a stranger names?”
“I know it’s rare for you to ever spend a morning with a woman, but just ask Aaron. Anything that happens pre-coffee doesn’t count. And wasn’t it her first day on the job? Maybe she was nervous.”
“Why are you making excuses for her? You don’t even know her.”
“Because I can’t think of a time in recent history you’ve volunteered the name of the girl you’re dating, or even talked about one this much.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Just pointing out that you’ve brought her up several times.”
“Because I vehemently disagree with everything she stands for. She’s silent when she should speak up—like when her friend, the barista, was getting shit on by a customer—and she’s a know-it-all when she should sit back and listen, like at our meetings.”
“Aha.” Libby’s eyebrows met in the middle of her forehead as she moved the remaining dishes into the soapy water. “I think I understand. You’ve always had a weird thing about how people treat the help.”
“But Wendy was as stuck-up as they come.”
“And for that reason, you knew things could never be serious with her. You could run when things got messy. That’s why you date women like that. When you care about someone, you don’t tolerate rudeness, and you’re as loyal as a dog.”
“Are you seeing that therapist again?” I asked.
“Yes, and he agrees you’re subconsciously sabotaging your love life.”
“Was,” I said. “I was sabotaging it until Mom made me promise—” I shook my head. What the fuck? My sister had witchy ways of getting me to admit things that’d never even crossed my mind. I doubted my subconscious was even evolved enough to recognize self-sabotage. Her psychoanalytic subterfuge was distressing enough that getting back to venting about Georgina somehow felt safer. “I only used that example to demonstrate Georgina’s character. Her position at the magazine is a waste of time and resources—and Vance won’t stop singing her praises. She rolled into the office as if she had all the answers. Did I mention she was hired on a Wednesday and started Monday? I’ve been working there for years.”
“She had under five days to prepare and Vance is that impressed?”
I ran my hands over my face and looked at the ceiling. “Ay, dios mío. Give me strength to deal with the women in my life.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. What’s the matter?”
“The same thing that’s always the matter.” Something I would never admit to Georgina after the way I’d peacocked over my experience with women. “One minute, I think I understand your gender perfectly, and then? I realize I don’t know women at all.”