Forever Never
: Chapter 37

They spent the better part of a week having sex, showering off the sex they’d had, and then having shower sex.

Remi was in twin, perpetual states of full-body soreness and bliss.

They’d spent every night together and most of their waking moments as well. When Brick was working, she was painting.

With Spencer gone, they’d explored kitchen counter sex, bent over the dining room table sex, and lots and lots of oral sex in front of the fireplace. Brick’s tongue was just as talented as the rest of his spectacular body.

Since they’d been naked for almost an entire week, they hadn’t made any public appearances together. Remi hadn’t seen her parents, which meant she also hadn’t discussed the Brick or Warren situations with her mother. A plus in her mind.

But Kimber also hadn’t called or texted. And since everyone on the damn island knew she and Brick had finally knocked boots, there were only two conclusions Remi could draw. Her sister was either still really pissed at her or she was embarrassed.

While it was a pleasant respite chock full o’ orgasms, she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding her family. Not on an island this small. And if she and Kimber were going to repair what was left of the bridge to their sisterhood, it was going to have to be Remi’s doing.

With Brick working the lunch shift at the Tiki Tavern, Remi decided it was time to pay her sister another visit. Preferably on neutral ground.

Fortunately, thanks to Mackinac Visits online calendar, she knew exactly where Kimber would be.

Remi straightened her shoulders, pasted a bright smile on her face, and tried not to look like a woman who had spent most of the previous night being ravaged.

The door opened, and one brown eye peered out. “What’re you selling?” a wheezy voice demanded.

“Makeup, food storage, and sex toys,” Remi said, holding up the plate of fresh chocolate chip cheesecake bites.

The man harrumphed and threw open the door. Lars Hyne was only two inches taller than Remi. He’d lost an eye in a boating accident twenty years ago and had relished the pirate appeal the eye patch gave him.

“Lars, when are you gonna stop torturing our visitors?” A lithe Alaskan woman with an edgy pixie cut and purple highlights crossed her arms over her chest behind him.

“Hi, Kirima,” Remi called back.

“Come on in,” Lars beckoned, snatching the plate of goodies out of her grasp.

The Hyne home was an eclectic timeline of their life together. World travelers in the spring and summer, the Hynes perversely called Mackinac home all winter long. The living room’s large jade floor tiles were covered here and there with thick woven rugs that somehow both clashed and matched. The walls were painted a deep shade of peacock blue. Treasures from their travels crowded shelves, crammed in between books, photos, and plants.

The eat-in kitchen was just as colorful and chaotic. The cabinets were white, but they’d gone with a fiery orange and yellow backsplash of hand-painted tiles from Mexico.

At the turquoise and glass dining table was Kimber, a steaming mug of tea and a half-finished puzzle in front of her.

“You’re officially allowed to join us if you’re sharing that cheesecake,” Kirima said.

“I just so happened to make extra,” Remi said as Lars ripped the plastic wrap off the top.

Kimber was avoiding her gaze. Which was fine. Remi would wear her down. It was what she did.

“I saw my sister was visiting and thought I’d pop in and say hello. I haven’t seen you two in a couple of winters,” Remi said, accepting the teacup Kiri pushed on her.

“What goes with cheesecake?” Lars grumbled as he perused their wine rack.

“Anything that involves a cork,” Remi predicted.

“Kimber, any objections to starting happy hour early?” Kiri asked as she dug out the wine glasses.

“No objections here,” she answered, slipping a puzzle piece in place and still avoiding Remi’s gaze.

Being in good health, the Hynes weren’t on the original welfare checklist, but they’d liked the idea of a little extra company during the long winter and had signed up to be both visitors and visited.

Lars opened a bottle of red and poured, the cheery tinkle of wine glasses filling the room.

“Kimber was just telling us about Ian’s idea for a phone app for playdates,” Kiri said, catching Remi up to speed.

“And I just introduced Hadley to the Sweet Valley Twins series,” Kimber said. “She read the first ten in a weekend.”

“I can’t believe how fast they’re growing up,” Remi admitted. “It seems like just yesterday they were crawling around in your living room, and Kyle was using his law books as blockades.”

Kimber finally looked her in the eye. “That was both another lifetime ago and also yesterday.”

“I remember when you girls were a few centuries younger,” Kiri began. “Do you remember the trouble you two got into when you caught Remi cutting her hair before kindergarten picture day and you cut yours to match?”

Remi winced. “I forgot all about that,” she confessed.

“Mom was not happy,” Kimber reminisced with a faint smile.

“Speaking of, I heard you two are still in trouble,” Lars teased.

“It’s time the world faced it. The Ford sisters are never going to be good at coloring in the lines,” Remi said, raising her glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” Lars chuckled.

“And how’s that husband of yours?” Kiri asked. “Seems like he’s off-island more than he is on this winter.”

Kimber toyed with the stem of her glass. “He’s fine. Busy with work. He caught a few cases that required a lot of extra time. But he’s enjoying it.”

There was a flat, resigned quality to her tone that had Remi’s sisterly radar activating.

Kiri rested her elbows on the table and picked up a puzzle piece. “Remi, how about you? What brought you back to town?”

“Think Brick will put a ring on it?” Lars asked, pulling up a chair.

She choked on a mouthful of a full-bodied merlot. Coughing and sputtering, she reached for a cheesecake bite to wash it down.

“I was missing my family,” she said, stuffing a bite of cheesecake into her mouth. “Thought I’d take a few weeks of vacation and have a nice long visit.”

“And put a smile on Brick’s face,” Kiri said, fitting the piece into place.

Heat flooded Remi’s cheeks. “We’re just enjoying spending time together. There will be no putting rings on anything.”

Any day now, he was going to come to his senses and turn her loose again into the world, ruined forever by his invincible penis.

“I see a few new replaces in here,” Remi noted, changing the subject. “Where did you get that basket?”

They ate and drank and chatted for another half an hour. And when Kimber said she needed to head home to get the kids from school, Remi volunteered to go with her.

“You look relaxed,” Kimber observed as they walked, avoiding patches of ice and piles of still pristine snow.

“Me?” Remi asked innocently. “I must have gotten a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s not the face of someone who slept well,” Kimber said dryly. “That’s the face of someone who had a half dozen orgasms in rapid succession.”

“Let’s talk about something other than my face and orgasms,” Remi insisted.

Her sister let out a sigh, watching the cloud of breath appear and then vanish in the cold. “I’m sorry for going PMS 5000 on you. I was spiraling, and it really had nothing to do with you.”

“I’m sorry for blowing back up at you.”

“You held out admirably. Which only served to push me over the edge,” Kimber admitted.

“You were overdue. I mean, what normal human doesn’t lose her shit every once in a while?”

This time, in a vast improvement over the last visit, her sister invited Remi inside. The family’s moderately overweight beagle thumped his tail from his blanket on the couch. Princess Megatron joined the Olson family after Kyle cracked under the pressure of endless pleading from the kids. He surprised a very unhappy Kimber with the puppy. The kids were given naming rights in return for promising to be entirely responsible for the dog’s care.

That lasted all of about thirty minutes. Mega, as he was now known, quickly discovered who was in charge of food in the house and attached himself to Kimber.

“You painted,” Remi said, unwinding the scarf from her neck as she appreciated the soft umber on the walls. Visitors would never guess that two active kids with a vast array of toys, hobbies, and books lived under the tidy roof.

“And redid the floors,” Kimber said without enthusiasm. “And finally sanded down the paint on the molding around the transoms. And painted the god-awful beige brick on the fireplace.”

“It looks like one of those houses on HGTV.”

It did. It was clean but cozy. Colorful but calm. Her sister had a real eye.

“No, it doesn’t,” Kimber said, shucking her winter gear and stowing it on the neat hooks above the driftwood bench.

“I’m serious,” Remi told her.

“Thanks. No one’s really paid attention to any of the changes. I don’t even know why I keep making them.”

“I know you’re into the parenting thing and all, but have you ever considered working part-time as a designer? I mean, think of all the summer rentals that are in desperate need of an overhaul. Wicker couches and pleather futons have lost their charm.”

Kimber let out a strangled laugh. “Have I thought of…” She stopped herself and shook her head.

“What?” Remi asked.

“I’ve thought of nothing but doing something. Anything.”

Treading lightly, Remi followed her sister into the tiny mudroom at the back of the house. On the wall, mounted between tidy cubbies and the laundry, was a giant whiteboard calendar. Colored sticky notes, patterned tape, and hand-lettered notes lay the groundwork for the family’s entire existence.

Kyle trial in Detroit Michigan.

Hadley recital and sleepover.

Ian book club.

Turkey burgers and salad.

Video chat with dog trainer.

Laundry day.

Groceries.

It was hypnotic in its precise structure.

“What the hell is this?” Remi asked in awe.

“That is my life,” Kimber said, crossing her arms. “Well, my family’s life. I don’t seem to have one of my own.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

“I was going to go with terrifying. Where’s your stuff?”

“My stuff?” Kimber’s laugh was humorless. “I don’t have stuff. My stuff is making sure everyone else has their stuff. Kyle is never home. And I love my kids. You know I do. But kids are so fucking hard, Rem. Hadley is just tiptoeing into puberty, and I don’t know if either one of us will survive it. I didn’t sign up to be a single parent. Some days I just want to erase everything and see what happens.”

“You have really great handwriting,” Remi noted.

“Just what I wanted to be known for. ‘Age thirty-four, mother of two. Had nice handwriting.’”

“Okay, that sounds like the world’s worst obituary. Let’s drink some alcohol and talk.”

“You don’t want to hear your middle-aged sister complain about getting the life she always thought she wanted,” Kimber said, her gaze on the mason jar filled with a rainbow of dry erase markers.

“I want to talk to my sister about her life. I’m not here to judge you.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing to you.”

“Uh, yeah. Caught that,” Remi said. She stepped back into the kitchen and rummaged through cabinets until she found a bottle of vodka tucked behind two boxes of whole-grain organic pasta.

“Straight or what?” she asked, wiggling the bottle.

“Get the glasses,” Kimber said, pointing at a cabinet. Remi skipped the tasteful rocks glasses and found two tumblers with cartoons and big, bendy straws.

Kimber snorted when she saw them.

“These hold more,” Remi insisted.

Kimber mixed drinks and gave Mega his afternoon treat while Remi sat on the counter and listened.

“I remember thinking how much I liked Kyle’s ambition when we were in college,” her sister said.

“And now?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think I realized that his ambition would only extend to his job. Not his family or his home or his wife. I thought that I wanted to stay home and raise our kids. And for a while I did. But somewhere along the way it started to feel like not enough. Kyle got more important in his job, and that meant more money for us, but also more travel for him. He stopped being around. He goes days without talking to his kids. There are days when we only exchange one or two text messages.”

She blew out a breath and shook the ice cubes in her cup. “It’s like the more important Kyle got at work, the less important I got in my life.”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Remi said.

“Excuse me. This is my existential crisis. Not yours.”

“I’m just saying, what’s more important—other people recognizing that you are more than just a label or a role or you recognizing it?” Remi asked, then blinked. She swore softly under her breath.

“What?” Kimber asked.

“Ever give great advice to someone else that you should be taking yourself?”

“I haven’t eaten a salad in six weeks but I made Hadley and Ian try four different Brussels sprouts recipes last week. What do you think?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Kimber raised her cup in the air in a mock toast, and Remi did the same.

“I don’t even know if he’s happy,” Kimber said.

“Are you happy?”

“I’m fucking miserable. Haven’t you been listening to me yell at you?” There was no heat to her sister’s words. “I mean, I basically tried to pin years of dissatisfaction with my own life on you because you were handy and Kyle made time to be concerned about you.”

“What would make you happy besides selling your children to the circus and dumping Kyle’s body in the lake?” Remi asked.

“I haven’t really thought much past Ian on a trapeze and Hadley barking for the bearded lady.”

Remi felt the glimmer of recognition. A glimpse of the smart, snarky big sister she’d idolized. “Who could blame you? So what have you tried?”

“Tried?” Kimber asked, pausing to make a slurping noise at the bottom of her drink.

“With Kyle, with the kids. You want something more than home improvement projects and that creepy whiteboard. What have you talked to them about?”

“Well, nothing really. I mean, I yell at Kyle for skipping out on yet another family event. And then I yell at my kids for making demands like doing their laundry faster so Ian can have his lucky underwear for his math test. Or Hadley forgetting to tell me she signed up for the junior high bake sale and needs four dozen cupcakes tomorrow.”

“Mm-hmm. So yelling,” Remi said, hopping down off the counter and strolling into the laundry room. She picked up the hot pink eraser from the chalk tray.

“How long does it take you to update this every week?” she asked.

“About an hour and a half. But that’s after I’ve worked out the meal plan, made the grocery list, and reviewed Kyle and the kids’ schedules,” Kimber said.

“Hmm. Interesting.” Casually, Remi lifted the eraser and swiped it right through the column labeled Monday, erasing the day from existence.

Kimber’s eyes went wide. “You erased my Monday.”

“Yelling,” Remi repeated, and wrote it on the board in red. “Did it work?”

Kimber shook her head, still staring at the damage to her weekly schedule. Then she went back into the kitchen, and Remi heard the telltale sound of vodka pouring into a sippy cup.

“What else?” Remi called.

“Guilt trips,” Kimber said, reappearing. “The back of the hand to the forehead kind of martyrdom as I carry another laundry basket up the stairs like a peasant woman in pioneer days.”

“Guilt trips,” Remi wrote. “Good. Any results?”

“Yeah. They all got even better at ignoring my under the breath mutterings,” Kimber said.

“If these are the only two approaches you’ve tried, I think there’s a lot of fresh options. For instance, have you considered kicking Kyle in the balls instead of doing his laundry?”

Kimber laughed, choking on vodka and tonic. She hiccuped. “I’m saving that for a last resort.”

“Now, feel free to ignore me because I don’t have children and a house to run. But I’m seeing a whole lot of doing things for other people and nothing like ‘take bath with waterproof vibrator and romance novel’ on your list.”

“You aren’t actually selling sex toys are you?” Kimber asked.

“Ha. Ha. We’re talking about you right now. It looks to me like you’re filling your hours with responsibilities and tasks for other people. What’s the worst that could happen if, instead of making turkey burgers on Wednesday, you just told the kids to make whatever they want.”

“They would eat ice cream for dinner, make a huge mess in the kitchen, and I’d be forced to spend two hours cleaning chocolate syrup off the dog,” Kimber said.

“So it’s easier if you do it all yourself?” Remi pressed.

“Well, yeah. No one else is going to do it the way I want it done. So it’s just easier for me to be the one to do it.”

“In theory,” Remi said, wielding the marker, “if your goal was to raise children incapable of making themselves a peanut butter and jelly or doing their own laundry, you would be correct.”

Kimber pursed her lips. “Shit.” She took another slurp from the straw. “You are making a point that I’m not sure I’m mentally ready to accept. I may need to linger longer in the martyr zone.”

“Understandable and valid,” Remi said, handing her sister the eraser.

Kimber hopped up on top of the washer and took another long pull on her straw. “I’m really sorry for being a raging asshole to you the other night. I hate people who take their existential misery out on others, and that’s exactly what I did to you.”

“Apology accepted,” Remi said, stretching out on the spotless bench perched above a neat row of snow boots.

“You shouldn’t accept apologies so easily. That just gives assholes like me the opening to be assholes again.”

“You’re not a real asshole. At least not a permanent one.”

On a sigh, Kimber dropped her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I just never had the path like you did, you know?”

“What path?”

Her sister gestured with her Dora the Explorer sippy cup. “You know. Painting. You were destined for it. The only thing I knew for sure is that I wanted to have a family.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have a family, weirdo,” Remi pointed out.

“Of course not. But what’s it say about me that I got what I wanted and I can’t stop complaining about it? We tried for a year and a half to get pregnant with Hadley. My entire life was ovulation charts and sperm counts and researching whether microwaving leftovers could destroy my eggs.”

“Just because you wanted something and you worked really fucking hard to get it doesn’t mean you don’t get to acknowledge what a horrific pain in the ass it can be,” Remi pointed out.

Kimber’s eyebrows rose. “Jeez, Rem. When the hell did you get all wise?”

“Recent experience,” Remi said, rattling the ice in her cup. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting more. There’s also nothing wrong with demanding help so you can pursue things you want to do. Is it more important that all of Ian’s snow pants are dry on Friday or that he knows how to shoulder his share of the work in a home and a relationship?”

Her sister was silent.

“And what’s a better example for Hadley? Seeing her mom sacrifice everything, including her already questionable mental stability—”

“Hey!” Kimber threw a box of dryer sheets at her.

“—for her children?” Remi continued. “Or seeing a woman who knows how to take care of herself first as a whole, complete person with goals and interests and at least one goddamn slot on her own calendar?”

“You know, I’m the older sister,” Kimber said. “I should be the one advising you.”

“How many days do you have to catch up on the disaster I’m making of my life?”

“Well, apparently I have Mondays free now,” her sister quipped.

“In that case, I’ll come back Monday and tell you that I had a breakthrough year as an artist painting under another name. My bank account has actual commas. It was going great until I found out my best friend’s husband was abusing her, and when I tried to help her get out of the relationship, he nearly killed us both in a car accident. So I ran here to lick my wounds and ended up licking Brick’s spectacular body instead. Now I’m exhausted and sort of, maybe happy and very terrified and sore from having too many orgasms. My orgasm muscles are sore, Kimber. And there’s a distinct possibility that Brick legitimately ruined my lady parts for all other men. I’m seriously entertaining the idea of dating only women when he runs away from me again just so I don’t have to compare future sexual partners to the literal god of sex.”

Her sister stared at her with an open mouth for several long beats. She looked down at her cup. “I think I’m going to need another drink.”

They were on their third round of drinks and explanations when the front door burst open. “Mom! We’re home,” Hadley called.

“Mom!” Ian bellowed. “Did you remember Grandma and Grandpa’s anniversary? Grandpa said in school today it’s a big one and he thinks you and Aunt Remi forgot.”

Remi and Kimber shared a glance.

“Well, shit.”