“Leave your sister alone,” Brooke said automatically, as though someone had pushed a button, and then, “What thefuck?”
That one was for Anne, clearly.
“Mom said a bad word!” Maverick cried out, obviously delighted. “Do it again!”
“You’re a lesbian all of a sudden?” Stunned bewilderment streaked through Brooke’s question. “And you decided this when? Between our lunchyesterdayand right now?”
Even through Anne’s deep fatigue, irritation managed to bristle. “I don’t have to defend myself to my own daughter.”
“And this is what’s been going on? Wait. Hal knew before me? Does Claire already know?” Her voice rose. “Am I the last one you’ve told? Why am I always the last one?”
“Brooke, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! You can’t just spring something like this on me without—”
“Tomorrow,” Anne said, doing her best to stay calm. “You can call me back, and we’ll talk about this like adults. Good night.”
“But—”
Anne ended the call, and as her phone screen went dark, she swallowed a hard lump of resentment. How dare Brooke imply that this was too fast—or even worse, that Anne’s realization might not be true? Brooke had no idea what it was like to learn that you’d been hiding from yourself for six decades. She was a thirty-one-year-old straight woman. She had no goddamn right to judge.
Her phone vibrated again. But this time, it was Sadie.
She’d sent Anne an emoji, the face with its eyes closed and severalZZZs on its forehead to indicate sleeping.I’m going to sleep, Sadie meant, or,You should get some sleep,orI bet you’re as tired as I am, or just,I’m exhausted.
But did the exact translation matter? Maybe not. Maybe the only thing that mattered was that they’d reached the end of an excruciatingly long day—one where they’d torn at themselves, at each other, done it enough for other people to see—and Sadie still couldn’t let the day end before reaching out to Anne one last time.
Me too, Anne texted back, and the anger in her throat softened and dissolved.
* * *
1. Talk to Brooke without yelling at her.
Everything worth doing in life required a list. If Anne was going to do this, she’d do it right.
She sat at the dining room table, a notebook in front of her and a pen in hand. The steam from her coffee curled in the bright morning light, and a small bowl of half-eaten Greek yogurt with raspberries sat next to the coffee cup.
Her gaze flickered to the flight-tracking app open on her phone. Sadie was currently thirty-five thousand feet over Colorado.
2. Tell Claire.
Her pen paused above the paper. That one didn’t need any elaboration. At least Claire hadn’t pushed yesterday, unlike her sister, leaving only the one voicemail. Anne hadn’t called her back yet, lacking energy for the conversation they’d need to have.
How would Claire react to Anne’s news? Would she think it was out of nowhere, like Brooke? Would she make light of it, or sneer?
3. Call Margaret, et al.
Anne had never been close to her older sister as kids, and the distance had only grown over a lifetime of living in different cities, but Margaret should be informed. She was all Anne had left of her original family.
Thank God she didn’t have to tell her parents. A sharp pain pressed inside Anne’s stomach at the thought. Neither had been what you’d call tolerant, but Lillian Harris in particular had vociferously shared her considerable distaste for homosexuals, and Anne could remember every single instance with perfect clarity. Her mother would’ve been utterly repulsed if she’dlearned Anne—the daughter whose perfect femininity she’d prized—was one ofthosepeople.
Margaret would be more understanding. She’d always preferred wearing jeans.
Then there was Genevieve, Anne’s friend and fellow Conserve Malibu board member. They didn’t have a history of sharing intimacies, but Genevieve would no doubt hear the news eventually, and Anne didn’t want it to come from some gossip with more high heels than brain cells. No, she’d have to call Gen, too.
4. Take a break from drinking (?)
Just writing the words made Anne uncomfortable. She didn’t know what qualified as an official problem when it came to alcohol, but it didn’t feel like a great sign when your first reaction to intense stress was an immediate, deep, and unbearable ache for a drink.