Always Home Ch. 03

The duality started making its presence felt again, inside my head, as we got dressed in Elsa's bedroom. On the one hand, we'd pretty much seen everything the other had to offer already, so watching Elsa as she pulled the slip over her head, leaving her wearing nothing but a brief pair of panties, was nothing new. But on the other hand, it was new. This intimacy between us: changing together; laughing and touching each other over lunch; almost seeking excuses to brush up against each other, to catch a meaningful glance. These were things that Elsie and Gerald, brother and sister, would never have done.

Barriers were coming down. We'd suddenly jumped to the sexual phase of the relationship, with no substantial period of courtship or lowering of barriers. And yes, it felt completely natural to be there. There was nothing wrong about it, not to my heart. And yet—

And yet, if those barriers had been abruptly lowered -- if we'd taken that step to the point where personal space was ours, shared between us rather than coveted individually -- then how easily could we forget to pretend in front of Marnie? How might the act suddenly crumble?

"Hurry up, Ger," Elsa teased, noting my distraction. She'd fastened her bra and was pulling on her blouse. "Sheesh, and they say women take a long time getting dressed."

I shook my head and nodded, pulling off my t-shirt and grabbing a fresh shirt from the suitcase in the corner. Our moving in still wasn't entirely completed. I'd been a little distracted recently.

"Elsie?"

"Yep?"

"What did you tell Marn about us? The last two nights, I mean. You know... the bed?"

"Oh." She was sitting at the dresser now, peering into her small mirror and adding blush to her cheeks. "I told her that we'd decided the couch was cruel and unusual punishment, so you and I agreed to share the bed for a few nights, till we thought of something better. And as long as we didn't have to look at each other."

I grinned, despite myself. "And who'd want to look at you anyway, Elsie, hmm?"

Tilting the mirror in my direction, she quirked an eyebrow at me. "Nobody with any sense, that's for sure. Eyeshadow, eyeshadow..." She started rooting around in the cosmetic bags strewn across the dresser.

"You don't need it, you know," I said, as I pulled on my jeans. "We're not going to a formal function or anything. Just out shopping."

"Then you don't know me very well," she said, with that distracted tone she always got when applying makeup. Her neck was craned backwards slightly, one eyelid firmly closed as she fluttered the eyeshadow brush over it. "I can't go out undressed, Ger. A lady knows better."

A lady doesn't do half the things you've done just this morning, I thought, amused, but thought better of actually saying it. "I'm sure you do," was all I said, lacing up my sneakers. "Right, I'm done. You almost finished?"

"Just about," she said, tucking the eyeshadow away and pulling out her lipstick. She put it on with practised efficiency, popped the lid back on and palmed it, all the while eyeing herself critically.

"Beautiful," I said, quietly.

She beamed at me in the mirror. "Thanks, Ger."

"I mean it."

"I know you do." She got up and dabbed a bit of perfume on her throat and wrists, then lifted her head, ready to go. "Shall we?"

* * *

Something felt wrong as soon as we left the house. Newly moved in or not, we belonged there; it was our domain. Whatever we did in there was our concern and nobody else's, completely private. But out on the street, I suddenly felt as if a thousand eyes were watching me.

It creeped me out completely.

I scuttled after Elsa, careful not to touch her or to get too close to her. I doubted if anyone were even home at this time of day -- this wasn't exactly 'wife and two point one kids' territory -- but all the same, the empty windows felt like they were gaping at us.

Elsa, on the other hand, seemed entirely composed, with that mildly professional air of hers that seemed to linger about her as faintly and as pervasively as her perfume. She was suddenly Elsa, my sister, again. The façade had come back up.

Neat trick. I'd have to get her to teach it to me.

For the moment, though, I hustled myself around to the passenger side door, almost jumping back and forth from one foot to the other in my nervousness as she unlocked her door and slipped behind the wheel. Gracefully, she reached across and unlocked the door for me, and I hopped into my seat.

"I thought we'd go shopping for a futon," she said breezily, pulling her door closed and sliding the key into the ignition. The engine coughed to life, and the car stereo came on, playing something boppy by some 60s girl band; I wasn't entirely sure who. Elsa had a whole glovebox filled with cheerful cheesy mixed tapes. It was one of the things that generally made driving with her so tacky.

"I saw a futon shop nearby when I was coming back from Marnie's school yesterday," she continued, looking back over her shoulder as she backed us out of the driveway. "And yes, I know it's probably not the most economical solution, but I don't like the idea of you sleeping on some el cheapo camp bed or foam mattress, not when there's a better way to do it. I got the idea from that Japanese interiors book Christian lent me -- you know, space's at such a premium in Japan that they don't have room to waste on beds sitting around all day, so that's why they have futons. You can fold them up and tuck them away."

"Isn't a bed a bit... beyond our means, at the moment?" I asked, feeling slightly better now that we were moving, away from those staring windows. "And besides, where would it fit?"

"You're not listening," she said, half-annoyed, as she flicked her indicator on and switched lanes rather too abruptly for my liking. But that was Elsie all over, yet again. Not the most patient driver in the world. "They're just basic wooden frames; you can fold them up and put them away easily. But I figured we'd just get the mattress, if possible... A single one shouldn't be too big, they're fairly comfortable, and we can slide it under the bed during the day. We've still got the bed sheets from your old room; that should do for now. And I figured we could..."

Gradually, I tuned out her words, just looking at her sitting next to me, her hair blowing in the breeze from the half-opened window, her eyes barely visible behind the smoky lenses of her sunglasses, her arms out in front of her, casually braced on the wheel. She was my sister Elsa again, someone completely different from the person I'd been so in love with. It was almost as if the past two days hadn't happened... as if walking out the door had started time moving again, freeing me from some kind of strange delusion.

I looked at her, confused and dismayed, as she drove and gestured and kept talking. Hoping to see some sign that... that the Elsa I loved was still in there somewhere. But I couldn't see. I couldn't see.

* * *

I'd never felt as conscious of my personal space before as I did when Elsa and I walked into the futon shop. Even the walk there from the parking lot had been strange, the sense of alienation that had started in the car simply persisting and intensifying, if anything. Since the night before last, I'd been closer to my sister than I'd ever been before -- closer than I'd ever been to anyone, to be honest. Sleeping with her head on my shoulder; making love to her on the living room floor; showering with her this morning; cuddling with her in the bed afterwards. Constant, almost continual, contact.

And now, suddenly, we were back at arms' length. It wasn't as if I wanted to hold her hand or anything -- that would have just been weird -- but I would've imagined it would seem natural to put my arm around her waist as we walked, or to stand closer next to her. Or something. Wasn't that what intimacy meant?

And yet, there we were, walking along side by side, not touching, not even really looking at each other. Any further apart and a passerby might have thought we weren't even together. It was our custom, it was true; on the rare occasions when we'd gone anywhere together in the past, we'd done the typical sibling thing and kept pretty much as far apart as politely possible.

But—

I was barely paying attention as Elsa chatted with the shop assistant. Yes, we were interested in making a purchase. No, we didn't want a frame, just a mattress. No, really, we just needed a mattress, something we could hide away during the day. Yes, the extra warm wool mattress did sound worth the extra cost. No, on credit, thank you.

Elsa was so pleasantly efficient, never letting the saleswoman sway her from what she'd come to buy. It didn't matter how pretty the bed frames were, or how high quality the timber was. No, she didn't need extra bed linen, though she would take the two free pillows. And yes, she'd make sure to air the mattress every few months.

There was only a brief moment of hesitation on Elsa's part as she took out her purse and handed over her Visa card. Even if it was just a mattress, with none of the accompanying accoutrements, it was still an expense she hadn't really budgeted for.

Sliding up next to her at the counter as the saleswoman processed the transaction, I slipped my hand into Elsa's and squeezed it, gently. And though she didn't look at me, I saw the worry lines on her face ease a little. Gently, ever so gently, she squeezed back.

Somehow, insignificant as it was, that was enough.

* * *

After much prodding and poking, we'd managed to get the mattress into the back seat of Elsa's car. It was a bit dicey driving to the supermarket with the mattress blocking out the rear view mirror, but we made it there more or less in one piece.

Elsa had a shopping list all written out, and we wandered through the unfamiliar aisles, trying to accustom ourselves to the store's layout. It seemed that no two stores were the same, Elsa said, with a sigh. Baby food next to stationery next to laundry detergents next to cosmetics.

I paused as Elsa swept down the toiletries aisle, swinging her basket almost gaily.

"Ger?" she asked a moment later, realising I wasn't following her. "There's nothing here on the list. Let's just... oh."

She paused, biting her lip, as I picked up a pack of condoms. Her cheeks flushed, just slightly.

"It's important, Elsie," I said, as she slowly drifted back towards me. She raised her eyes to mine, warm and soft even in the bland fluorescent light of the supermarket.

"I was... I've made a doctor's appointment. I'm going to go on the pill," she said, softly. "So you... If you don't want to wear one..."

"That's stupid," I said. Perhaps a bit more harshly than I'd intended. She flinched back, pulling her arms up to her chest, looking like a deer trapped in an oncoming car's headlights. I paused, searching for the words to reason with her. "Look, Elsie," I went on, more gently, "birth control is both our responsibility. It's not right that you should be the only one that has to worry about it. And besides, nothing's a hundred percent reliable anyway. It just makes sense to use them."

"If... if you say so," she whispered, not looking me in the eye. I reached out and took her hands, drawing them towards me. I wanted to do more -- wanted to hug her tight -- but holding hands was as far as I could let myself go, there, in the supermarket.

"I love you," I said, almost under my breath, as I moved closer to her. And it was still painful. Still almost impossible to do. "I don't want to hurt you. I don't want what we have to... to cause you grief. I mean, already, we've—"

"I don't care!" she blurted, through gritted teeth. "You think I... You think that matters to me more than the fact that I... how much I..." She choked, bowing her head.

I wanted to hold her. Oh God, how I needed to hold her.

But I couldn't. Not there, not where there were people to see. Not out in the real world, where we were nothing but brother and sister.

And so I just stood there, holding her hands, watching her heart breaking. And unable to do anything in the world to help her.

* * *

"Uh, Elsie? Is it meant to be smoking like that?"

"Don't rush me, don't rush me," Elsa said, sounding more than a little harried as she hauled a steaming saucepan over to the sink and let it fall, nursing her fingers where she'd burned herself on the stainless steel handles. "Ger, there's a potato masher in one of the drawers over there, somewhere; can you find it? Marn, did you set the table?"

"Ten minutes ago," Marnie said, shooting me an amused look as Elsa flounced back to the stove, opening the grill and squealing in dismay at the thick black smoke that started streaming out. "Mmm, today's menu is crunchy lamb surprise, now with added charcoal!"

"Don't start with me," Elsa shot back, an uncharacteristic note of strain in her voice. She pulled the grill tray out and moaned at the sight of the blackened lamb chops. "Did I leave them too long? The sticker said seven to nine minutes..."

"Was that seven to nine minutes per side, or seven to nine minutes per IQ point of the person cooki—"

"That's enough!" I snapped, glaring at her. "Lay off her, Marn; she's doing her best!"

Marnie just gave me a quizzical look over the top of her legal studies text, as if to say What the hell are you defending her for, Ger? "Sure," she said, shrugging. "Sheesh, what's got up your bonnets today, guys?"

"It's just... just the need to adjust," I said, reluctantly. Elsa was dismally prodding the chops with a fork, trying to assess the magnitude of the disaster. "Things still aren't as settled as we'd like."

"Ah well," Marnie offered, "it's the weekend now. Plenty of time to get things sorted out. I can help too, you know."

"Thanks, Marn." I'd found the potato masher in one of the drawers; holding it out in front of me like a ceremonial taper, I stepped solemnly up to Elsa. "Her Grace requested a potato masher?"

"I... I don't know," she whispered, hanging her head. "I don't think these are going to be edible, I'm sorry. And we can't just eat mashed potatoes for dinner... Maybe we should call for a pizza or something. I'm so sorry."

"Well, look, Elsie," I said, putting the masher in her limp hand and bumping her aside. "The chops are only burned on one side. Some of it should still be okay. We still have the bacon we bought today. Even Marn knows how to cook that. So why don't you just come wash your face... Come on, Elsie... and Marn will cut up the bacon -- it's on the second shelf in the fridge, Marn -- then you can sit down and have a rest while Marn and I get the potatoes done. Okay?"

"I... I'm sorry," she repeated, helplessly. But she let me take her hands and draw her out of the kitchen, through the living room and into the bathroom. I nudged the door almost closed behind us, then reached out and lifted her chin.

"Elsie? Elsie, look at me."

"It's a disaster," she mumbled, her hands still in mine, her eyes firmly fixed on my chest. "I didn't think it would be so hard. I mean, I thought I knew how to cook..."

"One step at a time," I said, squeezing her hands. "Baby steps first. You might not have got it right this time, but you'll fuck it up less dramatically next time. And less, and less, until you'll come up with something that even Marnie will eat without complaining. Though God knows she doesn't get enough carbon in her diet..."

She choked on a laugh, unwillingly. "I did screw it up pretty royally, didn't I?"

"You're learning," I said, catching her eye as she sneaked a glance at me, a rueful smile on her smudged face. She held up her fingers, burned in places and covered in band-aids where she'd managed to peel her fingers instead of the potatoes.

"But why do I always have to do it the hard way?" she asked, wistfully.

"You get it right eventually, darling." I leaned forward and kissed her nose. "Now come on, wash your face. When you come back out, you can play head chef and order us two minions around."

"I think I like the sound of that," she said lightly, her tone a little more cheerful now. Light glinted in her deep brown eyes. I wanted to kiss her, but instead I just reached out and gently touched her shoulder.

"Don't be tardy," I admonished. "Us kitchen minions can get into all kinds of trouble without the head chef around."

She just looked at me with a kind of wonder in her eyes, an abstracted smile on her face, as I turned around and left the bathroom.

* * *

As it turned out, Elsa's kitchen minions were perfectly capable of getting into trouble even with the head chef around. The mashed potatoes a la Gerald et Marnie turned out more like someone's nightmare of potato soup: watery, bland and filled with irregular lumps of potato that hadn't mashed properly. Trying to extract anything edible from the charcoaled lamb chops was an operation akin to separating Siamese twins. And though Marnie had managed to fry the bacon without any major disasters taking place, she'd cooked it to Marnie-approved texture -- crunchy. Elsa and I both liked our bacon soft and still pink.

So it was a bit of a mess all round. Marnie mercifully kept her mouth shut while Elsa autopsied the meal with the clinical detachment of one of her crime novel protagonists. Maybe she should have turned the heat down after the initial pre-heating of the grill. Maybe she should have followed the advice of the little sticker on the grill door (only discovered after the incident), which advised that the grill door should be left open during the cooking process.

Next time, she'd stir the potatoes regularly, and add plenty of salt during the cooking. Next time, she'd do the potatoes ahead of time so she wouldn't be so distracted from the chops. Next time...

Marnie volunteered to wash up while Elsa and I crashed in front of the TV. It was nice, sitting there in a living room no longer filled with boxes, with a couple of lamps providing warm indirect light. It was especially nice knowing that I wouldn't have to sleep on this lumpy couch ever again.

Elsa and I couldn't snuggle as we might have wanted to, but at least we got to sit next to each other. Home improvement shows bored Marnie to tears, so she vanished into her room, where she'd somehow managed to lay claim to my PC. I guessed it was a small price to pay, all things considered.

The hour went by and found us sitting closer together, though still far enough apart not to be overly suspicious if Marnie suddenly made an appearance. There was some kissing, and some desultory conversation, but mostly Elsie and I were just happy to be there, next to each other.

I sat through a tiresome British whodunit starring some crusty old police inspector and the usual array of middle-class British suspects -- the kind of thing that Elsa really enjoyed. We dared to cuddle a bit, on the pretext that the couch was too small for both of us to sprawl on it without touching. Elsa got changed for bed during one of the commercials, and I suddenly had a warm, pink-clad sister to hold. She sipped coffee and commented on this character and that, pointing out what she thought the red herrings were, and who was likely to be guilty.

And it turned out she was right about just about everything.

After the movie was over, she enlisted my help to unfurl the futon mattress, which we'd carried in earlier, and make my bed. The room, already scarcely huge by anyone's standards, seemed even smaller with the single mattress taking up a large chunk of the floor space. The mattress looked comfy, though -- better than the couch by miles -- even with its rather garish sheets featuring bright red bicycles and orange surfboards. It was an old set that I'd had for years. It was almost disconcerting to see it there when it'd been such a feature of my old bedroom as well. But, at the same time, it was welcome in its familiarity.