Never Getting Back Together

FOUR

"Hello?" I edge the kitchen door of the main house open with my hip, holding the mangled cookie box in my hands.

Calling it the main house makes it sound fancier than it is—especially when Aunt Betty says it in her Downton Abbey accent. We just started referring to it that way when I moved into the pool house. Don't get me wrong. It's a lovely home, craftsman-style with a wrap-around porch and blue-shuttered windows. But Rosedale is a pretty stereotypical working-class suburb. Betty might be an M.D., but she makes a fraction of what most doctors do.

She specializes in a holistic approach and owns her own practice. She'll spend hours with one patient, helping them figure out whatever's ailing them. She only charges people what they can afford. She advocates for universal health care and always speaks out about how it should be free for everyone.

Preach, sister. Preach.

"In here," Liv calls from the front room.

I kick off my shoes, sparing a moment of silence for my ruined boots. Pushing the door shut with my hip, I pad across the cool tile floor. The kitchen is pristine, all stainless steel and shiny surfaces—not because Betty and Liv are amazing housekeepers but because no one ever cooks here. In contrast, the buttery-yellow walls of the hallway are cluttered with photographs.

"Hey, Mom," I whisper like I always do when I pass a picture of us with Olivia and Betty at the county fair. It was taken the summer before Mom died. Her arms are around me, and we're all smiling hugely. From our matching single dimples to our round eyes, everyone says I'm my mom's mini-me. I think she looked more like Betty, though. Betty's hair is a dark chestnut, and my mom was a golden blond. Other than that, they were identical.

Liv's sprawled out on the red leather sofa, fanning herself with a magazine when I walk into the living room. There's a collection of tabloids on the old oak coffee table. The television is turned off for once, and Betty's sitting cross-legged in front of the built-in bookcase that overflows with her collection of VHS tapes and old Babysitter's Club paperbacks. I don't know another person who still owns VHS tapes, but that's Betty.

She's studying one of the magazine's crinkly pages. She glances up at me as I walk in. A mischievous grin stretches across her face. "Excuse me, miss. But do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior, Zac Efron?" She flips the tabloid around with a flourish, revealing a full-page spread of the Zefron on a white, sandy beach.

"You know I only worship one man, my sweet Baby Hemsworth." I drop the cookies on the stack of magazines and flop back on my favorite squashy armchair. The fabric is worn from years of use.

"Amen." Liv swings her legs over the side of the couch, knocking a throw pillow to the floor as she sits up.

Betty gasps. "Blasphemous, children."

"Please tell me those are what I think they are." Liv points at the box of cookies. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail that manages to look both effortless and on-trend.

"If you think they're triple-chocolate-chunk cookies to bribe you for your forgiveness, then yes."

Liv squeals and lunges for the box.

"Wow, bribery cookies," Betty says. "What did you do?"

"Other than showing up late to Liv's party and pushing one of her guests in the pool, nothing." I shrug.

Betty nods, eyebrows raised in appreciation. "And the Academy Award goes to..."

"We're living with a regular Bette Davis over here." Liv shimmies the lid off the box and pauses. "Ummm, why are my apology cookies mutilated?"