SISTER

I climbed the two steps to the large wooden front door.

Two knocks was all I could manage before forcing my frozen fists to fit back into my coat pocket. A chill ran down my spine as I shivered, standing as close to the house as I could to shield myself from the piercing air that tried its hardest to plunge through my coat.

I had lost sensitivity in most of my toes from the walk over and knocking on the door had caused my entire hand to feel weak and brittle, as if my joints would shatter. The same way an icycle would if it, too, was slammed repeatedly into a wooden door.

Still, I knocked again.

Hour-feeling seconds passed and I didn’t know how much longer I realistically could’ve waited. My teeth clattered violently and I held my arms tight against my body, rocking back and forth. Heel to toe, heel to toe.

I lifted my hand once more and lightly banged the sycamore wood.

Cursing myself out in my head, I blamed my forgetfulness for bringing me out into the frosty weather.

It was my fault and always was. It was always my lunch box in whoever’s office, or my phone and keys on top or even right in front of the station locker, or my damn gloves on top of whatever machine I worked on last that day.

Now it was my tool bag in my Erin’s truck. I had work the next day while he was off for the next three. And I went in at five so I couldn’t wait till the morning to grab them.

Becoming impatient, I realized I was rocking myself fast. I was frustrated. Overstimulated by my own thoughts, I contemplated turning around and heading home. But that would have just made the entire trip unnecessary and risky and fucking stupid...

My self-depreciation stopped at the faintest thudding of heavy footsteps.

The beautiful stomps of a stout five-foot-six tank that seemed to shake the ground with every step.

The locks began to un-clunk and I tried not to cry happy tears out of fear they would freeze on my cheeks.

And the door finally opened, releasing its containment of heavenly warmth onto the only exposed part of my body: my face. A hint of pine filled my lungs and I exhaled a thank you as Erin emerged in his pajamas.

“Oh,” he said and took a step to the side. “I was upstairs.”

“You’re good.” I lied, wiped my feet, and welcomed myself in.

I accepted the heater at full force and let it fry the frost off my face.

I finally took a glance around. Each of the wooden items in Erin’s home had a way of standing out against the other furniture. I was immediately astonished by the choice of home décor. The walnut countertop, oak picture frames, and maple floor kept to a specific theme.

“Don’t tell me you made all of these,” I said in disbelief.

He shrugged humbly.

“That’s why you’re so damn good at work. You do this.”

The frost along my coat had started to die and slither down to my cuffs, dripping onto the floor.

Erin’s eyes trailed towards the puddle to subconsciously bring it to my attention.

“My bad, E.”

I took the large coat off and folded it outwards, scapula to scapula. I wouldn’t need it anyway. I just needed to get about fifteen minutes of the beautiful heat before I was ready to make my retreat.

I just had to stall–which would be pretty hard because of Erin’s naturally low social battery. Luckily, I have what my ex-girlfriend referred to as a “PhD in Yapology”.

“You’ve always been good with woodwork and building?” I asked, only partially curious.

He stuffed his bear-like hands into his pockets and looked at the wooden floor as if it was only his second time seeing it and he still wasn’t impressed.

“Oh, you know...” he said in a low voice as if he didn’t want to talk about it.

I had to fight the urge to just stare at him blankly.

“I mean, it’s cool,” I added, before he could have the chance to steer the conversation to a quick exit. “You gotta make me a couple of those picture frames for my mother’s birthday. It’s coming up soon and she really cherishes things created by hands.”

My mother honestly wouldn’t have even cared for wooden frames. And her birthday was in eight months.

“Yeah, I guess. Growing up, I used to live in an old wooden house,” he continued. “So I got a couple reminders.”

I waited for more. Another memory, another sentence, another word.

“A couple? I’ve never seen your old house but I feel like I’m in it. You’ve really given it such a perfect personal touch.”

The silence drew out the rolling of the bitter wind from outside. Erin’s head turned to the window.

“The temperature really drops at night now,” I said, begging him to consider the harsh walking conditions.

He still didn’t know why I had come over. I had texted him but he hadn’t opened the message yet. The half-assed attempt at hiding his confusion was wearing off.

“Yeah man, I got the heater on,” he replied ever-so-nonchalantly.

“Alright, I’ll keep it brief.”

“I forgot my tools. It was in the back of your trunk.”

He turned quickly and began walking deeper into the house, happy to get away from me and my lingering conversation. He disappeared into the garage and closed the door behind him.

I stood in the same spot, expecting a quick return from Erin. It would probably only expedite my farewell if Erin came back out and caught me even looking around innocently. So I waited. For one long minute, and an even longer second minute. But as I was about to give up and start being nosey, I heard footsteps that froze me in my spot.

But as they got closer, I began to realize that they didn’t come from the garage. But rather from the hall beside the garage.

I stood awkwardly–suspiciously, as if I was not supposed to be in the house.

A woman appeared at the edge of the hall, almost as if just appearing out of the darkness. She didn’t say anything, she just looked at me with an almost intrigued look in her eyes.

She was pretty. Wavy, dark hair down past her shoulders. Deep mahogany eyes.

“What are you? Like five-ten and a half?” she asked.

If she wasn’t flirting, she was being a bully.

“Six-one,” I corrected her modestly.

“Better. Come help me get something down.”

Then she walked to the kitchen and opened two separate cabinets. One holding liquor and the other holding glass cups, mugs, and wine glasses.

She stared hard at a bottle of Tito’s on the top shelf and stepped to the side to look at what vessel she wanted.

She turned and looked at me, making me realize I had been staring at her.

“I know you’re super tall and shit, but I don’t think you can reach my vodka from there,” she said then stepped to the side.

I approached the fine bully in the kitchen and walked around the wooden counter to the ivory cabinets. I grabbed the tan and orange labeled bottle and dropped it down as I waited for her to make her decision.

“You one of Erin’s friends?” I asked.

She turned to me and made a face.

“You and I both know that Erin doesn’t have any friends–none at least he would bring to his home.” she replied. “I’m guessing you’re one of his coworkers.”

“Yup. I’m guessing you’re not.”

“Sister.”

“I didn’t know–”

“He had a sister? No one does. But then again Erin doesn’t say much about anything to anyone, does he?”

“Has he always been like that?” I asked curiously.

She turned and looked at me, a bit of humor lingering in her irises.

“If you get two mugs,  I’ll let you pour us both drinks. And then we can talk.”

I turned my gaze to the garage door, anticipating Erin’s arrival.

“Don’t worry, he’s gonna be in there a while.”

Not only would continuing the conversation allow me to stay indoors longer, but the alcohol would definitely kill the last bit of cold in my body.

I grabbed two mugs from the middle shelf–one Christmas themed, the other Halloween.

“Chelsea.”

I turned back to the counter to a bottle of orange juice sitting on the counter.

“Melvin.”

“You and Erin close at work, Melvin?” she asked as I popped the top off the liquor.

“Say when,” I said as I began to pour into her mug. “We’re as close as you can imagine someone can–”

“When–I understand. So at arm’s distance at best.”

I poured into my mug as well and turned to return the bottle to the top of the cabinet. I reached up, pushing the glass further in to keep it from the edge.

“I put about a shot of lemonade in yours,” she said as I turned around.

She leaned over the counter with her elbow propped up, holding her cup up waiting for me. I grabbed my reindeer mug.

“To finally meeting someone Erin knows,” she toasted.

Clink.

I took a long sip and opened my eyes, relieving them from the gruesome pressure I was placing keeping them shut. Chelsea was staring at me with a smirk.

She shrugged.

“So are you older or younger?” I started.

“You trying to figure out my age?”

I wasn’t.

“Old,” she said and lifted the mug back to her face. “And I told you my age, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“If you told me,” I repeated, now intrigued.

She stared into my persistent eyes, partially persuaded to pursue the conversation tangent. She didn’t look over forty, but if she was forty-one or forty-two, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Her hair was slicked back into a loose ponytail, her smooth cheeks slightly flushed. The more I looked into her eyes, the more the green in her eyes became more than just hints and splashes. My eyes dropped to her lips as they parted to tell me what I wanted to hear.

“I’m…not telling you,” she said, sitting back onto her seat.

I sank back into my seat as well and sighed as Chelsea got her laughs in.

“Ok, if you won’t answer that, at least tell me if you contributed to this concept,” I said, spinning my finger in circles, indicating the wood theme.

Chelsea took a glance around the house, shook her head, and turned back to me.

“I’m just visiting for a while, so I had nothing to do with this,” she said. “I couldn’t imagine living here.”

She looked around, taking it all in for the hundredth time.

I glanced around again as well.

“It's just so…peculiar,” I mentioned, the word felt right.

“That’s the exact word I used when I first arrived.”

“No way,” I laughed.

She held back a laugh and nodded.

“You should see my place though. I entered an interior designer competition on Facebook and actually won. Got a plaque and all.” She bragged.

I gave a silent applaud.

“That’s very impressive.” I commented. “I’m the typical guy when it comes to things like that. It’s pretty boring in my home. Gray walls, gray furniture, overly-simple.”

“Where do you live? Far from here?”

“Beyond the overpass, three streetlights down.”

“Oh, that’s not far. You should let me give you a consultation,” she asked with big, eager eyes.

“You do this professionally?” I asked.

“Yeah, part time.”

“Oh! So, you won the competition because you know how to do this.”

She laughed and denied the accusation.

“I won the competition and then got into the career,” she informed me meticulously.

I laughed.

“Ok, so over the overpass and three streetlights down,” she repeated. “What street is that?”

“So, the overpass then you pass Hayes and Grant and you turn on Johnson,” I explained equally with my hand motions as I did verbally.

“Oh, I know where that is. That’s really close.”

I nodded and she lifted the mug and took another sip.

“You done over there?” she asked with a smile.

I took a large sip and placed the mug back down, trying to hold my face of disgust back.

“Don’t tell me you’re done,” she continued with disapproval.

“I gotta get back home. Plus Erin should be coming back soon.”

She stared at me with a face of disbelief.

“Let me just go check on your friend, since you miss him so much,” she said and immediately stood up. “Pour me a shot for when I get back.”

She winked at me and began walking away.

“Wait, no don’t be weir–” she was already gone, disappearing into the hall she had emerged from.

And as soon as I couldn't see her anymore, the garage door opened and Erin emerged with my toolbox. I got up and stepped out from behind the counter.

“Thanks man, I—”

“Were you on the phone?” he asked, interrupting me.

His face held a substantial amount of worry and he was standing too close to me. His eyes glanced down to the counter then stayed there.

“Drinking?”

I half turned to look at the counter. There was only one mug there–and it had antlers and a red nose.

“Your sister came and introduced herself. She asked if I could--”

“No,” he said, which very much confused me.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t have a sister.”

My mouth opened but nothing came out.

He shook his head, almost as if he was upset. The blood was flowing to his face and he was puffing up, breathing audibly and slightly fidgeting in place.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“You’re not understanding. You can’t understand.”

And that’s when I began to feel very uncomfortable.

“Hey man, I’m sorry.” I offered. “I don’t really know what’s going on. I was just waiting then this lady Chel–”

“Don’t please,” he said with his eyes shut hard.

I stared at him to see if he was serious. I was waiting for him to smile and say “Just kidding man”. I was hoping it was some weird prank he was pulling on me. But Erin definitely wasn’t the type to play any type of prank, certainly not one at this magnitude. His eyes opened slowly.

“You weren’t talking to who you think you were talking to.”

He refused to look anywhere near me.

“You need to leave,” he said. “I need you to get out.”

I made my way to the door cautiously.

He was speaking beyond comprehension. I had just spent the last ten minutes chatting with somebody who apparently wasn’t who she said she was. But Erin seemed to know exactly who she was. And he seemed to be making a bigger deal out of it than I thought necessary, given the little information I must’ve known.

He handed me my toolbox and opened the front door.

“One question.” He said before I could exit.  “Does your mom even fucking like picture frames?”

I stared at his face trying hard to not read between the lines of what he was saying.

I shrugged.

“Yeah,” I responded, committing to my lie in fear of what he would do if I didn’t.

He didn’t respond. Not even a nod.

“Goodnight Melvin.” He said instead.

I walked out and the door was almost slammed on my heels as I stepped out.

Before the temperature of the weather fully hit me, another chill went down my spine.

One from my own subconscious.

One that I tried hard to ignore.

I glanced back at the giant wooden door then stepped down the porch stairs to begin my dreadful walk.

Over the overpass, three lights down, then right on Johnson Street.