Chapter Text
Even at ten in the evening, Sarah truly believes she’s fighting for her life at the airport pick-up line.
It’s nothing she hasn’t done a thousand times before, but she’s always surprised by the amount of traffic there is from her apartment in midtown to the south loop. Even while zipping through traffic and squeezing into places that would have her dad white knuckling the seat and slamming his foot on the floor like he has any power over the brakes, it takes forever to get there.
She’s been sitting nearly idle for ten minutes - as evidenced by how All Too Well the extended version is almost complete - whens he checks her phone; there’s no new updates, just the last message from Ellie about forty-five minutes ago that she’s landed and gotten her luggage.
Ellie’s a lot of things, but at least she’s quite patient. Sarah can’t say the same in her case.
When she’s nearly pulled up to where there’s security directing traffic at ten-thirty three at night, she shoots Ellie a text to come find her. Maybe thirty seconds later there’s a strong tap on the back window that makes her jump out of her skin. Sarah presses the button to unlock the trunk and listens as Ellie’s laughter becomes unmuffled as she tosses her canvas carry-on into the trunk.
“I scared the shit out of you,” she beams, sliding into the passenger’s seat. “Also, what the hell are you driving and why was it manufactured before Dad was born?”
Sarah opens her mouth to say otherwise when the fucking airport security appears before them, whistling with an actual goddamn whistle to gesture them to pull ahead and get the hell out of line. As she pulls forward and out onto the highway, Ellie immediately yanks Sarah's phone from the carplay to play her own music - gone is Taylor Swift, replaced with a No Doubt song that’s far too loud for this late in the evening. Sarah just turns the volume down and accepts defeat.
Ellie fusses in her seat a little, giving off soft sighs as she tries to shrug off the various layers of shirt and flannels she’s worn to keep an extra personal item on her. When she finally gets the fanny pack strapped around her chest off she gives off one big sigh and looks over at Sarah, a tired smile. “Hey.”
Sarah smiles back, though her eyes stay on the road. “Hi, kiddo. How’s life?”
“Very interesting,” Ellie says flatly, but she knows her little sister well enough to know that actually means something very interesting is going on - she just doesn’t have the energy to talk about it at the moment. “But back to the car. What happened to the fancy sedan you got a few months back?”
“Lemon,” Sarah explains.
“I’ll say,” Ellie says, looking around at the interior as if it’s as bright as the exterior. “When I go into Sherwin-Williams for a paint match, do I ask for Banana Split or Mustard Madness?”
“I think it’s Daffodil Dreams.”
“They skinned Big Bird to get this paint color, do you know that?”
She takes one hand off the wheel to slap her on the arm, making her howl with laughter. The next song comes on - one that’s too chaotically metal for Sarah to handle while she’s driving this late at night - and she starts slamming the skip button on her wheel until a more palatable song comes on. “Enough about the car. How’s Dina and Jesse?”
“Good.” Her voice pitches up a bit, real squeaky, and Sarah frowns. “Well, they broke up.”
“When don’t they?” Sarah teases, but it doesn’t get the usual laugh out of Ellie. The one that comes out is awkward and quiet. “Was it real ugly?”
“No,” Ellie says. “No, not like that. It’s just.” She brings her thumb up to chew on her nail, and Sarah’s quick to tug her hand away by the wrist. “I dunno. I’ve been at my mom’s house for a few weeks.”
Sarah’s relationship with her mother was nothing like the one Ellie had with hers. She and Dad got a divorce when Sarah was three, and Zoe immediately moved across the country. There was no joint custody. She spent all her time growing up with Dad and Uncle Tommy. She did, however, spend three weeks of every summer with her mom at her beach house in North Carolina.
It was a weird arrangement, and sometimes Sarah wonders if she should feel more neglected about it - but Zoe had been there for her in the only way she knew how. She paid for her private school and had a trust made for her college tuition. She usually called once a month just to talk and get updates, and when she was being a bratty teenager that wouldn’t let someone as lame as her dad help her with her problems, she’d call her mom to bitch and cry and ask for advice, woman to woman. And she always picked up.
She died when Sarah was nineteen, six months after Daddy had her move back in so he could be her caretaker while she tried to fight off the cancer.
Ellie, though - her and her mom are Lifetime movie complicated. Unlike Zoe, he knew her limitations from the start, Ellie and Anna have been a constant slew of broken promises and unmet expectations. Ever since Ellie graduated high school, she seems to have a better grip on keeping boundaries when it comes to her mother, but she’s only twenty years old - it’s hard to turn away an offer to see someone like Anna, who despite her parental missteps, is a pretty cool person.
“Everything go okay?” Sarah asks once the song in the car plays to something quiet, soothing.
It takes a moment for Ellie to answer. “Yeah, yeah it did. I actually -” She laughs a little. “I was the one who reached out to her.” She picks at a hole on the thigh of her jeans. “Wanted to talk to her about something.”
She’d had this conversation with her dad once, when they were both tipsy at a bar and celebrating her PhD. The age gap between her and Ellie is pretty stark - and it’s not much smaller between Dad and Uncle Tommy. Sarah knows she’s her sister and she shouldn’t be mothering her - but she’s family and she’s little and she’s still her baby, in a weird way.
So it always stings, just a little, when Ellie admits that there was something she couldn’t talk to her about.
But instead, Sarah keeps her cool and pulls off the highway for the exit that has Ellie’s favorite twenty-four hour diner with the big-ass, diabetic-inducing milkshakes. “What cool country did she just finish exploring this time?”
“This one, actually. She said she biked from San Francisco to D.C and guess what?”
She pulls out an old honda key from her little bag.
“She doesn’t want it anymore.”
“A motorcycle?” Sarah nearly screeches, which makes her sister laugh. “And here you were making fun of my car.”
“A vintage motorcycle is infinitely cooler than this.”
“Ellie, Daddy is gonna kill you dead.”
“He ain’t,” Ellie scoffs, both of their accents slipping back. Sarah’s is always there, lurking beneath the surface, but adorably, Ellie’s only comes out to match with the rest of them when they all get together. “Won’t find out unless you tell him.”
“That’s mean,” Sarah pouts. “I’m a terrible secret keeper.”
“Well, reach deep down and find the strength. Or this Fourth of July Bonanza is going to be nothing but a safety lecture a la Joel Miller.”
The pout remains, all the way until she parks the car in front of the diner. “Can I at least tell Uncle Tommy?”
Ellie grins at her, right before she yanks on the passenger’s handle and swings the door open. “Who do you think I had on Facetime for the safety inspection?”
When she gets home, she immediately calls Tommy.
“If it’s about the motorcycle,” he says in place of any real greeting. “My story is I didn’t know a damn thing. And you can never prove otherwise.”
She rolls her eyes, tiptoeing into her bedroom to keep from waking Ellie who crashed on the couch not five minutes after they got home. “I’m sticking to the same story. I’m not about to put Dad in cardiac arrest. He gets nervous enough with you and her setting off the fireworks.”
“The girl burns her arm one time -”
“She was hospitalized.”
“-and released, so I really think it’s not that big a deal.”
Sarah purses her lips, carrying herself into the bathroom and beginning to clean up. She’s not a particularly messy person, but there were a few things she forgot to hide - the vitamins, the over the counter nausea pills, the unused tests underneath the cabinet. She knows Ellie’s got no reason to snoop, but the girl never packs properly - she’s bound to look for an extra toothbrush, nail clippers, a tampon - the latter of which she doesn’t have right now.
She’s quiet on the phone for too long. “Sarah? You there?”
“Sorry,” she says quickly. “Sorry. Just thinking.” She takes a deep breath. “The, uh, surprise. For Ellie. Is that…” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Is that still happening?”
“As far as I know,” Tommy answers. “Why, what happened?”
“Well, she told me Dina and Jesse broke up.”
Her uncle snorts. “Yeah, when don’t they.”
“It sounds…serious this time.”
“I hear ya, but I just called ‘em yesterday, kiddo. They’re on track to meet us at the ranch in a few days. They didn’t mention nothin’ about switching rooms or asking to put a paper bag on Jesse’s face so she ain’t gotta look at it.” Sarah laughs before he can add another ridiculous post-break up request. “Maybe it really ain’t that serious and they already patched it up and they just haven’t gotten Ellie up to speed yet.”
“Yeah,” Sarah sighs. “Maybe.” She bites at her own nail. It’s a new habit. Years with knowing Ellie and she had never picked up on it before. “I guess it’s okay. Just. Don’t want to make anything harder for her. I know she’s been stressed about school and her scholarship.”
A scoff. “It’s summer break, she can be stressed in September!”
“Spoken like a true high school drop-out.”
“I’m giving you the middle finger, I hope you know that.”
“I do. I know lots of stuff. Unlike you, I got degrees.”
“And I couldn’t be more proud,” he says with a sudden burst of seriousness. “It’ll all work out, bud, I promise.”
Sarah finishes hiding all her things before glancing at the trash. They’re hidden enough, covered in wads of unused toilet paper, but she can still see one of the few blue handles from one of the eight tests she took yesterday. “If you say so.”
“I do say so,” she hears him say as she tucks the phone between her cheek and shoulder so she can use both hands. “And even if there’s a riff - you’ll be there. You’re our miracle worker, kid. Ain’t a problem you can’t solve or a bad decision you can’t avoid. They look up to you, you know. You’ve got a pretty flawless record.”
She ties off the trash, shaking the bag in the process, getting a glimpse of a tiny pink plus that might as well be as big and bright as a billboard on Times Square.
“Right,” she says softly. “I sure do.”
As soon as their plane takes off for Salt Lake City, Sarah regrets all her life choices.
Sarah’s never been a fan of heights, or thrills, or things like roller coasters and swings; she’s always been a tad prone to motion sickness, but she’s never had it so bad on a plane that she actually had to hole herself up in a plane bathroom just to survive. It’s for everyone’s benefit that only Ellie was the one who scarfed down a greasy breakfast sandwich while Sarah opted for just a cup of coffee - once it’s out of her system there isn’t much but bile, but she still wouldn’t subject the plane to the horrors.
But Ellie comes and fetches her after twenty minutes, a can of ginger ale in her hand.
When she hesitates to give up her spot in one of the bathrooms, she shows her a barf bag folded up in the breast pocket of her flannel. “C’mon. Let’s go sit down.”
“Sorry, I -”
“You’re only gonna feel worse, getting banged around in a fucking port-a-potty in the sky. I promise whatever you’re hacking up cannot be worse than whatever smell is coming from the socks of the guy who just toed off his sneakers in seat 24A.”
Sarah tries to look past Ellie’s shoulder. “We’re not seats 24B and C, are we?”
“God, no. I switched with some college boys, they’ll be fine. We’re close to the front.”
She takes Ellie’s hand and lets her drag her to the front of the plane with their new seats. Their last row mate is an old lady with bedazzled glasses and a purple tint to her white hair. The look of sympathy she gives to Sarah’s green face seems genuine.
“Here,” Ellie murmurs, getting her all settled. She opens the barf bag and places it in Sarah’s lap, who stares at it while she mentally wills the next wave of nausea away. It half-way works, and she only ends up dry-heaving into the bag. When she groans she feels a hand come to grip at the nape of her neck, massaging at the tense tendons there.
“Thank you,” Sarah says raspily.
She gives a few more squeezes before she cracks open the can of ginger ale. “Small sips.”
“Okay, Dad," Sarah gripes. Ellie breathes out a scoff in response as shrugs off her flannel and wraps it around Sarah like a makeshift blanket. “I’m not cold.”
“You’re shaking.”
“Yeah, well. I’m puking.”
“You’ll stop puking if you stop shaking.”
She’s too nauseous to argue any further. Instead, she shrinks down into the seat and focuses on the shitty little tv on the back of the chair in front of her. “What are we watching?”
“Well, I wanted to watch Curtis and Viper,” she sighs dramatically, “But invalid’s pick, which I assume is….your normal sick day pick…”
Sarah may be pushing forty, but she still has the same childish movie picks when she needs to distract herself from being sick. “Only if they have Eclipse. I watched Twilight and New Moon earlier this week.”
Ellie pauses, briefly eying her with concern. “You were sick earlier this week?”
“...No,” she fibs around a mumble and Ellie snickers before queuing up the movie.
It’s a struggle, but with a cup of over-carbonated ginger ale and her sister’s shoulder as a pillow, Sarah doesn’t puke for the rest of the plane ride.
With sheer grit, Sarah makes it without incident on the transfer from Salt Lake to Jackson Hole. She makes Ellie stop in the women’s restroom so she can freshen up and at least look the part of a healthy and non-nauseated human being. Ellie gets her a pack of gum - suggests she take two sticks at once, which earns her a tug on her ponytail - before they head to the baggage claim.
The Jackson airport is small, not really a place where one can get lost, but years of habit has Sarah reaching for Ellie’s hand. A few years ago, she would have scoffed and pulled away, but this time she simply links their arms together, so close they’re forced to walk in step with each other.
“You think they’re gonna be on time?” Ellie asks as they circle one of the few carousels there. Sarah, try as she might over the years, cannot make herself pack as light as her sister - it doesn’t help that she’s usually always packing extra for the stuff Ellie forgets. Her bag - the same lavender suitcase she’s used since she was fourteen - is an easy spot. Ellie yanks it off the conveyor belt for her before she moves over a few feet and starts grabbing a few more for the elderly couple standing next to them that are struggling to get them off.
“Hell no, no if Dad’s making Tommy come with him. We probably have time to get an overpriced burger and fries,” Sarah argues as Ellie stakes out a place to start grabbing the luggage for everyone.
“You think your stomach can handle that?”
Sarah shrugs, idly yanking the handle of her suitcase up and down. “Yeah. I think it was just the pilot. Couldn’t drive the plane for shit.”
“Well, I guess I could eat,” she says as she finishes getting the last bit of luggage for the people who accept her help. “But I could also wait until they show up so they can buy the overpriced burger and fries.”
“Um, hello?” Sarah asks, gesturing to herself. “I’m a walking, talking credit card. I can buy you lunch, Elle-Belle.”
Her face twists up in confusion, but she’s clearly trying not to laugh, too. “Christ, Elle-Belle? You haven’t called me that since I was, like, five years old.” She startles her slightly when she takes a few large skips to land in front of her, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “You sure you’re feeling okay? Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” And she moves her hand wildly, twisting it back and forth and flexing all her fingers wildly.
“What about me?” she says, throwing up her middle one.
Ellie’s face goes all wolfish, a playful retort on the tip of her tongue when there’s a sharp whistle that has them turning their heads like herd dogs.
At first, Sarah doesn’t recognize him. It’s not her proudest moment, but Sarah hasn’t seen her dad in person in almost two years. It’s not a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but he’s made a lot of changes in those two years - his salt and pepper hair is much more salt than pepper than it was last time she saw him, longer and curly around the nape of his neck. He’s also thinner - a lot thinner - in a way that would make her nervous if he and Tommy weren’t constantly updating her on their diets and workout routines to lower their blood pressure and cholesterol.
Ellie, however, recognizes him immediately. “Dad!” She hollers, running full speed at him. He’s all squinty-eyed and smiley as he catches her when she jumps into his arms, spinning her around and dropping a kiss to the side of her head.
Sarah hears the quieter, not so shrill, “Hey, babygirl!” over the rolling of her own suitcase as she walks at her own pace to meet him. Ellie’s still clinging to one side of him while he frees one arm to drape over Sarah’s shoulder and pull her close, kissing her forehead in greeting. “Hi, honey. Missed you somethin’ fierce.”
“Missed you more,” she sighs, leaning forward just a tad more to accept one last kiss to her forehead. When she pulls back she taps right below his sternum, where the beginning of a slight beer gut used to live. “What’s this diet Tommy got you on? South Beach?”
“Maria took the beer,” he says flatly. “And the bread. And the red meat.”
“Damn,” Ellie swears. “That’s really killing our burger, fries and lager lunch plan we were gonna pitch you.”
Dad’s brow shoots up. “Who exactly is gonna buy you your lager? Me?”
“Literally anyone but you. Tommy is an easy target. Speaking of,” and she stretches her neck, looking behind him. “Is he here?”
“He’s somewhere behind me, bein’ a slowpoke. He doesn’t actually buy you beer, right?”
“Of course not. Sarah bought my fake ID months ago.”
“Sarah Jean Miller -”
“She’s pulling your leg, Daddy,” she lies with practiced ease, rolling her eyes for effect. Dad relaxes at her admission and turns his head enough for Sarah to shoot daggers at Ellie and mouth motorcycle at her.
Ellie at least has the decency to look guilty.
The Uncle Tommy and Ellie reunion is far louder and rougher than the one with dad. He’s out of the car which, unfortunately for him, means Ellie is successful in actually tackling him to the ground.
“What up, you old fucker!” She’s quick to get him in a headlock. “I missed you!”
“Ellie,” Dad admonishes lightly. “Please don’t break him. He ain’t finished the roof on the barn.”
“He’s fine,” but she still lets him go when he taps out, palm banging on the pavement three times. “Strong as an ox. He’s on the South Beach diet.”
Despite her words, Ellie ends up grabbing Sarah’s luggage and dragging it to the car, dodging Tommy’s attempts at stealing it. It gives Dad room to linger back, throwing a lazy arm around her shoulder as they walk.
She must look even greener than she feels. “Hey,” Dad’s soft voice floats in her ear; moments later she feels his hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles with his palm. “You okay?”
“She needs to eat something,” Ellie says as she finally concedes in the luggage war, leaving it for Tommy. She ends up skipping back over to her, gently dragging her away from Dad as she holds her hand. “Nothing a big ass Mcdonald’s Sprite and some chicken nuggets can’t fix.”
She doesn’t dare look over at her dad; she can feel the unnerving, but caring parental stare, boring into the back of her shoulder. “If you think so.”
“I know so.”
Dad ends up letting Ellie drive - a rarity - while Sarah claims the least nauseating seat up front beside her. It puts Tommy and him in the back, igniting their childish antics, no matter how old and mature they claim to be. At one point, Sarah’s pretty sure she sees Tommy give her dad a wet willy through the rearview mirror.
Sarah gets her Sprite, but when Ellie tries to lean her head back out the window to order five cheeseburgers she’d likely eat herself, Dad not-so-gently grabs her by her braid and tugs her back.
“Ow! Dad!”
“We’re eatin’ back at the house,” Dad says in lieu of any real explanation.
“I fail to see the nutritional difference between Mcdonald’s chicken nuggets and the frozen pizza bites you’re about to throw in the oven.”
“It ain’t -” He stops short and sighs, which makes Tommy laugh. “Tess is making Greek food.”
Sarah’s quick to meet eyes with Ellie over the center console. “Tess?” They both echo.
“She’s -”
“-His girlfriend,” Tommy interrupts, full of mischief and glee.
Ellie nearly rams Dad’s truck into the car in front of her.
“What!?”
Sarah can’t remember the last time her dad had a girlfriend.
When she was just a little girl, she loathed the idea. Sure, it would have been nice to have her mom around more, but it’s not like she wanted another one. She had mentally prepared her own Parent Trap-like antics to dissuade anyone who even batted their eyelashes at her dad, but it never really came up, not until he met Anna. By then Sarah was a teenager and actively praying his dad would get a girlfriend so he wouldn’t spend so much time bugging her.
The whole relationship with Anna didn’t really stick, but Ellie sure did.
And as far as little sisters go, Ellie was the perfect distraction. An adorable, trouble-making, bone-breaking tyrant who had Daddy wrapped around her little finger. He always seemed content to not date, and Sarah was willing to live with that. But now that she and Ellie have been out the house…
To say she and Ellie were excited was a bit of an understatement.
But Sarah’s only half-listening to Dad’s backstory as they finally pull through the gates of the ranch. She keeps her nose pressed to the glass looking for all the horses: Old Beardy, Shimmer, Japan, Duchess -”
“Where’s Cinnamon?”
“I’m sure she’s up closer to the new barn,” Dad explains. “She’s due any day now, y’know.”
Sarah whirls around, eyes round with surprise. They got Cinnamon with the ranch when Daddy bought it about twelve years back - and the horse wasn’t exactly a newborn then, either. “She’s - isn’t she too old for that kinda thing?”
Tommy laughs. “Apparently not. But don’t worry,” he tacts on when Sarah’s furrowed brow and pout doesn’t vanish. “We’re keepin’ a real keen eye on her. Your old lady is doin’ just fine.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t call her old.”
“You started it!”
“I did not -”
“Kids please,” Ellie begs with faux exasperation. “We have to be on our best behavior for Tessica.”
“That ain’t her name.”
“Right, right....Tessabella?”
“Eloise,” Dad warns. “Quit it.”
“Ooh, you just got government named -”
“Shut the fuck up, Thomas-”
Dad manages to wrangle them like the unruly sheep they are by the time Ellie finishes driving up the ungodly long driveway up to the house. Sarah notices that he and Tommy have done more than just start to rebuild the barn; the entire house has been repainted, including a new addition off to the left, all flanked by new flowerbeds and tiny little trees.
The woman Sarah assumes is Tess is already waiting outside. She looks tall - definitely taller than her and Ellie - with dirty blond hair in a long, messy braid. At first glance, Sarah thinks she kind of looks like Ellie; it’s probably all the freckles.
Sarah’s the last to get out of the car. Normally, she coins herself as the social butterfly, or at least the sister with the most tact, but for this scenario, she’s more than happy to let Ellie take the reins.
“Dad’s told us so much about you,” Ellie says in lieu of any real greeting. Even so, she does end up hugging the woman, who doesn’t seem too surprised by the gesture. “And by that I mean he dropped the bomb on us on the car ride here.”
Tess barks out a laugh. “Sorry about that, kid. I was outvoted. I wanted to call you weeks ago.”
Ellie’s sigh is dramatic and entirely theatrical. “It’s okay. Dad was born in the stagecoach era. He’s still learning there are other ways of communication aside from telegrams.”
Dad rolls his eyes, ruffling Ellie’s hair on his way to kiss Tess on the cheek. “This one’s Ellie, if that wasn’t clear.”
“Heard her yammering as soon as the truck pulled through the gate,” she winks, and Ellie cackles, never offended from being called loud. When Tess finally looks her way, Sarah finds herself shrinking under her smile. “Which means you must be the better- I mean, the older sister, Sarah.”
It’s a joke, word-for-word, that her and Tommy have been making for years whenever Ellie is in earshot. Tess pulls it off flawlessly, so much that Ellie keeps laughing at herself, but Sarah still can’t help but shrink under the acknowledgement.
It’s a minute, gentle jab from Dad’s elbow that snaps her out of it. “Definitely not better. Older? Well, that one’s pretty indisputable.”
“She’s lying,” Ellie intervenes before anyone can get another word in. She skips her way back to her, linking her arm with hers and laying her head against her shoulder. “Sarah still looks like she just graduated high school. Everyone always mistakes us for twins. Ain’t that right, Dad?”
The last part is said with their father’s Texan twang that Ellie saves for all her comedic bits and anger-fueled arguments.
“Clones, the two of you,” he deadpans. “Couldn’t be more than a few hours apart.”
“See?” Ellie rubs her cheek more firmly into the top of Sarah’s shoulder. “The anti-wrinkle serum Tommy and I got you for Christmas has been working wonders.”
Sarah feels no remorse for pushing a giggling Ellie off of her, kicking at her heels in an attempt to make her trip as she scampers away.
Dad manages to finish herding them inside before Tommy joins in on the teasing, an accomplishment Sarah admires. When the three of them get into it, it usually ends up with someone in a headlock or an arm wrestling match. Last time they were all at the ranch a few years back, Sarah dumped an ice cream cone down the back of Tommy’s shirt.
But as luck would have it, Tess doesn’t decide to latch on to Ellie to provide more of an icebreaker. Her little sister storms ahead, claiming she’s starving, with Dad and Tommy not too far again. Tess falls back to walk Sarah’s slow pace, one that Ranger, Dad’s elderly, retired sheep dog, might have thought too slow, had he not been conked out somewhere on the back porch.
If Tess feels as awkward as Sarah, she doesn’t show it. “I’m sorry again, about being a surprise. I’m not too fond of them, but your dad seems to love them.”
“Yeah, he does.” She cracks a smile at that, her mind flashing with a million micro-memories with birthday gifts and Christmas magic. “So do I, if I’m being honest.” She tips glances to the side to catch the corners of Tess’ lips curling into a smile. “I’m just jet-lagged as hell.”
“I can’t blame you.” Tess says “But you’re hiding it very well. I couldn’t do it. Hell, if my dad told me I’d have to play surprise host after I was on as many planes as you, I’d have stayed in the truck and pretended I was asleep.”
“I’ll be honest, that was almost more of a reality than a plan.”
Tess laughs again. “Well, tell me you’re at least hungrier than you are tired?”
“I could eat. My dad said you made…Greek food?”
“Pastitsio. It’s basically lasagna.”
“Sold.”
Even if she’s mentally sold on the Greek lasagna, her stomach definitely is not.
It’s certainly delicious, but the taste isn’t the issue. Sarah chews slowly, disguising the slow souring of her stomach over polite conversation. She does her best to keep all the questions about Tess and Ellie, only offering tidbits on herself sparingly, enough so Dad wouldn’t end up shining a spotlight on her.
But Dad loves both his girls equally blah blah blah and he’s invested in their lives blah blah blah and he’s excited to discuss all their accomplishments, blah blah blah.
Too bad she’s lacking in accomplishments as of late.
“I teach English at one of the city universities,” Sarah answers when Tess asks what she does, all while pushing her food around in circles on her plate.
“Professor Miller,” Ellie says in a horrible interpretation of a British accent. “She’s wicked smaht,” and that one’s said in her best Matt Damon Boston accent.
“Made tenure just this year,” Joel says, chest practically puffed out in pride. “Ain’t that right, baby?”
She just hopes her smile doesn’t look as tight as it feels. “Guess they’re giving it to anyone these days.”
“I’ll say - ow! Dad, did you just kick me -”
“Foot musta slipped.”
“You evil old man, I’ll kick your ass -”
“I got lucky,” Sarah blurts out before her sister can start a food fight with their dad. “Ellie’s the real brains. Told me she was taking Integral Calculus with Theory. Whatever that means.”
“When I find out,” Ellie mumbles behind a mouthful of food. She points her fork to both Tess and Sarah. “I’ll let you know. Might as well be French.”
“Mais,” Tess starts. “J'ai entendu dire que vous parliez français.”
“Eh bien,” Ellie smirks. “Ce n'est tout simplement pas vrai.”
“Oh,” Tommy laments, looking between them. “I don’t like this one bit.”
But when dessert comes out - a rice pudding that looks too mushy to handle - she barely makes it all the way upstairs and to the bathroom in time to puke her guts out in the toilet.
She’s in there for a hot minute, emphasis on hot. Sarah’s not sure how long she’s stuck on the bathroom floor, hovering over the toilet, but by the time she gets up and makes it to her bed, there's sweat making her shirt stick to her back and dampening the fabric around her collar. It feels like she just ran a marathon, which doesn’t exactly make the next several months feel particularly physically appealing.
She’s so tired she doesn’t bother to change out of her airport attire or unmake the bed. She turns the ceiling fan on high and practically falls asleep before her back hits the top of the duvet.
She wakes up to the feeling of someone taking off her shoes.
Ellie’s taking such abnormal care untying her boots, that she doesn’t realize that Sarah’s awake until the second one is off. “I can’t believe you wore these things to the airport,” Ellie whispers, as if she’s still asleep. “It takes forever to lace them up.”
“They’re good for riding,” Sarah defends, tongue heavy, eyelids heavier.
“You don’t have cowboy boots?”
“Not anymore.”
“...is this why it took so long for us to go through security?”
“That would have been the phone you kept in your back pocket.” Sarah lets out a small yelp when Ellie tickles the bottom of her feet, catching it when she tries to kick her away. “Everything okay?”
Ellie’s brow draws together as she takes a seat at the edge of the bed, her foot still in her hand. Sarah ends up letting her drag it into her lap, thumbs massaging at the soles. “I should be asking you that. Still sick?”
It’s a fight not to roll her eyes. “Did Daddy send you up here?”
Her little sister’s pout intensifies, as well as the pressure she applies to her feet. “No, I came up here on my own. I swear, you’ve been sick ever since you picked me up at the airport.” She leans over to put a hand to the back of Sarah’s forehead. “Keep the lasagna down?”
“Pastitsio.”
“Gesundheit.”
A laugh bubbles out of Sarah, and she hopes that’ll be the end of it, but Ellie raises a brow expectantly. “No,” she finally admits, voice small. “Don’t tell Tess. I don’t want her to think I didn’t like it.”
“Tess is smart enough to know you don’t feel good,” Ellie says before she finally releases her foot and scoots up the bed on her elbows like some sort of penguin on ice. “I know you were probably focusing all your mental energy on not puking at the table, but she did say she had a doctorate. And the medical kind, not the fru-fru artsy kind like some people get.”
It’s a harmless joke that warrants a sisterly kick to Ellie’s ribs, but Sarah’s too tired. Ellie snuggles closer as a way of apology, her head finding its way back to her shoulder for the second time today.
“But that lasagna did slap. Tell me it tastes just as good coming back up as it did going down.”
“It was definitely the tastiest thing I’ve ever puked,” Sarah snorts, her arm automatically wrapping around her sister’s back, hand smoothing up and down her spine. “She seems nice,” she offers after a beat of silence.
“Yeah,” Ellie agrees, just as softly. “And way out of Dad’s league.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Like, way too hot for him. How old did she say she was again?”
“Forty-six.”
“Oh, wow. That’s like, practically your age.”
“I’m thirty-three you little shit.”
“My god. I’m surrounded by dinosaurs.”
Sarah shrugs, her next act of mental warfare locked and loaded. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. Tess and your mom are literally the same age."
Suddenly, Ellie’s grin slips. “Oh yeah. Dad’s kinda a dirty dog, huh?”
“Ellie.”
“What? He’s, like, a thousand years old.”
“He’s fifty-six.”
“Which - fun fact - is 392 in dog years.”
“Ellie.”
“It’s true. Ask Tess, she’s a vet, she’ll vouch for me.”
“You’re so annoying.”
Ellie simply snickers as she turns, pressing her toothy grin into the skin of Sarah’s arm. “Dad says the other guestroom is unavailable,” Ellie says into her armpit. “So you get to share your kingsized bed with me.”
In reality, Sarah knows Dad said that to keep it clean for the unarrived guests, but she wants to keep Ellie from thinking too hard on it and sniffing out the surprise. “Well, yeah. Tess has gotta sleep somewhere.”
“Oh, Sarah,” Ellie sighs. Her breath smells like rice pudding. “It’s about time we had this talk. You see, when a man loves a woman, sometimes they -”
This time Sarah does go for the kick, and it pushes Ellie straight off the bed.