Chapter 7 - Maybe It's Easier
I heard myself say it again on the drive home from my apartment, even though no one was in the car with me.
Maybe it's easier this way.
I was at the red light on Gray Street, and my hands were tight on the wheel, and the words just played back in my own voice, quiet and resigned, exactly like I'd said it at the counter. I hadn't even realized I was speaking out loud until the light turned green and the car behind me tapped his horn.
It was easier. That was the point. It had always been easier if I said it first. If I made myself smaller before anyone else had to. If I agreed to stay home, to watch the cats, to not slow anyone down, then nobody had to feel bad about leaving me behind. I got to be understanding. They got to be relieved.
I pulled into the parking lot of my building and sat for a minute with the engine running. I realized I'd been saying some version of that line my whole adult life. Whenever my sister needed something. Whenever there wasn't enough room. Maybe it's easier if I just. Maybe it's easier if you go without me. Maybe it's easier this way. It wasn't a decision. It was a reflex, like putting my hands up to catch something thrown at me.
Inside, my apartment smelled like coffee and laundry. My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. It was her.
I could see her name on the screen, and for a second I did the old thing, my stomach dropped, my shoulders came up, I reached for it too fast. I let it ring once more and then picked up.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," my sister said. Her voice was that calm, composed voice she used at the airport, even now, a little breathless like she was multitasking. "You're at your place? Good. So listen, since you're already going over there tomorrow for the cats, could you grab the dry cleaning from the place on Fifth? It's two hangers under my name. And if you could water the fiddle leaf, just a little, it dries out so fast."
She said it like it was already decided. Like it was a tiny favor stacked on top of the other favor I'd already been handed without being asked.
Two weeks ago I'd have said sure, no problem, easily. I'd have added it to a list and felt useful.
I stood in my kitchen and looked out the window at the brick wall across the alley. The brown leather planner flashed in my mind, the blue notes, the way she'd written so decisively at that counter. Cancel everything. She could add errands just as easily.
"I'll do the cats," I said. My voice was quiet but it didn't shake. "Food, water, litter. That's what you asked me to do. I can do that tomorrow morning and evening."
There was a pause. A small one, but I heard it. The breath before she responded.
"The dry cleaning is right on your way," she said, still light, still reasonable. "It'll take two minutes. And the plant, I just don't want it to die while we're... while things are sorted."
I felt the old pull, the urge to say okay, to make it easier.
"I can't add extra stops right now," I said. "If you need the dry cleaning, you'll need someone else to grab it. I can make sure the cats are fed and the boxes are clean."
I didn't apologize. I didn't explain my schedule or make up an excuse. I just left the space there after the sentence and let it sit.
She was quiet for a second longer than comfortable. I could hear her breathing.
"Okay," she said finally. The word was clipped, not angry, but measured. Like she was noting something down. "So just the cats. You're sure?"
"Just the cats," I said. "That's what I agreed to."
"Alright," she said. "I'll let you know if anything changes."
When I hung up, my hand was a little damp around the phone. I set it down and realized I'd been holding my breath. I exhaled slowly.
A minute later it buzzed again. A text this time. From her.
*Could you also bring in the packages if any come? They shouldn't be left in the hall.*
I stared at it. It was exactly what I'd expected. A second test, softer, smaller, to see if the line I'd just drawn would hold if she nudged it.
I typed, then deleted, then typed again.
*I can feed the cats while I'm there. I won't be able to manage packages or plants.*
I hit send before I could talk myself out of it. I watched the delivered tick appear, then read.
She didn't reply right away. The three dots came and went. Then, *Okay. Got it.*
May you like
I put the phone face down on the counter. The apartment was quiet. No airport announcements, no tote bag, no planner, just my own kitchen and the hum of the refrigerator. I hadn't done anything big. I hadn't been cruel or made a speech. I'd just said no to two small things.
But for the first time since I'd said maybe it's easier this way at that bright counter, I didn't feel easier. I felt a little shaky and a little more like myself, and I realized easier had never actually been better. It had just been quieter.
