Whereby

The cabin fever was getting to me, cheery as Juniper was at home. Much as I dreaded leaving the house for Monday lunches, I was glad to see Rachel out on the patio, lounging astride across two seats and smelling like my mother’s perfume. When I sat down, it was me who reached for her hand and said as she swung her neatly folded legs under the table and pushed up her sunglasses: “You look tired.”

My so-called aunt grinned, and yawned in a high falling slide. “Just because it’s you, I won’t kill you.”

Our small talk flowed better than usual, or maybe I was more engaged. I complimented her hair, tied in a high and loose ponytail that waved back and forth as she tilted her head when I spoke about my writing or the latest news with the wife and kid. The ends of her hair grazed the exposed shoulders framed her pastel summer dress with puffy sleeves, and her hand made a lazy trace of the faint tan line on her collar, separating olive from cream, as she checked her appearance in her phone’s front camera.

After we were done eating and she had locked her phone for the fourth time, she looked at me seriously and asked: “Don’t I look so different than I used to?” She flashed a smile that reached not the rest of her heart-shaped face, then drooped one side as she rolled her eyes and took the tea spoon from her coaster.

I looked at her, unsure what she was looking for. “Not really. Same old, minus the eye bags.”

“Rude.” Rachel stirred her cold tea. “Don’t you remember how full of life I was? Now I spend my days AB-testing lime green versus puke green. Never thought I’d make a bargain with the devil.”

“The money certainly can’t hurt,” I said, checking the time on my phone—the hour was almost up.

“I miss having a soul. If I wasn’t in tech, I’d homestead somewhere in the mountains.” She lifted her cup. “Work everyday in nature, build my own stuff, sit and watch the sunset.”

“A pastoral fantasy,” I quipped, watching her down the rest of her drink in one gulp.

She laughed, and wiped with the back of her hand, smudging her lipstick. “Life is one long walk back to basics.”

“Says the girl in the prime of her youth.” And that was the last thing of note I said at Sunset Grill that day to my first cousin once removed, who after our customary peck on each cheek planted an awkward kiss on my lips and hugged me a little longer than usual. On the way home, I thought it was cruel of life to have her nature push in one direction, as progress pushes in the other.