Public Relations

The lights are on in my house, spilling out from the bay window in front as I pull into the driveway. Both of my sisters' cars are parked by mine and Mrs. Harris's mailboxes, and I'm sure I'll be getting a formal letter of complaint from her later this week about it. I was really hoping for a quiet, empty house after the craziness of the past few days, but it seems that's not going to happen tonight.

The moment I open the front door, I can hear them from down the hallway, bickering in whispers. I shake my head, setting down my bag and tossing my keys into the dish, making my way toward the sound.

As I step into the doorway of the kitchen, Clara and Lucy immediately stop whatever they were arguing about and snap their heads toward me. Clara is halfway out of the fridge, her tattooed arm resting on the door, an old box of pizza in her hand, and Lucy is pouring wine into a glass next to a box from Sugar Moon Bakery.

"What are you guys doing here?" I ask, puzzled by their expressions. They look past me like they're expecting someone to emerge from behind. I glance over my shoulder just to be sure no one else is there—nope, still just me. I stand there, even more confused.

"Where's Maisie?" Clara asks, breaking the silence.

"She's not here," I say, toeing off my shoes. "Why would you think she's here?"

"Because she's always here," Lucy says.

"She is not always here," I retort defensively. Though she's been around a lot lately, she's not always.

"Are you sure?" Clara's lips pull into a wry smile. "You don't have her hiding in your bedroom, do you?" She turns towards the stairs and yells, "Maisie! You can come out; it's just us!"

I grab the kitchen towel from the counter and toss it across the room over the table, hitting Clara square in the face. It drops to the floor as Lucy snickers into her wine glass and takes a sip.

"Why on earth would I have her in my bedroom?" I ask, feeling the tips of my ears heat up.

"I don't know," she says with a half-shrug. "You two looked pretty cozy at the game the other night."

"Good, that was kind of the point." I rub the crease between my brows, trying to hide the pink I know is spreading to my cheeks. "How did you guys even get into my house?"

"Spare key," Clara says, one eyebrow arching as if she's saying duh, opening the pizza box and pulling out a slice.

"How do you know where my spare key is?" I ask as she takes a bite. She grimaces at it, throws the slice back in, and tosses the box into the fridge. "I don't even know where my spare key is."

"Maisie showed me."

"When did she show you?" I ask, stepping fully into the kitchen. And with the three of us here, it feels cramped—or maybe it's just me feeling squeezed into one room with my sisters.