Page 38 of Spin Control

“Jane!”

“Lizzy, please tell me you’re in New York and not some ritzy resort in St. Bart’s.”

I laugh. “I can confirm that I am, in fact, in New York.”

“Oh, thank God. I’m heading to Mom and Dad’s with the kids in a handful of hours.”

“You are?” I ask, shocked. Our parents usually travel from Connecticut to Texas since Todd always points out that it’s so much easier for two adults to travel than it is for parents with kids.

“Yeah!” she says. “Todd is going to a conference and then he’s meeting us in Cape Cod. We’ve rented the cutest place in Hyannis. I’m so excited!”

The surprises just keep on coming.

“It’s all pretty last minute,” Jane continues. “Todd was going to come right back home after the conference, but I thought it’d be nice for the kids to see where I grew up. Plus, I want to shoot some content. So he agreed to the trip! Isn’t that so great of him?”

Last year, I proposed that Jane and I take a trip to Martha’s Vineyard, just the two of us. It was barely out of my mouth before she said she’d have to bring the kids with her. She didn’t even consider asking Todd to look after them or dropping them off with our parents. After I said that would be fine—because what else could I say to that?—Jane talked to Todd. She messaged a couple days later to say the trip wasn’t a good idea. So no, I don’t think this is great of him. But I know better than to say that. “I’m so excited to see you.”

“It’s been so long!” she says. “Really, the timing is incredibly lucky. And since you’re in the city, that means you can come to the Cape with us!”

A mixture of excitement and dread spreads through my gut. Though I have absolutely no interest in spending time with Todd, I desperately want to see Jane. So I shove my toxic brother-in-law from my mind and focus on the most positive part of this. “That sounds perfect.”

After that, Jane, of course, has to go because my oldest niece has a horseback riding lesson, but she does send me her itinerary.

A week with Jane. Four days with Todd.

God help me.

As I step off the Metro-North train in Greenwich on Thursday, it hits me that I’m not just going to see Jane and her kids, but my parents as well.

I was in middle school when I began to grasp that there was something strange about my dad’s attitude towards women. He meant it when he called the awards and accolades Jane and I worked hard to receive “participation trophies.” He wasn’t joking when he asked Jane if she was the best girl in science rather than accept she was the top science student. He never acknowledged my mom’s hard work to cook and clean and make everything perfect all the time.

I didn’t know the word ‘misogyny’ back then. But I knew it when I saw it.

Any time I asked my mom why she never stood up for herself, she’d tell me that Dad was stressed from work, that he shouldn’t be worrying about doing the dishes or taking out the trash, that she was happy and there was nothing amiss.

I used to believe her. Now I know better.

I’m pulling out my phone to book a cab when there’s suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around one of my legs. I’m so startled I nearly scream. But then I look down and see my niece, a cheeky smile on her face. “You smell like a pirate princess.”

I have no idea what that means, especially since my go-to fragrance smells like an autumn afternoon, not a life of thieving at sea. But she seems pleased with this assessment, so I say, “Thank you, Ellie.”

Then I hear a voice that’s as comforting and familiar as a favorite blanket. “Eleanor, I asked you not to run.” And there they all are: Jane, Emma, and Eddie.

There’s a bittersweet pinch in my chest as I’m struck by how much my nieces and nephew have grown. After giving the kids hugs, I turn to my sister. Her hair is a cascade of loose waves, her makeup is flawless, and she looks more toned than the last time I saw her. In her denim shorts, perfectly fitted white tee, and sunglasses perched on her head, she looks more like a nanny than a 36-year-old mother of three. To my dismay, my eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she says, tearing up, too. We wrap our arms around each other and hug tightly. I let happiness and relief flood me as I breathe in her sweet gardenia scent. “It’s so good to see you.”

I nod, too choked up to speak. And then because, despite everything, Jane still knows precisely how to cheer me up, she whispers, “Mom and Dad are playing tennis and having dinner at the club. Let’s go get ice cream.”

We have a wonderful time introducing her kids to our favorite ice cream stand, regaling them with stories about our childhood, and enjoying the early summer weather that Emma describes as “chilly,” much to my dismay. At my parents’ house, I stash my suitcase in what was once my childhood bedroom and is now the most beige guest room in existence before joining Jane on the back deck, where we drink iced peach tea and watch her kids run off their sugar rush. We talk about the flight, Ellie’s current obsession with The Little Mermaid, and the lucrative brand deal Jane landed with a super preppy clothing company.

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted about the Cape Cod content,” I quip.

Jane laughs lightly. “Honestly, a big part of the reason we’re here is because of that deal. I could have made the content work anywhere, but there’s just something about the summer-on-the-Cape aesthetic that you can’t capture in Texas.”

It’s not hard to read between the lines. “Jane. Did you seek out a deal with the preppiest brand you could find so you could justify this trip as a business expense?”

A small, beatific smile plays at my sister’s lips. It’s confirmation enough. That’s the sister I grew up with—the one who would always find a way to get exactly what she wanted and never took no for an answer. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a glimpse of that tenacity that I thought Todd had effectively rid her of the ability to scheme and undermine in the most ladylike of ways. I’m so proud of her that I want to organize a goddamn parade.