“I’m just saying. Sounds more like a husband problem than a towel problem.”
“No. It’s a you-not-listening-to-me problem.”
That made her smile. Not a warm smile. The kind that already knows it’s going to win the argument.
“Honestly? Think of it as a test.”
I stared at her.
“A what?”
“A test.” She set her mug down with a little click. “If Andrew can be tempted just because some woman walks past him in a towel, wouldn’t you want to know that now? Before it’s too late?”
For a second I genuinely thought I’d misheard.
“You’re trying to tempt my husband. On purpose.”
“No.” She said it like I was being absurd. “I’m finding out whether he can be tempted.”
“Those aren’t nearly as different as you think they are.”
“If he fails, that’s on him, not me.”
I crossed my arms, mostly to keep my hands from shaking.
“And what’s it on when I ask my own sister to stop doing something in my own home?”
Kayla rolled her eyes.
“You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
That night, I told Andrew everything. He was loading the dishwasher, and for a long moment the only sound in the kitchen was the clink of plates sliding into the rack.
At last he said, “She actually called it a test?”
“Twice.”
He nudged the bottom rack closed with his knee.
“I think I’ll stay out of it.”
“Why?”
“She’s your sister.”
At the time, it sounded fair. Respectful, even.
It took me three days to understand how alone it left me.
For illustrative purposes only
Part Three: Sunday Morning
Sunday morning, I was buttering toast when I heard Kayla’s footsteps on the stairs. Andrew sat at the table, both hands wrapped around his coffee.
She appeared in the doorway.
Same towel.
Same bare feet.
Same calm, total indifference to the fact that I’d asked her — three times now — not to.
I set the butter knife down hard.
“Kayla—”
Andrew’s hand brushed my wrist.
“Wait.”
