“Hey, little one.”
“Hey, sis, working?”
“Hardly working, but don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“My lips are sealed.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
“Always.”
A hand closed in my chest. She was taking my lines. Just one more indication of how much our roles had reversed. Her the stable, married mom, and me the jumbled alleged career woman obsessed with a metalhead five years my junior. Still, if there was anyone who might understand, it was Jonna.
“I was wondering if you might like to meet us for dinner,” she said.
“Us, you mean you and Seth?”
“No, I wish that’s what I meant. He has to work tonight. It will be just the two of us, and Casey of course. He’s still on the boob and all.”
I chuckled. “I’d love to, where and when?”
“You choose, I’m no good at this stuff.”
“How about the Cedar Lounge?”
It must have been Opposite Day. That was the only way I could think of to explain how Jonna’s car was in the front lot of the Cedar Lounge as I arrived. This girl would be late for her own funeral, yet somehow she had made it to dinner first. She must have sensed a disturbance in the balance of the universe as well.
“Hey, sis,” Jonna greeted, with a big hug.
“Hey.”
Casey giggled in his carrier, reaching his little arms out toward me. Much to my shame I hadn’t really seen my nephew much since he was born. I came and went, but still didn’t think we’d been formally introduced.
“Do you want to hold him?” Jonna asked.
“Okay.”
Lifting Casey from the carrier, Jonna showed me how to hold him and support his head. Casey seemed happy with the situation, nuzzling his face into my chest.
“I think he likes you.”
“Looks like,” I agreed, looking down at the snoozing infant.
I’d never really considered having kids. It wasn’t that I was against it or had any silly ideas about it ‘ruining’ me. It just never really came. I had other things to focus on, like how to stay alive after graduation.
I could have gone to Mom and Dad for help, they hadn’t disowned me or anything, it just didn’t feel right. I was too self-sufficient, besides which, I still had Jonna to think about. Was only five years older, but still felt more like a mom than a sister. It was only in the past few month, since she met, and then made up with, Seth that I really started to feel like it would be okay to let go.
“What’s up?”
“Sorry, what?”
“Sister-sense. I have it too, you know.”
“Right,” I chuckled, then sighed, “I’m just trying to decide about something.”
“Whether or not it’s a good idea to be with Ragnar?” Jonna asked knowingly.
“Wow, good guess.”
“The benefit of experience.”
She had me there. Jonna had a lot more experience, at least in particular aspects of life. What used to look like mistakes, she reshaped into adventures and leaning opportunities. If anyone would understand what was going on with Ragnar it was her. Jonna could see it from both sides.
“We’re just so different.”
“How so?” Jonna pressed.
“Well, we have different cultures.”
“Do you now, Olga? You think you have a radically different culture than Ragnar Karlssen?” she asked.
I grimaced at the pointed use of my first name. “Okay, in terms of background no, but he grew up in Norway, and we were raised here. I’m American, really.”
“And Ragnar is a Norwegian living in America. Sounds like an opportunity for both of you.”
“I never really thought about it that way.”
“What are sisters for?”
Another line she took from me. Things really had gone topsy-turvy. If only that were what was rally concerning me. I liked that Ragnar and I had a shared cultural history. I’d learned a bit on my own, but Norse-Americans were difficult to come by, particularly on the west coast.
“Then there’s the other thing,” Jonna promoted.
“Other thing?”
“Come on sis, this is me, your screw-up of a baby sister who was nearly disowned twice. I know what it is to go against expectations. Ragnar is a metalhead and looks it. You definitely don’t, except with special effort. I’m guessing you like his band?”
“Yes,” I confessed, my cheeks getting warm.
“Most people do. They have what most producers would call ‘cross-over appeal,’ like Metallica with the Black Album.”
“I thought it was the White Album.”
“That’s the Beatles. It’s a bit of an inside joke.”
“I wouldn’t have thought they would have fans in common.”
She shrugged. “Music does that. And sometimes a genre just grabs you, like metal grabbed me. And apparently, now, you.”
The denial caught in my throat. Screaming for release despite the ultimate truth of the matter. I had stepped, however shallowly, into the pool of Metal, and liked what I found there.
“True,” I finally agreed.
“But you’re worried about your reputation. What might happen if your friends and colleagues found out you’re with a dirty headbanger.”
“Ragnar is not dirty,” I protested on reflex.