The coffee filters were on the top shelf, but Kayla kept asking Andrew to reach them whenever she crossed our kitchen in a towel. She called it a test, even after I told her to stop. On Sunday, Andrew set down his coffee, unlocked his phone, and showed her why he’d stopped leaving the room that day.
One morning, after I’d already asked my sister to stop walking through our kitchen in nothing but a towel, she asked my husband to reach the coffee filters for her.
Andrew looked at the cabinet.
Then at Kayla.
Then he picked up his coffee and walked out of the room.
She asked my husband to reach the coffee filters for her.
Kayla watched him go.
“What’s his problem?”
I shut the cabinet she’d left open.
“You’re his problem.”
She laughed.
That was what finally got me.
“What’s his problem?”
Two weeks earlier, Kayla had arrived at our door with two suitcases, $287 in her checking account, and mascara dried beneath both eyes.
Her boyfriend of six years had told her to leave their apartment.
I hadn’t asked whether she could afford a hotel.
Kayla had arrived at our door.
I hadn’t told her to call friends first.
I’d taken one suitcase while Andrew took the other.
“Stay here until you get back on your feet,” I’d told her.
Andrew had agreed before I’d even finished the sentence.
I hadn’t told her to call friends first.
For the first week, Kayla was an easy houseguest.
Then came the towel.
The first morning, I assumed she’d forgotten Andrew was downstairs.
The second time, I pulled her aside.
“Could you put on a robe before coming down? Andrew’s usually in the kitchen.”
I assumed she’d forgotten Andrew was downstairs.
Kayla blinked at me.
“He’s your husband, Amanda, not a teenage boy.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
She studied my face as though I’d presented her with a puzzle.
Then she shrugged.
“Fine.”
Except the next morning, she did it again.
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
Now Andrew was upstairs, and Kayla was stirring sugar into her coffee like nothing had happened.
“I asked you to stop,” I snapped.
She leaned against the counter.
“And I don’t understand why you care.”
“You don’t have to understand.”
“I asked you to stop.”
“You’re seriously threatened by me wearing a towel?”
“No.”
“Because if you trust Andrew…”
“Kayla…”
She took a sip.
“I’m just saying, this sounds like a husband problem, not a towel problem.”
“No. It’s a you-ignoring-me problem.”
“This sounds like a husband problem.”
That made her smile.
Not a nice smile.
“Honestly? Think of it as a test.”
I stared at her.
“A what?”
“A test.”
She set down her mug.
“If Andrew can be tempted because another woman walks through the kitchen in a towel, wouldn’t you rather know now?”
“Think of it as a test.”
I thought I’d misheard her.
“You’re deliberately trying to tempt my husband?”
“No.” She said it as though I were being ridiculous. “I’m seeing whether he can be tempted.”
“Those are not as different as you think.”
“If he fails, that’s on him.”
“You’re deliberately trying to tempt my husband?”
I folded my arms.
“And if I ask my sister to stop doing something in my home?”
Kayla rolled her eyes.
“You’re making this way bigger than it is.”
Kayla rolled her eyes.
That evening, I told Andrew.
He was loading the dishwasher.
For several seconds, the only sound was plates sliding into the rack.
Finally he said, “She actually used the word ‘test’?”
“Twice.”
I told Andrew.
Andrew pushed the lower rack in.
“I’ll stay out of it.”
“Why?”
“She’s your sister.”
At the time, that sounded reasonable.
Three days later, I understood why it wasn’t.
“She’s your sister.”
Sunday morning, I was buttering toast when I heard Kayla coming downstairs.
Andrew sat at the table with his coffee.
She appeared in the doorway.
Same towel.
Same bare feet.
Same complete refusal to care that I’d asked her to stop.
She appeared in the doorway.
I put down the knife.
“Kayla…”
Andrew touched my wrist.
“Hang on.”
I looked at him.
He stood and carried his mug to the counter.
“Let me answer this one.”
“Hang on.”
Kayla smiled.
“Finally!”
Andrew leaned against the counter.
“You’ve been calling this a test all week, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Good.”
He took out his phone.
“Congratulations, Kayla. You passed.”
He took out his phone.
Kayla looked from him to the phone.
“Passed what?”
“My test.”
“What test?”
Andrew unlocked his phone and placed it on the counter between them.
“Whether you’re ready to live with roommates.”
“Passed what?”
Kayla looked down.
Then she snatched up the phone.
I couldn’t see the screen from where I stood.
Her face turned bright red from her neck upward.
“What on earth is this?”
Her face turned bright red.
“Three rooms for rent,” Andrew said. “All within 20 minutes of here.”
She swiped the screen.
“Andrew, you can’t do that!” she shouted.
“I found three listings.”
“You’ve been looking for apartments for me?”
“Rooms.”
“Andrew, you can’t do that!”
“You can’t throw me out!”
“I’m not.”
She turned toward me.
“Amanda, are you seriously letting your husband kick me out of your house?”
“Andrew isn’t kicking you out,” I said. “But temporary needs an end date.”
“Because I wore a towel?”
“Temporary needs an end date.”
I moved the toast off the hot pan before it burned.
“I asked you not to do something in my home, and you decided I needed to convince you my reason was good enough.”
She pulled the towel tighter under one arm.
“So this is punishment.”
