They're coming

I have never seen Pen unravel before, and I have known her for 60 years. ( I almost wrote 40 years, thinking that was an exaggeration. Eeek.) I’ve seen her rage. I’ve seen her cry. I’ve seen her drunk on alcohol and drunk on love. But deep down, she has always been in control. But the business of her siblings wanting to move into our little commune/ranchette has been her undoing.

Mind you, nothing that they are doing now surprises me. Alex and Michelle are the same people I have always known. They each live in their own little bubble that only has room for one. They are aggressive, manipulative, and needy. They are shameless. 

It is hard to live life without being changed by it. But these two have always coasted through on money and beauty alone. And they have more than their share of both. 

To me though, Pen is by far the most beautiful of the three. Her once shaggy brown hair is now snow white. Although she keeps it shorter than she did as a girl, it is still thick and unruly and it still frames intense blue eyes. Everything about her body amplifies her internal calm, strength, and mystery. But her siblings are more classically beautiful. They are slim. Tailored. Pampered. 

When they showed up ten days ago, I was floored by their audacity. I can’t say they arrived unannounced. Their driver (who knows where they found him) called from the airport with an ETA. We had no idea they were that close, particularly since Pen had explicitly told them that they couldn’t visit until we finished dealing with the issue of Harriet moving out.

Last week I suggested, “Tell them to come in July when it's 110.” Pen agreed. 

When that didn’t deter them, “Tell them I have COVID and am highly contagious.” She did. 

“Tell them the truth, for God’s sake,” ML barked the next day as she passed my front porch on the way to the ranch house to get her second round of coffee. What ML didn’t know was that truth was Pen’s initial, second, and third approach, and with her siblings, it usually fell on deaf ears.

When the much-anticipated two drove up our winding dirt driveway, their limo barely outran a billowing cloud of super-dry Arizona dust. When the car came to a stop near my front porch, all three people remained motionless, windows up, for longer than you would have expected. I’m ashamed to say this made me smile. Pen, who was standing next to me, squeezed my hand and went out to greet them. 

The reunion was cordial but not welcoming. I showed them around our little establishment while Pen made drinks at her house. Through it all, their only comment (which they said almost in unison) was, “why such small living quarters?”

“To discourage uninvited guests,” I answered, surprising even me. 

“Where will you two be staying tonight?” Pen asked. They didn’t know. 

I found the ensuing silence uncomfortable until Ryan popped his head in and said he had made some munchies. “Why don’t we all move up to the ranch house?”

Pen’s eyes narrowed. I stared at Ryan as my lips mouthed WTF.

Then ML showed up, and after introductions, added, “Let’s do it. It will be fun. I’ll show you the guest rooms.”

Pen’s eyes almost disappeared behind slits of anger. I felt weak with incredulity.

Long story short, ten days later, and they are still with us. Pen feels betrayed by her family and her friends. And I feel incapable of changing anything.