What would you do

Your sister has moved to your city, you are not sure if you had anything to do with drawing her here. She sublets a place near you, but when her cat tries to take on Vicious the permanent cat at the place she moves into your sunroom. This is the place your baby usually practices crawling. Your apartment is small so now when you feed the baby in the morning you can watch your sister snore in her bed. Your sister is a year older, she is very cool, she wears $300 shoes and short skirts. Her braless free nipples make your milk filled breasts sink even lower in your nursing tank.

Your parents wanted your sister to move to this city since she has not found a husband in your hometown. You found a husband here afterall. She is not getting any younger they say. Her long blond hair as thick and smooth as a high school cheerleader. It is eerie to think she could go through menopause in ten years or less even. When you were teenagers she used to take any cloths you had that were as stylish or more so than hers and keep them in her closet. You did not understand but were just happy that she liked something about your taste. Your mother and father would have you exhibit dress up cloths for events to her for approval. If she wanted your cloths that was pretty clear approval.

Your husband is out of town the night your sister comes over shaken by the near threat of Vicious. It is summer and hot and the two of you were panties and thin tank tops. When you dress to leave the house you feel your milky breasts sink even lower as you compare your elastic waist shorts and baby food stained t shirt to her sexy summer dress that looks two sizes too small but still sexy.

When your husband is returning you realize you do not want the sexual frustration of your sister on her hunt for a husband and probably more so for a baby daddy in your living room. You do not want your leaking breasts pinned up next to her nipples showing through the thin material of the halter top she made for herself.

You sit on the coach with her the night before he gets home, she is being nice, very nice, talking with you. You wonder if you are wrong, imaging things. But then you remember in high school when she had a car and a license and you had neither since you were younger. You needed to get to work a mile and a half away and it was raining hard. The sky was dark like night even though it was ten in the morning. You asked her for a ride. Lightening flashed out the window, "No," she said. "But it is raining, why wont you give me a ride," you asked. "Because I dont feel like going out," she said. And you walked in the rain. You can not think of a single time she has redeemed herself for this wet cold Saturday morning. For you arriving at work drenched. So now, fifteen years later you feel just as stuck in the situation. As if that morning never ended. You tell her your husband feels sick and you need her to go back to the sublet with the panther-cat. Her cat can stay here, you do not have visions of the cat smiling up at your husband in this city of potentially available men. Your husband is one thing you do not want her approval on. You remember a saying about how we are all really just children inside, the saying was meant to reference our imagination and fun loving goodness, but you have an eerie sense of your own capacity for pettiness. That this will be with you as an old lady, in the next life, in the spirit world, written under your skin, "I won't help you."