Seven Sisters

Forever Sisters: Famous Writers Celebrate the Power of Sisterhood with Short Stories, Essays, and Memoirs
by Claudia O'Keefe

Pulitzer Prize-winning author Alice Walker tells a mother's tale of reunion between her daughters: one trapped in Southern poverty, the other making it big in the city. Marilyn French movingly depicts two young women growing apart in a dysfunctional alcoholic family. With sharp humor, Joy Fielding plays out the consequences for half-sisters reunited on a TV talk show. Fae Myenne Ng writes of growing up in a culture that considers a family with only girl children "failed." Recalling her grandmother and great-aunt, Olivia Goldsmith unfolds a dark memoir of sisterhood gone terrifyingly awry. Cristina Garcia relates a poignant reunion of sisters separated for thirty years, one trapped in Cuba, the other escaped to Miami. And in a splendid retelling of a classic fairy tale, Rita Dove imagines Beauty's forgotten sisters, while her wild romance with the Beast takes flight.

Chapter 1

An Analysis By Numbers by Whitney Otto

1. The Biological Sister

A woman I worked with, named Ellery, was having a baby. Addison, her sister, was giving the shower, and since I volunteered to help, I was asked to arrive an hour earlier than all the other guests.

"You'll really like Addison," said Ellery as we walked to lunch. "She reminds me of Gina — you know, in the art department — unmarried, very personable, pretty, smart but with that sort of restless mind that gives the impression of being in two places at once." She then added, "Actually, Addison is a little like you."

We walked along in silence as I tried to decide if being like "Gina in the art department" was something I wanted. I never even got to the Addison comparison; Ellery said, "I mean it in a good way."

Ellery and I were work friends, that is to say, we seldom saw each other beyond the boundaries of the job. There was the occasional phone call, usually prompted by some unexpected work-related event. And we liked each other. I think, without stating it, we felt that forty hours and lunch once a week was more than enough together time. Besides, there was her husband, Jake, and their child-in-the-making.

I once asked her how she and her sister got the names Ellery and Addison.

"It's a tradition for the women in my family," she said.

"You mean your names are family names?"

"Not exactly. We have different names. The tradition is we all have boys' names. My mother is Corbett and my two aunts are Dexter and Drew. Well, Dexter was Dexter — she died quite young."

"Isn't Drew more of an androgynous name?" I asked.

"These days it is, but not then. Times change."

Addison lived in a great flat. It was one of those places in San Francisco that came available by chance or death. It was full of windows and light, with a working fireplace, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a lush little garden behind the sunroom. To list all its features would make it sound like a real estate agent's lie.

"The one thing that could make me leave this flat is moving to Barcelona," Addison told me.

"What about the man of your dreams?" asked Ellery, smiling.

"Only if he lives in Barcelona.v

"My sister," said Ellery, "lives what can only be described as 'the conditional life.'"

Addison laughed. "Unlike the suburban life of which my sister is so fond."

"The bland exterior camouflages the hidden wildness," said Ellery.

I should say this exchange had a sense of affectionate ritual about it. As we arranged hors d'oeuvres and flowers, there was further talk about Jake, Ellery's husband, and the fact that Addison had not yet married; about Addison's ambivalence in regard to children, but her undisguised joy at becoming an aunt.

"My little sister, the adult," said Addison, as they continued to lay out their differences for me. "So, what are you naming my favorite niece?"

"Dexter," said Ellery.

Everything stopped. The goodwill, the fond laughter, the closeness of the moment. Addison released the flowers, wiped her hands on her shirt and said, "Will you excuse us?" Then she looked at Ellery, who dutifully followed her into another room.

Even if I didn't like to eavesdrop, I was unable to avoid overhearing their conversation.

"You can't name the baby Dexter," I heard Addison say.

"Why?" asked Ellery.

"Because that's my name. I always said I would name my baby Dexter."

"No, no. I'm the one who said it."

"You only think it was you," said Addison.

"And you only think because you are the oldest that everything is yours," said Ellery.

"How can you say that?"

"It's true. You've gone through our entire lives claiming this and claiming that, and me, knowing whatever you took for yourself could never, ever, be mine."

"Oh, this is about me?"

"Stop being so egocentric for a minute," said Ellery. "This is about my baby and our aunt. You don't even know if you want a child."

"You don't know that I don't," said Addison.

"Oh. So I'm supposed to wait and see what you decide before I can sift through what is left over? We're not kids. You're thirty-five."

"Where do you get this?"

"From you, Addison. All my life, everything I have ever gotten has been from you."

"Fine. But I didn't tell you to run out and live a life opposite of mine."

"Maybe I wanted to set myself apart," said Ellery.

"And did you get what you wanted?"

Ellery hesitated. "I don't know."

"No one's life is free," said Addison with what sounded like a breath of regret. "Are you sorry for your life?"

"No. I love Jake and the baby too much. Still, sometimes I wish — I wonder — "

" — what it would be like to swap places?" asked Addison. "So do I."

The surprise in Ellery's oh was unmistakable.

"I was often lonely," said Addison, "and a little envious because you had me in a way I couldn't have you. Maybe you've lived your life as a response to mine, but all I ever had was the unknown and the untried."

"It seemed that you clearly knew where you were going and what you wanted," said Ellery. "You appeared that determined to me."

"But you had a lightness I did not feel inside myself. When you made a mistake, it was just a mistake. If I erred, it felt like the world was coming down. There were times when I felt you watching me so intently, with so much admiration, or curiosity, that you failed to see me at all."

"Oh, baby," said Ellery, and I assumed that meant it had moved. The sisters said nothing, then I heard Ellery's voice. She sounded amused. "Look at us," she said, "the old maid and the wife; the one without children and the one with child; madonna and Magdalene; so exactly the same but different."

Copyright © 1999 by Claudia O'Keefe
"Seven Sisters: An Analysis By Numbers," Copyright © 1999 by Whitney Otto. An original story printed by permission of the author and the author's agent, The Joy Harris Literary Agency, Inc.

About the Author

Claudia O'Keefe is the editor of the anthology Mother, praised as "a literary feast" (USA Today). Her newest anthology, Father, is forthcoming in trade paperback from Pocket Books. She is the author of the novels Gawkers and Black Snow Days; her short stories have appeared in several anthologies and magazines. Ms. O'Keefe is the granddaughter of Walter O'Keefe, a Broadway composer and radio legend of the 1940s.