The Morning After

The morning light seeps through the vertical blinds, painting stripes across the tangled sheets and the limbs of your sleeping sisters. Jan, on your left, is curled towards you, one hand resting possessively on your chest. Her breath is soft and even against your shoulder. On your right, April is sprawled out like a rag doll, her foot hooked over your leg.

Your memory of last night is hazy, but you recall Jan finally giving up on the pretense, the three of you tangled in a mess of limbs and kisses. You recall the sound of their voices, both sighing and moaning, the feel of their skin against yours. And now, in the quiet morning, the reality of it all settles over you. It's not a dream. It's your life now.

You are a sister fucker. And you're okay with that. More than okay, even. You feel a strange sense of peace, of rightness, like this is where you should have been headed all along and you could have gotten here much sooner if only you were able to brain a bit better. But you're here now.

You slip out of bed, careful not to wake them, and pad to the kitchen. The smell of stale coffee and lingering takeout fills the small apartment. You make a fresh pot, then lean against the counter, sipping the black liquid and watching the sun climb higher.

April appears first, stretching her arms over her head with a yawn. She's wearing one of your t-shirts, and it hangs down to her mid-thigh. Her hair is a mess and she has pillow creases on her cheek.

"Mornin', big bro," she says, her voice still thick with sleep. She wraps her arms around your waist and presses her face against your back. "Last night was... something."

"Something good?" you ask, twisting around to look at her.

She quirks an eyebrow. "Morally? Hell no. Legally? Depends on what state you're in."

"How about... er..." you're trying to be clever and say something along the lines of 'living for our own fulfillment', but the word you are grasping for skips out like a stone on water: skip, plonk, gone.

"How about just... good? Was it good for you?" you manage at last.

She grins, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, hell yeah."

Just then, Jan walks in, her arms crossed over her chest. She's wearing a robe tied tightly at the waist, her expression unreadable.

"So, what's for breakfast?" she asks, her voice clipped. "I'm starving."

You can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. You'd hoped for a repeat of last night's warmth and affection, but Jan seems to have retreated back into her shell.

"Pancakes?" you venture. "I can make those."

"Sure," she says, her gaze flickering between you and April. "Just don't expect me to help. I'm not the 'domestic' type."

April rolls her eyes. "Don't mind her. She's just having a post-coital crisis."

"I am not," Jan retorts. "I'm just... processing."

"Processing what?" you ask, turning to the stove. "Your increased chance of getting stuck in a washing machine?"

"Oh, fuck you," Jan says. "This is not a porno cliché. This is... this is a... a logistical nightmare."

You crack eggs into a bowl, the yolk a bright, hopeful yellow. "What's so logistical about it? We live together, we have needs, we help each other out. It's a symbiotic relationship."

"We used up the entire supply of condoms last night," she grouches. "That is literally a logistical problem."

You miss the bowl and nearly dump the pancake mix on the counter, but manage to recover with only a minor mess. "Uh."

"Yeah, 'uh'," she agrees. "And we need to have a plan for how to handle it."

April hops onto a counter, her legs swinging. "We could just... rawdog it. I'm on the pill."

Jan's head whips around, her eyes wide. "No. Absolutely not. That's... that's..."

"Insanely hot?" April supplies, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Insanely irresponsible," Jan corrects her. "There's more to worry about than just pregnancy. What about... other stuff?"

You finally get the mix in the bowl and start whisking, the clinking of the whisk against the ceramic a steady, grounding rhythm. "We've all only ever been with each other. I think we're good."

"That's not the point," Jan insists. "You just don't 'rawdog' your sister. It's like... a rule."

"I can buy some rubbers if it will make you happy," April says with a casual wave of her hand. "I was planning on going to the store anyway."

After breakfast, she retreats into her room for a few minutes, then reemerges dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a low-cut top. Jan is still at the table nursing a coffee, glaring at the wall.

"I'll be back in a bit," April says, grabbing her keys from the hook by the door. Then she looks at you. "Coming with?"