my back to the room, I glide up the stairs, silently praying that no one sees me.
“Hey, you're here!” Lindsey yells at the top of the stairs.
Dressed in a tailored black dress that falls just below the knee and crosses in the back, my sister looks more like the bride-to-be than I do.
Her hair is cut short in a sleek bob and her face looks practically airbrushed.
She's wearing three-inch heels and walking perfectly in them regardless of her belly.
At six months pregnant, you can still barely see anything but a small protrusion on the outside of her dress.
Lindsey has always been tall, elegant, and thin. She has always known exactly how to style her clothes, how to do her hair, and how to apply her makeup.
In pictures, she always looks poised and beautiful, almost as if she had walked out of the society page of Coast.
She looks me up and down and shakes her head.
I glance at her, smiling at the corner of my lips. I know that she's judging me, but there's something else in her gaze.
“You can't wear that,” she says, grabbing me by my elbow. “Mom is going to freak out.”
She leads me to the master bedroom at the far end of the house. There are four other rooms attached to it; his and her bathrooms and his and her closets.
My mom's closet is about as big as my whole apartment. In addition to all of the built-ins, there is a large island with shelving and a runway-like area with a triple-fold mirror similar to the ones they have in bridal boutiques.
“You have to pick out something from her closet,” Lindsey says.
I shake my head.
“You have to,” Lindsey insists. “I think that the makeup and hair people haven’t left yet so they can fix you up before you go down there and mingle with everybody.”
“You know, I tried hard to look this good,” I say, sitting down on the couch and looking at my reflection in the enormous standup mirror.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks. “No, you haven’t. I have seen you try hard and this is not trying hard.”
“Mom didn't tell you, did she?” I ask.
“Tell me what?” Lindsey asks, pulling out a light teal dress that's just loose-fitting enough to fit.
“The wedding is off.”
“What are you talking about?” Lindsey whips her head around and stares at me.
“I can't believe that she didn't tell you.”
I shake my head and pick at my cuticles.
“Tell me what? What’s going on?” Her voice is desperate and out of control.
“I caught Alex cheating. Today. At lunch. With his boss.”
“No,” Lindsey hisses under her breath.
“Yes, and apparently it’s not a one-time thing.”
“No…”
“She's married and they've been seeing each other since three years before he met me.”
“So, he’s been with her this whole time?” Lindsey asks, putting her hand over her mouth.
“Yep, five years. Apparently, he stopped seeing her for a year when we first met but then picked things up again.”
“Holy shit,” Lindsey whispers. “Why are you here? Why are we even having this party?”
“Good question,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “I told Mom and told her that I didn't want to go through with it anymore. I wanted to call it off and I don’t want to have this stupid engagement party. She said that I can’t unless I come here and tell everyone myself. In person.”
8
Emma
Lindsey puts her arm around my shoulders. I don’t have anymore strength within me to hold it all back so tears start to flow.
“It's okay, it's okay,” she repeats herself over and over again, but somehow her support makes it worse. Maybe worse is the wrong word. More painful.
We’ve never had much of a sisterly bond. We grew up together but we were never that close.
No matter what Lindsey says, I can't stop myself from crying and the tears continue to run down my face until my eyes are red, bloodshot, and completely puffy.
Suddenly, the closet door swings open and Mom comes in. Dressed in an impeccable Donna Karan suit, she looks like she could be one of the Real Housewives of Calabasas. Her hair is cut right below the ears and styled in such a way that not a single strand is out of place.
She’s not surprised to see me even though I am surprised to see her.
“Alex and his family are waiting for you downstairs,” Mom says nonchalantly.
It's almost as if she knew that we would both be here.
“She told you what happened, right?” Lindsey comes to my defense. “How could you