Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,7
myself. I put the mug under the coffee dispenser and hit the button before turning back to my sister.
“Do you need to check a calendar?” I asked. “Because there’s one on the wall.”
Annabelle huffed out a breath and glared. “No, it was three days ago.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” The hurt made my voice rough with jagged edges. I turned away, pulling the milk out of the fridge and grabbing a spoon from the silverware drawer.
“Dad asked me not to.”
I glanced up and met my sister’s sympathetic gaze, which grated.
“So you didn’t? Does our sisterly bond mean nothing to you?”
“Of course it means something to me, but—”
“But what?” I pressed. I was feeling excluded, and I hated it.
Annabelle was silent. I waited a few seconds and then snapped, “But what, Annabelle?”
“Dad’s really happy, and I didn’t want you to ruin it for him,” she said.
The coffee maker beeped, and she pushed off the couch and joined me in the kitchen. She took the mug from the machine, leaving me to replace the little pouch of coffee and put my own mug under the dispenser. So typical.
“Ruin it? Why would you think I would ruin it? Just because they’ve only known each other for two weeks and this whole thing is stupid and crazy and dumb and ridiculous and—” I ran out of words and absolutely refused to acknowledge Annabelle’s point that I had ruined Dad’s announcement at the bridal salon with my surlitude.
“How did it go when Dad told you he was getting married?” Annabelle asked. “Sorry I missed that, by the way, as I was busy trying on dresses to celebrate their day.” She sounded salty as she slid onto the stool at the counter. It put me on the defensive.
“It was fine,” I lied.
“Oh, so when Dad told you he asked Sheri to marry him and she said yes, you jumped for joy and gave him a hug?”
“Not exactly.”
“Did you hold up your hand for a high five?” Annabelle narrowed her eyes over the rim of her mug as she took a sip. She drank her coffee black, because of course she did.
“No.”
“Fist bump?”
“Stop it.”
“Did you congratulate him in any way?” she persisted.
I said nothing. I hated it when she was right.
On the entire planet, there had never been two sisters more different than me and Annabelle. Three years older, I had been the good girl who got straight As, was involved in extracurricular activities, and existed primarily to please our parents. Annabelle, not so much.
Annabelle, now a graphic designer living in a loft on Newbury Street, was the wild child. The impulse-driven, it’s-better-to-get-forgiveness-than-permission, miniskirt- and combat-boot-wearing, inappropriate-language-using artsy type who thought rules were merely guidelines.
She got her first tattoo at sixteen, illegally; got arrested for the first time at seventeen, for underage drinking; and now, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, had recently divorced her second husband, a guy she had known a whole two months before they eloped. It wasn’t exactly a huge shock that our father had gone to her first, given that Annabelle seemed to think marriage was meant to last only as long as her running shoes.
I knew the thought was mean, but I refused to feel badly about it. I was too pissed.
“Chels, hello? You in there?” Annabelle waved her hand in front of my face.
“Yes, I’m here.” The coffee maker beeped again, and I retrieved my own mug. The ceramic felt hot in my hands, making me realize how chilled I was.
“So, did you congratulate Dad in any way?”
“If by ‘congratulate’ you mean stood there with my mouth hanging open in shock, then yeah, I nailed it,” I said.
“You didn’t say anything?” she gasped.
It was virtually impossible to shock Annabelle, and at any other time, I would have felt victorious. Instead, I felt a flicker of shame deep inside, which I dealt with by adding two sugars and a healthy dollop of milk to my coffee.
“I guess you missed that part, too,” I said. “Here’s a question. Whose brainiac idea was it to spring this on me in a bridal salon? I mean, there was no warning, no prep, no easing me into the idea that Dad’s going to throw his life away by marrying a perfect stranger. I mean, really, do you people not know me at all?”
Annabelle nodded. “That’s a solid argument. Truthfully, after Dad picked the ring and proposed, we all just got so excited . . .”