knew my sister didn’t want to admit. “You got so excited you completely forgot about me.”
“No, we . . . That is to say, okay, yeah,” she admitted. “We did.”
“Ouch.” I dragged the word out for maximum guilt impact. Annabelle blanched, so it was a direct hit.
It didn’t make me feel better, and I desperately wished I had two more mimosas in hand. Instead, I went for comfort food, desperately needing a snack to fill the gaping hole of sadness in my soul. I opened the door to my pantry and stared at the neatly stacked boxes of oatmeal, the loaf of bread, and the jar of peanut butter. There were no cookies. Damn it! This was pitiful. I slammed the door.
“I’m sorry, Chels. We should have looped you in sooner,” Annabelle said. “But can I ask you something?”
“What?” I asked. I was checking my freezer to see if a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Karamel Sutra had miraculously appeared. It hadn’t.
“If we had told you a few days ago, would you have reacted any differently?”
I slammed the freezer and stared at my sister. “I guess we’ll never know.”
“Really?” Annabelle asked. She sipped her coffee. “I think we know.”
Her lofty attitude caught me on the raw. “The woman bought our father at a bachelor auction for prominent Bostonians two weeks ago. He doesn’t know her well enough to marry her. How can you be okay with this?”
“Because I like her,” she said.
“Like her?” I asked. “You don’t know her either!”
“I know her better than you do,” she said. Her voice was superior. So annoying.
“Right.” I rolled my eyes and took a bracing sip of coffee. It chased away any buzz that had been left behind by the mimosas, which was probably a good thing but felt like a shame.
“I still bring my laundry over to Dad’s, so we visit on Sunday nights when I’m doing my wash,” she said. “Sheri’s been there the last two Sundays, and we’ve hung out. We even hit a show at the Museum of Fine Arts the other day.”
“You’re friends with her,” I accused. Oh, the betrayal!
“I’m trying to be,” she said. “Honestly, I like Sheri. She’s quirky and fun.”
“She wants us to be flower girls,” I snapped. “That’s not quirky—that’s weird.”
Annabelle frowned. “Well, I think it’s fun. She’s never been married before. She’s excited.”
“Ugh,” I grunted. Truly, I was beyond words.
“So what if she wants us to wear matching dresses and scatter rose petals? Who cares, so long as she makes Dad happy.”
Well, wasn’t that some shit. Annabelle sounded like the altruistic one, when I’d always been certain that was my role as the older sibling. Of course it made me even crankier about the whole situation.
“Well, that figures,” I said. “It’s been you and Dad against me since Mom died. I don’t know why I thought you’d suddenly be on my side about him marrying a perfect stranger.”
“Chels, come on. That’s a load of crap, and you know it. Dad and I have never been against you,” she said. “You know, if you’d ever take a day off work and hang out with us, you might be more in the loop.”
“Don’t patronize me. What I do is very important.”
Annabelle was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “So is family.”
“I know that,” I said, seething. “I know that better than anyone. That’s why I do what I do.”
“Listen, you aren’t the only one who lost Mom.” She pushed her mug aside and leaned forward, getting into my space. I refused to back up. “What about the family that’s still here, still alive, still wanting you to be a part of it? You’ve been cutting us out for years, just like you have your friends. You live in this self-imposed solitude, refusing invitations to weddings, parties—life! How much longer do you think we’re going to keep reaching out to you?”
“What are you saying?” I asked. Now I did back up, trying to look casual about it. “If I don’t go along with Dad’s wedding, you’re going to disown me?”
“Would you notice if we did? Look, I love you. You’re my big sister and you always will be, but you’ve changed, Chels. You started withdrawing after Mom died, and you never stopped. I don’t even recognize you anymore. You shut everyone out.”
“No, I don’t,” I protested. “Besides, this isn’t about me.”
“Yes, it is. It’s one hundred percent about you. Do you realize the only relationships you’ve had happened before Mom passed?” she asked. “You