her sister’s potted orchids, and a beloved childhood moment lovingly captured in a blue IKEA frame: the sisters, aged three and a half and five, hugging their mother in front of an iconic London telephone box. I miss happier times. Just look at us in our matching Spice Girls tees. We were super cute. And Mom… so beautiful. The wistful memory melted Leia’s frown. A guy’s love isn’t everything. I have the love of my sister and Dad. I have my career, my health. My anger at Tyler blinds me sometimes. I forget that I have so much. She blew out her cheeks. I’ve gotta be more mindful, more grateful… I need to take these journal entries seriously, starting NOW.
She picked up her pen. Okay, I need one more thing. Think, Leia, think. Every entry, every line has to count, otherwise I’ll—no. No, I won’t slip back! This year will be different. This year will be great.
A hand pressed the back of Leia’s arm. Fuck! With a gasp, she jolted in her chair, her finger panic-clicking to another wedding photo.
“What are you doing?” Sarah’s loud, accusatory tone infiltrated Leia’s disco inferno.
She dropped her pen and yanked off her headphones. “Having a heart attack. Jesus, Saz!”
“You would’ve heard me if your music wasn’t so loud.” Pushing the hand rim of her wheelchair, Sarah rolled closer. “Diana Ross, eh? God, Mom loved her.” She nudged her tortoise shell glasses up her nose and yawned. “I need caww—ffeeeee.” Blinking through her sleepy daze, the younger Scott sister leaned into the screen, squinting her large doe eyes. “Wedding photos? Seriously, Ley? So much for not pining.”
“I’m not. You know I’m not.”
“So, what’s this for?”
“My gratitude journal.” Leia rested the headphones in her lap. “I’m stuck. I need inspiration. I thought hating Ty might spark…I don’t know.”
“Glad he’s good for something.” Sarah rubbed her puffy eyelids, her glasses bobbing into her long blonde bangs. She tilted her head back and spoke through another molar-flashing yawn. “He’s…such…a douche.”
Leia gathered her hair into a ponytail, a frown trespassing across her face.
Sarah pursed her lips. “Your hair’s grown crazy long.”
“Yeah, I desperately need a trim.” Leia examined her ends and let out a long sigh, staring back at her laptop screen. “I hate living with regrets.”
“I wish you’d listened to me.”
“I wish I’d listened to a lot of people.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.
“Well, better late than never, eh?” Sarah’s expression softened. “It was harsh, but that website was right.” Reading American gossip blogs and magazines was a habit Sarah indulged in regularly.
Leia narrowed her eyes. “About what?”
“You know—dying your gorgeous red hair. No wonder you’re having regrets. Those photos”—Sarah cringed, shaking out her hand and the numbness that often plagued her fingers in the morning—“not your best look, put it that way.”
Says the woman who wears only blue clothes. “Jeez, thanks a lot! I was talking about Tyler, not my hair!”
“Oh.” Sarah gulped. “Well, it’s just—blonde, you know… washes you out.”
“I know! You told me four months ago when I first did it.” I’m still not used to it—not that I’m telling her that. Shaking her head, Leia escaped into her journal, leaving Sarah to peruse the Canadian goodies. I dyed it to disappear, but a lot of good it did. They still tracked me down at the hospital.
“If your sister can’t tell you the truth, who can, Ley?” Sarah pulled her bathrobe closed over her blue plaid pajamas, a cozy pair that matched Leia’s. Their identical bedtime apparel, purchased by Sarah, continued an annual holiday tradition begun by their mother when they were small. “I’d kill to have Mom’s fiery red hair.”
“I’d kill to have your boobs.” Leia’s glance bounced from Sarah’s enviable 36Ds to her pretty face. The Scott sisters always turned heads, but it was Sarah with her cheeky brown eyes and flaxen curls who’d modeled as a child. “And your nose. Mine’s wider—like Dad’s.”
Sarah nodded, scooping up a box of KD. “You got his crappy sense of direction, too. Only you guys would get lost walking back from the Tube.”
“I wasn’t lost.” Leia curled her lip mid-shrug. “My phone app sent me down the wrong street.”
“Riiight.” Sarah snickered. “And big boobs and a slim nose are better than beautiful red hair. We’ll just agree to disagree on which of us is the lucky one.” A mischievous smile toyed with her mouth as her fingers brushed her wheelchair’s hand rims.
I don’t need reminding. “C’mon, Saz, you know I didn’t mean—”
“Just teasing ya.”