had been a doormat long ago, but she’d long since learned how to be a steel blockade when it came to people smacking her down.
Except your mother. And your family. And every person who asks you to serve as a chairperson.
She thumped that little gnat of truth out of the way and smiled as her messenger dinged.
You up, jellybean?
Hillary.
Couldn’t sleep. You know how it is after a party. Wiped out, but a million things going through my mind. Or maybe her being up was more about the fact that her husband wanted to have sex, and she didn’t want to. Because she wasn’t slim enough or sexy enough or in the mood enough. Maybe she needed to go to the doctor and get some testosterone or estrogen or whatever made a woman want to roll in the hay . . . or rather four hundred thread count sheets. Or maybe she just needed to lose the extra premenopause pounds. One of her friends had gone on a diet, lost fifteen pounds, and said afterward she’d had more sex in one month than she’d had in two years. Maybe Melanie needed to up her commitment to weight loss for more than just looking good in a dress.
I remember, but it’s been a while. Mom told me about the cake and the dog. Bummer.
That was an understatement.
Tennyson.
That’s all she would need to type—her sister totally understood. Hillary had been in town when all the crap with Tennyson had gone down, and, of course, she’d been there for the wedding.
Hillary sent a funny GIF of a diva Hollywood star walking into a room, dropping her fur coat, and taking her gloves off one finger at a time. It was so much like Tennyson, Melanie laughed.
Bingo.
Melanie smiled as she typed the next response. God, she missed her sister so much. Over the past year, their time together got smaller and smaller. Hillary didn’t like company, and she was an excellent liar—all people who struggle with eating disorders are. They lie to themselves, and they lie to others. Hillary pretended she was getting better, but Melanie knew she wasn’t. She’d tried to intervene, but both her mother and Hillary had erected barriers. At one point, Melanie had threatened to call the authorities and report her mother for essentially letting Hillary kill herself, but her sister had threatened to move back to Baton Rouge. Melanie had relented when her sister promised to go back to the outpatient therapy program, but that had lasted only a few months.
I missed you. Especially tonight. Emma looked so pretty. Can you believe she’s getting married?
Little bubbles appeared as her sister typed. And then they stopped. Melanie waited a full two minutes, but Hillary didn’t respond.
You there?
Nothing for another minute.
Alarm curled around her heart and sneaked up into her throat, clogging it. Her sister’s health issues were sometimes scary, and she’d had a few episodes that had necessitated a trip to the ER. The prognosis wasn’t great because Hillary’s organs had starved for too long, but so far her sister was managing. She had good, consistent care and counseling that helped her deal with her diseases. Still, at times, Melanie felt fear tear through her at the thought of losing her sister. She wasn’t sure if she could survive being left behind with their mother.
From the very beginning, Hillary had been the anomaly in the driven, acerbic, somewhat disillusioned Brevard family. Her mother liked to say Hillary was born without a single sound. Even after the nurse had smacked her behind in an effort to issue a cry, the newborn hadn’t made a peep. She’d merely opened her blue eyes and peered around as if she were surprised she even existed. As a baby, her sister was placid and content, and as a child, she was friendly and kind. But when she became a teen, it became obvious Hillary was too tender to withstand the onslaught of ugly in the world, including the pressure exerted by an exacting, ambitious mother. Plump, pleasant, and oddly charming, Hillary seemed too good for the world she lived in. Her sister had done what any survivalist would do: she’d tried to assimilate. Which meant Hillary had tried to be what she was supposed to be.
Of course, Melanie had never noticed how Hillary had lost the weight she had during her junior year of high school . . . until her biology teacher did a unit on mental health that included eating disorders.
Like a baseball winging