The next day, I went to my parents’ house after dropping Bear off at school. I had an evening shift, and I’d promised to help my sister Trinity make goodie bags for the bachelorette party later that evening.
Yup.
That was right.
One of the two bridesmaids—me—wasn’t invited to the bachelorette party. Or, if we were going to get all technical about it, wasn’t available at that hour, on that date.
But Trinity knew dang well there was no one to cover my shifts—and Tuesday was a night shift. So what I gathered from this, was that she didn’t want me to be there.
Which, admittedly, wasn’t a huge loss, seeing as Trinity’s friends weren’t my biggest fans.
Still, it stung she’d chosen this date—weeks before the actual wedding—just because she knew I couldn’t make it. Although, if you asked Trinity, she’d say 0720 was her lucky number. Which we all knew was bull-bleep. No one’s favorite number is 0720.
“Hello, hello, hello! I’m here!” I used my key to open the door to my parents’ Cape Cod-style house, holding a huge box of donuts. I toed off my leopard-print heels, strutting my way to the kitchen and flicking the coffee machine on.
As far as interior design went, my parents’ house was a disaster of global proportions. My mother, who was an art teacher at the local elementary school, had pretty eccentric taste. And by eccentric, I mean, of course, hideous.
They had turquoise wall-to-wall carpet, a painting of some kind of a freaky farm on the kitchen wall that was supposed to be pastoral, and the bathrooms and bathtubs were painted in hot red and orange, which gave the rooms the elegance of a whorehouse on fire.
“Coming!” I heard footfalls coming from upstairs.
Trinity was still living with my parents. I was actually mildly concerned about her getting married and moving in with Wyatt. Home at twenty-five, she’d grown up way more sheltered than I had.
Wyatt was almost a decade her senior, and even though he had a great job as an engineer in Winston-Salem, he was known for his love of booze, partying, and questionable decisions.
I could argue that if I wasn’t such a thorough failure, Wyatt would take my place as the town’s official Disrepute. Then again, he had Cruz to balance his horribleness. The perfect distraction.
Footfalls hit the carpeted stairs, and my fair-haired sister appeared in the kitchen, still in her satin, baby-blue pajamas, her hair in a long braid.
“Nessy! Oh, Nessy, I’m so glad you’re here. I’m totally overwhelmed.” She threw her arms around my shoulders, hugging me close. I patted her back. “Mrs. Underwood has been goin’ around town telling people you made a kid choke on a straw yesterday?”
“That’s a lie,” I murmured into her hair, wishing Mrs. Underwood herself an unpleasant visit from karma.
“Yeah, I figured.” Trinity sniffed the air, looking around her. “Do I smell coffee?”
“And donuts.” I flipped open a small carton of the fresh goodies I’d picked up on my way there.
“Glazed?” Her eyes widened with hope.
“You know it.”
I poured both of us cups of coffee as Trinity perched on a repainted, bright-yellow chair and began nibbling the frosting off one donut. She only ever ate the frosting. And then pretty much nothing else for the rest of the day.
“Ugh, I wish you wouldn’t have brought them. Those last couple of pounds I’m trying to lose for the wedding are kicking my butt.”
She shoved the entire donut into her mouth, looking pained more than happy.
There was only one thing Trinity loved more than her figure, and that was donuts.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
“Easy for you to say. You were always stick-thin. Do you want me to look bloated in the wedding photos?”
You’re so welcome, little sis.
“Where’s Mom?”
I sat next to her, cradling my mug of coffee. I’d been cutting Trinity some slack on the behavioral front, seeing as she was about to tie the knot in six weeks. I’d watched enough episodes of Bridezillas to know that, on the anxiety scale, planning a wedding could be the equivalent to giving birth to triplets with no epidural.
“She went to exchange the macarons for the bachelorette party gift kits. She totally forgot Gabriella’s allergic to nuts and ordered normal macarons, with almonds and all. We had a screaming match last night, which ended with me telling her that if she was going to kill my maid of honor, she might as well fess up and I’ll just call the whole thing off. Finally, she managed to convince Mrs. Patel to remake them. Pretty sure Mrs. Patel didn’t sleep a wink last night, but what can you do, right?”
You could just tell Gabriella not to touch the macarons. It’s not like she has consumed a carb in the last seven years, anyway.
“How does one make macarons without almonds?” I wondered aloud.
“One does not care, as long as the maid of honor doesn’t drop dead at her bachelorette party.” Trinity snorted, dropping another frostless donut she’d nibbled on back into the pack and picking a new one. “Do you think this’ll be enough?” She motioned to the table in front of us, which was laden with mini champagne bottles, personalized lip balms, Mani Thanks nail polish, bath bombs, and fluffy personalized socks. “I wanted to do matching Swarovski earrings for each of us, but Dad said he’d take me out of his will if I spent that much money.”
“I think this is more than enough.”
I also thought it was going to be really tedious to decorate each kit with multicolored raffia paper and miniature handmade candy, especially since I wasn’t going to be the recipient of even one of these bags.
“Why isn’t Gabriella helping you? She’s the maid of honor,” I pointed out. With all her free time.
I was totally not bitter about it, by the way.
“She wanted to, but then she had to rush into the city to find a nice dress for a black tie charity event Cruz is attending. He didn’t actually invite her, but you know men. So forgetful. You’re not mad, are you?”
Trinity glanced at me from the corner of her eye, licking the icing from a soggy donut.
I never could say no to my baby sister, and she knew it. I’d pluck the moon and all the stars from the sky just to put a smile on her face. She’d been there for me the first five years of Bear’s life and served as a second mother to him.
“No.” I grabbed one of the baskets we’d used for the kits and began stuffing it to get a head start. “Not at all.”
“Good. Because I had no idea you were working today.”
This, I knew, was a lie.
“And also, Gabriella has been giving me super weird vibes, and I just don’t want the drama. I know she’s just being immature, but I’m glad you’re the bigger person.”
This, unfortunately, was not a lie.
Gabby, Trinity’s best friend, had never liked me. But she especially hadn’t liked me ever since she had started dating Mr. Perfect. I had no idea why, and at this point in life, I didn’t care.
Some people were simply destined not to like you. If they didn’t have a good enough reason, I thought you should let them. As the old saying went, whatever people thought of me was none of my business.
Although, in Gabriella’s case, it truly was, because she seemed to avoid any pre-wedding event where I was included.
“It’s fine. Everything is fine,” I repeated firmly. I continued to fill the baskets with nail polish and fluffy socks and bath bombs while Trinity scrutinized me, licking donuts and pondering the situation with a somber expression.
“Good. Ugh, Nessy, you’re such a lifesaver. You have no idea how stressed I am about this whole wedding. The preparations, the fittings, the last-minute changes…it’s just too much. I know I should be grateful, but this cruise comes at such an inconvenient time. I have so much to work on. Not to mention I just know how it’s going to play out. Mr. and Mrs. Costello are going to look down at us the entire time. There’s no pacifying Catherine Costello.”
Trinity’s lips puckered, and it occurred to me that she hadn’t even asked me how I was doing. Or if something new was going on in my life. Or, you know, if my ex had happened to show up after thirteen years of radio silence and turn my life upside down.
“You know I joined the Ladies who Brunch church committee just to impress her? Catherine, I mean. I thought she’d be there every week. She doesn’t even show up, Nessy. She just throws money at the foundation every month to keep her title,” Trinity accused.
I was about to tell her she didn’t need to make her future mother-in-law her best friend when it was apparent Catherine Costello was colder than a fish in a frozen pond, when the door flung open and Mom rushed in, her gazillion necklaces crashing into one another in a symphony of ill-advised fashion.
“I’m here. I’m here. Sorry I was late. I had to interrogate Mrs. Patel about the macaron recipe to accommodate everyone’s allergies.”
My mother hurried inside, her round face flushed, her graying hair a nest atop her head.
She looked eons less put-together than the glamorous Catherine Costello, who only had a handful of responsibilities, which included keeping up appearances by looking like a gracefully-aging movie star, looking appropriately scandalized when a popular food chain tried to open a branch in Fairhope and ruin what locals referred to as the “town’s authenticity”, and giving sizable donations to church functions in order to avoid participating.
“Nessy! You’re here. Have you started with the kits? We don’t have much time. I need to get your sister to her aesthetician appointment. Apparently, it’s best to get the glow facial a few weeks in advance.”
“I’m on it.” I made a show of waving one of the polishes in my hand.
“Good.” Mom wrinkled her nose when she saw the donut pack. She flipped it closed and picked it up between her fingernails, like it was contaminated. “No one needs these, Nessy. That was completely unnecessary. Your sister’s trying to lose weight—are you trying to sabotage her weight loss?”
“My sister looks like she hasn’t seen a sandwich since 1999.”
“Do you mind finishing up here and adding the macarons to the bags while I take your sister to get her blackheads removed? Oh, and each macaron needs to be individually cellophane-wrapped.”
They were leaving me to do all of this by myself? Alone?
“Of course I don’t mind,” I heard myself say through the strong Cinderella vibes.
I knew my family loved me. But I also knew they were, at this point, completely shuttered to what I was going through.
“You’re a star, Ness. Get dressed, honey.”
Mom patted Trinity’s shoulder on her way to the fridge to grab the iced tea Dad had made for her before he went fishing earlier that morning.
My father, bless his heart, was as involved in family matters as I was invested in the condition of mole rats in Uzbekistan. To sum it up, he showed up to important events when we asked him to.
“How’s Bear, Nessy?” Mom asked, finally showing interest in something in my life.
“He’s good.” I looked up from the kit I was making. “Actually, I—”
“I want to take him to Hanes Mall next week. Get him a new backpack and perhaps a few pairs of jeans. His pants fall down his butt. Did you know that?”
Intentionally so, but give it your best shot changing his style, Mom.
“He’ll love that,” I chirped. “Anyway, you won’t believe what—”
“I think he’ll grow to be as tall as his father. The only good thing that useless man had to offer was his height.”
“Ha! Well, speaking of Rob—” I tried a third time, a little more aggressively.
Trinity breezed back downstairs wearing a summery dress. A new, tight-knit braid was flung across her shoulder, and she was wearing some mascara, blush, and lip gloss.
“Well, see you later, Nessy. Thanks for doing all the gift bags for me!”
“Oh, and honey, make sure to tidy up afterwards,” Mom called. “I’m going to have my hands full when I come back, what with getting the house ready for the party.”
They closed the door with a slam, just as my phone lit up with a new message. It came from an unrecognized number, with an Arizona area code.
Come on, Nessy. Are you going to let me see my son or what?
Not in this life, gasshole.
