Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
And yet I’m watching my twenty-one-year-old sister get married when I can’t be further from such a milestone. The last time I seriously dated anyone was high school because I made sure to dedicate myself to my studies at college, and after college it’s been my career. It’s fine. I’m not someone who needs a relationship and I’ve never been. Then why did I have such a strong reaction to a tailor taking my measurements? Emanuel coming into my mind soothes my increasingly anxious thoughts. Maybe I shouldn’t feel so awkward and damn-near virginal for being so turned on by such an interaction. Life is supposed to be about the little things, right?
“So don’t be mad,” Caroline speaks up, breaking my train of thought. I look over to her with a raised brow. It’s never a good conversation when it starts with a request to not get upset. “I may have forgotten to told you I already have a dinner reservation for us.”
“Why would that make me mad?” I ask her with a bit of a snort. When her face tightens and she refuses to look my way, my eyes narrow. “Car… why would I be mad about a dinner reservation?”
Her lips press together and she grips the steering wheel. “Because it may or may not include Macey, Adaline…. And mom.”
My jaw drops and I have to forcefully snap it shut to start the process of swallowing my anger. While it would forever be beyond me that my sisters still ached for my mother’s approval, I had accepted they liked to include her from time to time. However, they knew my one simple rule about it all and her forgetting it is why she had primed the conversation the way she did. “All I ever ask is for you to give me a heads up,” I sigh heavily. Paula Foster is a woman you need time to get your head around before being in the same room as her. To call her a snake would be an insult to over three thousand species of reptiles.
“I know, I know,” Caroline gushes. “I totally meant to tell you! I really did. There’s just so much going on and—”
“It’s alright, it’s alright,” I assure her, though not before sighing yet again. “I’ll get through it… somehow.”
“Hopefully she’ll just focus on me,” Caroline suggests. It hurts me to hear the edge of genuine hope in her voice. It should be about her, it’s Caroline that is getting married. However, it’s not in Paula’s nature to focus on the positives about anything. We both know already what her focus will be on: me and my ‘absurd’ singlehood. It’s frustrating for me for obvious reasons, but it only pisses me off because it subtracts from how special that time is supposed to be for Caroline.
“Even if she tries not to, we won’t let her,” I remark. “You know Addie and Macey are going to be so excited to hear all about your dress and look forward to picking out theirs.”
Caroline nods and suggests that we can spend most of the dinner looking online for dresses, and I say sure, though I know good and well Paula will lose her mind the very moment someone takes out a phone. Before long, we arrive to the restaurant, and I'm trying my best not to scowl at the sight of our mother already standing on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. Internally, I chant to myself to do this for Caroline, to get along, and to not make a scene. I’ve done well my entire life to not, but she’s never pushed me quite as far as she has since Caroline announced her engagement.
We park the car and head over to them. My sisters and I all hug one another, compliment one another’s outfits, and share our excitement to all be together. When we pivot to our mother, she’s standing there like a politician. A polite, but tight smile on her lips, a well-ironed dress, and her hands clutching her handbag as though she feared someone would run by and snatch it from her. “Well, I didn’t know you would be joining us this evening, Wren.”
“Me either,” I reply, it being the politest thing I can muster. Quickly, I step around her and head into the restaurant and give the hostess my sister’s name. We are guided through the restaurant and out into a patio area that has string lights, a mural on the restaurant wall, and not too many people.
As everyone goes to sit down, our mother remains standing with a dismayed expression fixed on her face. My stomach is already knotting in embarrassment as she looks to the hostess, “Is there not a table or booth inside available for us? Why on earth would you set us out here—”