Claire waves frantically from the pedicure throne on the far left, her pregnancy bump now prominent enough that she needs help getting in and out of the chair.
"Sage!"She practically bounces, which can't be safe in her condition."You actually came!"
"Like I had a choice," I mutter, but I'm already being pulled into her enthusiastic hug.
Harper looks up from her phone, her power suit somehow still crisp despite a full day of lawyering."Well, well.The prodigal sister appears.We were about to send a search party."
"I texted you yesterday."
"A thumbs-up emoji doesn't count as communication," Harper says, but she squeezes my shoulder as I pass."Sit.Linda's been holding your chair for twenty minutes."
Linda, our regular pedicurist, grins at me while preparing her instruments of torture."Sage!Long time!Your sisters say you have boyfriend now?Very handsome?"
"I don't?—"
"Very handsome," Claire confirms, shoving her phone at Linda."Look!He's a billionaire tech guy.They had a midnight rendezvous in her inn.There was a goat involved."
Linda studies the photo from Mira's Instagram."Oh, very nice.Good shoulders.You marry him yet?"
"We're not?—"
"She's taking it slow," Harper interjects, giving me a look."Sage likes to thoroughly vet her options.Sometimes using questionable methods."
I sink into the massage chair, letting it pummel my spine while Linda fills the foot basin.
The water is approximately the temperature of hell, which feels appropriate.
"So," Claire says, settling back."Tell us everything.How's it going with him?When do we get to meet him properly?Have you kissed yet?"
"Claire, you're thirty-five, not fifteen."
"Pregnancy hormones.I cry at paper towel commercials and live vicariously through your love life.Deal with it."
"There's nothing to live through.He was a guest.He checked out.End of story."
"A guest who you lured there through cybercrime," Harper says dryly.
Linda begins the assault on my neglected feet, tsking at the state of my heels."You need to moisturize.Stress very bad for skin."
"I'm not stressed."
All three women look at me with expressions ranging from pity to disbelief.
"Okay, I'm a little stressed."
"Which is why," Claire says, "you need to come to Family Game Night on Sunday.Mom's making that lasagna you love.With the three cheeses."
My stomach clenches."I can't.I have guests checking in."
"You always have guests checking in," Harper says."That's the point of an inn."
"These are special guests.The Johnson wedding party.I need to?—"
"Fix everything yourself because you're the family helper and that's what you do," Harper finishes."We know the song, Sage.You've been singing it since you were twelve and decided you were responsible for making sure everyone else was happy."
"That's not?—"
"Remember when Dad lost his job?"Claire interjects, her voice gentler."You made a spreadsheet of family expenses and started a dog-walking business.You were thirteen."
