“Know me?And are you worried I can’t do this?”
She pulls back, gripping my shoulders and catching my gaze. “No! Not at all. I know you can do this—I also know that the creative side of your brain likes to take up all the space sometimes and doesn’t leave much for the administrative side. But you’re a culinary school graduate! I shouldn’t have assumed you don’t already know how to do all of this. Clearly you do. I’m sorry, and I won’t butt in anymore.”
Clearly I don’t.
I am terrified I’m going to fail—making it the worst failure of my life, because it won’t just affect me, I’ll bring James down with me.
And equally terrifying: What if I never get my refuge back?
“Hey,” says Amelia in a whisper, popping into the room. She glances over her shoulder. “We only have a second while she’s in the bathroom. But . . . have y’all noticed anything about Annie?”
“That she’s only pretending to drink her wine?” says Emily, casually leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, she’s been doing that for weeks.”
“You saw that tonight too?” I ask.
Emily looks offended. “Of courseI did. She never winces anymore.”
I point at Emily. “Yes! I knew it!”
“And she took her beer with her into the kitchen about fifteen times during the last family dinner.”
“That’s because she was pouring it out. James saw her!” I say, excited to have inside information. “So she’s pregnant, right?”
Emily nods. “Definitely.”
“But she’s not telling us?” Amelia is heartbroken at this prospect. “What are we going to do about it?”
“Nothing.” Emily looks like the leader of a crime organization. Deceptively calm.
“By nothing, you mean somehow capture a sample of her urine so we can test it ourselves, right?” I glance between them. “Because I can do it. Don’t ask me how—just know it can be done.”
“No. We’re not going to do a single thing. We’re going to respect Annie’s privacy and wait until she feels comfortable to tell us herself.”
I grimace. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It’s the new me. Respectful. Understanding of privacy. Patient . . .” While she’s listing off her virtues, I’m rolling my eyes and making a yapping gesture with my hand. She finally notices and smacks it down. “Stop that!”
“Those are noble attributes, but sosoboring. I miss slightly toxic Emily. Jack took her away from me.” I go shake Emily’s shoulders. “Give her back!”
“Give who back?” asks Annie from the doorway to the kitchen, glass in her hand—empty.
I pivot, slinging my arm around Emily’s hip. “My old Celine Dion greatest hits CD. She’s held it captive for too many years.”
“I don’t have it,” Emily replies.
“Oh yeah? So if I go out to your truck right now, I won’t find it in your CD sleeve?”
“Nope.” But her eyes betray her as they dart quickly to Amelia.
I turn slowly on her and she cracks like an egg. “Fine, yes, I borrowed it! But it’s so good. You can have it back next time I see you.”
We all move back into the living room and pile onto the couch for the next hour so we can look at photos on Amelia’s phone from her latest tour. I still regularly forget that she is a famous pop star, until these moments when I see pictures of her onstage surrounded by a sold-out stadium. Pictures of her backstage hugging mega artists who have shaped the music industry. But it’s easy to forget all of that with her because to us she’s Amelia . . . the Audrey Hepburn–obsessed woman who stole our brother’s heart with her truly awful pancakes and has loved us like real sisters from day one.
After looking through photos, we all steal clothes from Emily to sleep in. Literallyclothes,like T-shirts and leggings, because the woman doesn’t own pajamas. Or she does, but her take on pj’s is just silk lingerie pieces trimmed in lace. Around oneA.M., we all four pile into Emily and Jack’s king-sized bed like we’re the family inWilly Wonkaand my sisters pass out almost immediately.
I’m seconds away from sleep when Emily inches closer and whispers to me, “I’m impressed by how quickly you came up with that Celine Dion lie.”
“Yeah,” I say, staring up at the dark ceiling, wishing more than anything that I had been able to see the stars tonight. “I’m too good at lying.”
