I sighed. “I don’t need anyone to be there for me. I don’t care about Ren and Rose. Also, who buys an engagement dress? Aren’t engagements a surprise?”
Logan gave me a look. “You know Rose would never in a million years stoop to being surprised.”
“Not even for something romantic?” I asked, though it was a lost cause. Rose had been planning her own birthday parties since she was six years old. She made color-coded activity sheets for vacations. And placed name cards on tables for big family get-togethers.
“She’s nervous about seeing you,” Logan said. “That’s why she told Mom about the text. Rose thinks you’re mad at her.”
“I’m a little annoyed, that’s all.” Once upon a time, we’d been so glued at the hip we’d been mistaken for twins. We called ourselves twins until Ren and Rose’s relationship.
“Was it really a prank?” Logan asked, glancing my way to gauge my honesty.
I pushed myself back up straight. “Of course, it was a prank. Even if I were still into Ren, I would never in a million years do that to Rose… and it hurts that any of you would even consider that.”
Logan chewed on her bottom lip and reached over oncemore to squeeze my hand. “Tell her that. Be honest, and I’m sure eventually everything will work itself out.”
“Yara.”Whenever Mom said my name, it sounded fancier than it was. My name became a flowery lyric or obscure poetry title. Her accent was a beautiful mix of Southern charm and the decade she’d spent in France as a young girl.
“My wonder.” She didn’t get up from her seat but did tilt her head so we could kiss one another’s cheeks. Mom patted the empty seat next to her as she turned to give Logan her typical greeting of, “My storm.”
All of us had our own larger-than-life comparisons that Mom had given us as kids. She was insistent that the moment she laid eyes on each of us, she saw something large and powerful. It was a lovely sentiment that constructed the foundation for our self-esteem at a young age. I couldn’t say it helped me much since high school, though. These days, being called a wonder felt like a joke.
Aimee, on the other side of me, waited until I settled in my seat to straighten out my twists and offer me a side hug. “How have you been?”
Her voice was soft enough to find solace in, and her smile was warmer than the sunlight that reached through the windows in front of us. Aimee wore her hair short, the soft curls dyed a chestnut brown that brought warmth to her dark skin. She still shaved her eyebrows completely off —had been doing that since college— and still pulled it off in a way that made one wonder if eyebrows were even necessary. The answer for me was yes, very necessary. I used to do anything and everything I could to make myself look like Aimee.
I smiled and shrugged. “Busy.”
“Good busy?”
“Always,” I promised, the lie so flimsy I had to look away before she called me out.
My gaze fell to Rose on the opposite end of the table. She wore a wavy lace-front wig with curtain bangs that framed her round face perfectly. Her lips were glossy red, and her nose was dotted with faux freckles. She was deep into something on her phone and had barely looked up when she heard Logan and me joining them. Rose finally looked up when Logan sat down beside her, offering our sister an enthusiastic hug and asking about her TA workload.
“Three of the assistants I’m working with are dating each other —it’s a love triangle kind of thing— and the other one doesn’t realize it’s obvious that he’s sleeping with the professor,” Logan said, eyes alight with the chance to relax and gossip.
“You should pitch this as a reality show. Or maybe write a comedy.” Rose laid her phone face down, ready and willing to probe into college department drama. She lived vicariously through all our college experiences, since she’d opted to complete her degree online so she could audition for shows at theatres full-time in New York City.
The server came by to offer us drinks and take our orders. As we waited, Rose kept pressing Logan for department gossip, then eventually asked Aimee how her clinical trials were going and Mom about the community garden. It wasn’t until the food was at the table and the drinks had been refilled twice that Rose decided to address the elephant in the room.
She didn’t look up from her omelet as she asked, “How have you been, Yara?”
“Great, thanks for asking,” I spoke as if every word was a landmine. “You?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked.
“So much has been going on.” She nodded, cutting her egg into small pieces. “So much has been changing.”
Aimee took a long sip of her drink, trying to hide her smile. If anyone was going to find amusement from disagreements, it was her. She still saw us all as children fighting over our favorite toys and TV time. The quiet lull over our table made me itchy. I clawed at my wrist as I decided to go for broke. “I think we should talk about it. Get it over with.”
Rose looked at me, expression blank in that creepy way she always did as a child when I didn’t do what she wanted. It’d taken me years to figure her out. Even when we were close, she had moments where her walls went up, and her sirens remained on full alert.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Mom chimed in. Once we were old enough to venture out of the house on our own, she’d decided we were old enough to work through our issues with one another. She only interfered to play the occasional referee or cheerleader.
“The “it” you’re referring to is my girlfriend, right?” Rose asked.
My girlfriend. The words were laced with barbed wire and soaked in venom. I pressed my molars together, jaw tight at how possessive she sounded, how her words made me sound like I’d shot the first warning arrow.
