“Can we please not tell this story again?” I ask my ice water. But no one seems to hear me.
“Where were we again? Montgomery Park?” Tara asks.
“No. Behind Thomas Mansion,” Meredith corrects. “Remember Devon tried to get in?”
Is it possible to hate your friends and sister? I look to where Jeff should be seated again and try to tell myself it’s a good thing he’s not here yet for this nonsense.
“How much snow did we get that night, T?” Kev asks. He turns his perfect white smile on me and I glare at him. We’d been dating for a while at the time, well past the point of awkward butterflies and desire to be perfect. But nowhere near comfortable enough to deal with the “Shitty Sled Incident,” as Tara and Meredith have fondly entitled it.
“Enough that I had off from high school for three days. And enough to have to dig a hole when Dev’s stomach started to hurt,” Tara laughs. Her curls bounce softly off her shoulders and I imagine sawing one off with my messy butter knife.
I shake my head and glare instead.
“I had to sled the rest of the night with one sock,” I say softly, and Kevin pats my hand across the table.
“I offered you my sock,” he says, pressing his lips together, eyes glittering.
“My hero. Too drunk to drive me to a restroom, but just drunk enough to de-sock for the lady,” I say and he inclines his head and pretends to tip his imaginary cap. I can still hear the sound of his laughter that night when I complained that my toes would fall off from frostbite.
“Not to change the subject or anything, but I believe we are here for a reason,” I remind them. Everyone looks at Tara.
Tara’s smile is otherworldly. I’ve seen it bring grown men to their knees when she gives it her all. And right now, she’s giving it her all. Kevin is leaning toward her, his upper body tilting across the table so hard, he might fall face first into the empty breadbasket. Where the hell is the breadman?
“I’ve met someone!” Tara tells us in a breath.
Meredith groans while I say congratulations. Monogamy is not Mer’s cup of chai.
“So does this mean I have to stop sexting you?” Kevin asks.
“Of course not,” Tara replies seriously.
The door at the entrance pushes open and I crane my neck to see if it’s?—
“You ok, Dev?” Tara asks, turning her neck and looking toward the door.
I nod too hard and pinch my neck.
“Of course. I’m excited for you!”
And I am. Don’t get me wrong, I want my sis to meet the one, but Tara meets a lot of someones. She’s stunning. Magnetic. Someones are lining up around the block for my baby sister. Have been since we were in high school. So, while I’m happy for her, I’m not moved to make a toast or do a cartwheel.
“I can’t wait to come up to NYC and meet him. I’m so hap?—"
She lifts her hand to stop me and her stack of bangles slides down her wrist toward her elbow.
“And I’m moving to Milan to live with him,” she finishes. And I need someone to shut my mouth, to shake me back to consciousness, to give me chest compressions. But my useless doctor friends don’t do a damn thing to help.
“You’re what?” I sputter, suddenly wishing I’d ditched Kevin and Mer to meet her here alone.
She meets my eyes and I see the unspoken challenge.Try to stop me. I’ve seen that look before so many times—when she was eight at the top of the waterfall in Lauterbrunnen, when she’d found that sky diving pamphlet beneath her wiper in high school, or when she’d stepped foot in that run-down flat in the meatpacking district in NYC fresh out of design school. There was no stopping Tara once she had that look.
“I know this seems sudden,” she begins.
“A heart attack is sudden. This is?—"
“But, I actually met Marcello on my last trip to Milan—he owns the hotel I’ve been staying at—and we’ve been talking over the last several months and, Dev, I’m in love with him.”
Holy shit, the look she wears as she says this. How am I supposed to compete with that? No amount of reasoning or logic will wipe away the dopey, eye-sparkling grin that she’s got plastered across her face. I fan myself with the menu, but it doesn’t help.
