I guess selfishly I’d always just pictured Jake and me, lonely and unloved, living out the later years of our lives together in some swanky old people’s home in Florida, complaining about the freezing temperatures and arguing over whose walker was fastest. But with Casey in the picture, that lofty dream was all shot to hell. It was now looking like I’d be getting a table for one in old folks’heaven.
Obviously, the issue I had with Casey was more a reflection on me. I simply couldn’t keep up with the girl. The last time we’d hung out, she’d done 90% of the talking. At some point I’d retreated to a safe place in my mind far, far away from the endless words. Again, my fault, not hers. No doubt my reserved demeanor had made Casey extra chatty thatnight.
The phone calls for this current round of attempted bonding had started last week. Of course, Casey initiated each and every call. There’d been three in all, if you didn’t count the ones I’d let go straight to voicemail. She wanted to set up a shopping date with me, which required a trip to the mall or something equivalent. Noise. Lines. People. Yuck, double yuck, and shoot me now. All my go-to excuses were depleted after call number one. I dipped into the reserves for call number two. But by call number three, I was weak and defenseless, and in no position to refuse. Yep, there was no way out of the trip tothemall.
The only type of shopping I enjoyed was done from the comfort of my own home… and in a pair of colorful pajamas. Almost everything I desired could be ordered through the click of a mouse. The painless efficiency of online shopping sent happy flutters through me. Nothing was more satisfying than coming home from a long day of work and finding brown packages waiting for me on my doorstep. It was like Christmaseveryday.
My aversion to the mall came at the onset of puberty, when I grew to my full and ridiculous height. Pushing six feet tall in seventh grade, it was a challenge to find flattering outfits that fit my long, pencil arms and Stretch Armstrong legs. And don’t even get me started on my size ten flipper feet. That’s why I stuck to the brands I could trust, with the online stores specifically tailored to beanstalk girls likemyself.
Casey didn’t have to worry about such things, as she was the south to my north pole. Her cute little personality was matched by her cute little body. She could rock any outfit and look cool doing it. Add to that her flowing brunette locks and easy smile, and Casey was hard to resist. She definitely had a way of growing on you, sort of like a staph infection – you didn’t even know she was invading until you had a full-blown caseofher.
Honestly, I just didn’t want to be embarrassed when I went into stores for normal-sized girls. Although I liked being able to reach items on the top shelf, there were times I thought life would be easier if I was short enough to fit inside a smart car. Certainly it would be simpler when it came to men. I was no troll, but my height definitely complicated matters with the opposite sex. Guys over a certain length generally found me attractive – hell, even the shorter ones had no problem flirting with me – until I stood up. Then came the sweaty foreheads and awkward excuses. Even the big guys seemed to be calculating in their heads how much taller I’d be in a pair of stilettos before committing to an evening out, not that such a scenario came around all thatoften.
Perhaps to offset the shock of my lofty, slim frame and bee-sting sized boobs, I had been graciously blessed with the gift of light hazel-gray eyes, high cheekbones, and lustrously long, thick tresses, which at the moment were dyed a platinum blonde, courtesy of my fashion-obsessed sister Grace. While she’d done a great job, I was currently rethinking my color choice after overhearing someone at work call me the WhiteWitch.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only unfavorable nickname I’d earned at the hospital. I was also routinely referred to as Nurse Nasty and The Rock Star’s Bitch Sister; always behind my back, of course. For whatever reason, women didn’t particularly care for me. It wasn’t that I was ever outwardly rude to other people, but I wasn’t touchy-feely, either. I had a tendency to keep my emotions firmly in check, and apparently that rubbed people thewrongway.
When I’d first started at the hospital, I really had tried to fit in, but my brother’s reputation preceded me. A leak from the administration outed my identity, and upon arrival I was bombarded with questions about Jake. Being the fiercely protective sister I was, I immediately shut down the intrusive inquiries, and in doing so, set the course for social obliteration for the next fouryears.
Of course, it hadn’t helped my cause that male coworkers occasionally hit on me in front of the other nurses. Even openly rebuffing their advances to appease my female colleagues didn’t get me off the hook. In fact, it only seemed to incite them further.The Rock Star’s Bitch Sister thinks she’s too good for our doctors.I figured out pretty quickly that I couldn’t win no matter what, so I stopped trying. In fact, I had only one friend among the nurses, and that was really just by default. Everyone hatedher,too.
No, I was used to not being liked by other women, and it hadn’t bothered me too much until Jake asked me to try harder with Casey. I’d never been able to say no to him, and his concern for her happiness tugged at my heart. His was a request I couldn’t ignore. Nor did I want to. I owed as much to Casey. Her commitment to my brother gave us something very important in common. And if, like Jake had said, she didn’t think I liked her, well, that was definitely something I couldchange.
At least I had a better chance of making things right with Casey than of fixing the other issue Jake had with me. According to him, I suffered from a condition referred to as Resting Bitch Face, otherwise known as RBF. Apparently even when I wasn’t annoyed, my expression said otherwise. As if I didn’t have enough to be self-conscious about, now I had to worry that my very aura was displeasing to others. Talk about pressure. The moment I was made aware of the fact that I was indeed suffering from the chronic pinched-lipped disease, it was all I could think about. Feeling the need to prove I was more than just a facial expression, I practiced ‘resting’ my face in front of a mirror, adopting a more pleasing wide-eyed, clueless look. If it worked for puppies, it could workforme.
Once I had my most adorable look down pat, I tried it out at work, greeting my co-workers enthusiastically. Instead of being thrilled with my delightful new outlook on life, my sudden friendliness had the opposite effect, and for the remainder of the day, I had to endure long sideways glances from women worried I might show up at their homes and boil their pet bunnies. In hindsight, it might have been best to ease them into thenewme.
I hadn’t always been the odd woman out. Once upon a time, I’d had plenty of female friends; in fact, dare I say, I was a popular girl. Back then, if females hated me it was because they wanted to be me. Now they just hated me with no stringsattached.
It’s not difficult to pinpoint the moment in time when everything changed for me. In fact, I could tell you the exact minute of the exact day. When tragedy stuck, it was all-consuming, and I was wholly unprepared for the aftermath. I collapsed inward, clinging to my parents and siblings, the only people who truly understood the magnitude of what we’d survived. I would have gladly stayed inside that bubble, us against the world, had the inevitable not happened and we’d all grown up. I went off to college and started my life, but emotionally, I stayed behind, watching from the sidelines as one by one my little sister and my four brothers began to spread their wings. It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. Letting them go left a void in me that I’d never been able to fill back up. As my brothers fell in love, they added new members to our tight knit group, making me feel pushed out and unnecessary. Maybe that’s why I’d never embraced Keith’s ex, or Jake’s fiancée or Kyle’s girlfriend. Tears filled my eyes. I needed to tryharder.
“I can always count on you, can’t I, buddy?” I said, bending down and giving my fur baby a good scratching behind his ears. Forgetting about his butthole, if only temporarily, Cynthia purred and rolled around on the floor in frenzy as if my fingers had been dipped in catnip just for his pettingpleasure.
The ding of the doorbell put an end to the cat worship. There’d be plenty of time for that later. Oh, yeah, there wasalwaysample time forthecat.
“All right, all right, hang on,” I called, as I padded my way to the front door. Pulling out my phone, I clicked on the electronic doorbell app to confirm who I already assumed was there – my lunch date. He came around at least every other week after trips to LA, and although I’d never admit it to him, his visits were the highlights of my month. The camera on my doorbell app finally activated, and I gasped at the image that popped up on my screen. An ass. And not just any ass… my brother Keith’s. I wished I could say it was the first time I’d seen it so up close and personal, but sadly I couldn’t. Despite myself, I laughed at his juvenile behavior. My penchant for frat boy humor was an unfortunate side effect of growing up withbrothers.
“Damn, Keith,” I said into the speaker, “you’re looking so handsome today. Did you get a new haircut orsomething?”
“Well, actually I did do a little manscaping. Thanks fornoticing.”
“You know, I didn’t buy this doorbell so you could have your waywithit.”
The naked ass that had been greeting me on my screen disappeared and was replaced by Keith’seyeball.
“EMMMAA,” he said in a crazy voice, his giant orb rolling around in its socket. “Openup.”
“Stop,” I laughed, unlocking my front door. “You’re going to freak out theneighbors.”
Keith stepped in, a bag of oranges in one hand and the other adjusting his shorts back into place. “Have youseenyour neighbors? You live in the Valley, forgod’ssake.”
I pulled him into my charming yet snug, three-bedroomcondominium.
“Shhh,” I snickered, and shut the door. “I can’t take youanywhere.”
I lived on a quiet tree-lined street in the Valley. Yes,thatvalley. Also known as the New Jersey of Los Angeles, the San Fernando Valley had long been considered the place to go if you weren’t beautiful enough, cool enough, or rich enough to live in the city. Many Angelenos wouldn’t even consider stepping foot on this side of Mulholland Drive without a full set of shots on file. Home of porn stars and Moon Unit Zappa’sValley Girlsong, one might think the area had no redeeming qualities, but in recent years it had become a mecca for young families. The rents were cheaper and the vibe was considerably morelaidback.
Although it was far from what others might consider a dream home, for me it was perfect. Having the finest of all things had once been my goal, but that was a long time ago. I’d long since stopped valuing the measure of life through opulence. The people I chose to surround myself with, my family, were all the treasure I needed. Sappy, I agree, but in my case, true. Yes, I was proud of my little condo. It had been through my hard work that I’d earned enough for the down payment. Because my brother was a millionaire musician, people just assumed I routinely piggybacked off his fortune and fame. That could not be further from the truth. My life was mine, far removed from my brother’s crazy, rock star existence, although that’s not to say that if I’d wanted to live vicariously through him, I easily could have. Jake was liberal with his money and never thought twice about sharing his wealth with the ones heloved.
