Thankfully, I don’t have to come by here all that much, especially not with all four of my sisters here at once.
Jesus, give me strength.
“Did you lose your phone?”
I close the door behind me, giving my mom, Donna, a quick kiss hello. I hand her the plant I bought her to add to her collection. She has hundreds of the damned things all over the house, but arriving empty-handed is not an option.
I look up at my sister, Lola, who is standing in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed, glaring at me.
She’s small compared to the rest of my sisters, but she makes up for it in attitude. I adore her, but she is the most opinionated woman on the planet. Her husband-to-be, Martin, must have the patience of a saint.
“Yes, I did lose it. Deliberately. I dropped it into the aquarium after I received myeighteenthtext from you about the wedding. Sorry, I’m now unreachable until June.”
She huffs out a breath, flicking her hair over her shoulder theatrically.
“I was only asking aboutcandles, Gray. It’s the last thing, and then I’ll leave you alone, I swear.”
“If only I could believe you,” I murmur, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she hugs me. She pulls back quickly, pouting like an eight-year-old.
“I know the money’s spiraling,” she says softly. “I’ve been telling Martin that we’ll go with the smaller of the two venues, and that’ll save a bunch of money.”
My chest tightens at the pleading look in her eyes, and I feel like an utter asshole.
“Get whatever you want, Lola, I told you that, just stop bothering me with inane questions.”
“But I can’t just spend your money without explaining what it’s all for! I could buy a six-foot ice sculpture or something, and then on the day you’ll see it and completely freak out.”
“Is the ice sculpture of me?” I ask, giving her a lopsided smile. “Because if it is, that’s fine.”
“Wait until you hear about the ninety yards of ribbon she’s ordered,” Martin says loudly, sauntering out from the kitchen. “Not to mention the cookies with my face on them.”
I shake my head at him as he offers me a plate of brownies.
“You’re all making me wish I were an only child,” I say, selecting the biggest brownie and pointing it at him. “Get the bigger venue. I know you prefer it. Just no more Pinterest boards. I’m begging.”
“See? I told you he didn’t care,” Martin says to Lola, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they wander away, bickering amicably.
Martin is a great guy. He’s the perfect counterpoint to Lola’s chaos. The last boyfriend she was serious about was an abusive piece of shit, and I’d never been so happy when they split up. Compared to him, Martin is perfect in every way.
I poke my head around the living room door, watching Maddy and Erica, the middle sisters, chattering together enthusiastically, their heads bowed over Erica’s phone.
All my sisters are younger than me but there was a bit of a gap between Maddy and the youngest two. Lola is thirty-four; Maddy, thirty; Erica, twenty-four; and Carrie, twenty-one. I don’t see Carrie anywhere and assume that she’s hiding somewhere, avoiding our mother.
I look back at my mom. She’s bustling away in the kitchen and catches my eye, beckoning me over. As usual, she’s wearing an apron, and there’s enough food for an army cooking on the stove.
“You’re here now, so you can tell me yourself,” my mother says enthusiastically. “When can you go out with Sarah? She’s lovely and you’re going to want to marry her the second you meet her.”
I swallow the mouthful of brownie I’m chewing and count slowly to five. I haven’t been in the house for more than three minutes, and she’s already marrying me off.
I hate everything about my mother’s attitude towards my love life. Since the end of my relationship with Leyla, three years ago, my mom hasn’t dropped the topic. I’ve told her I’m not interested in dating a thousand times—I’m just way too busy with work right now. But I know it’s futile arguing with her; she won’t listen anyway.
One of the main reasons Leyla and I broke up was because she couldn’t deal with how much I worked. She called it my “obsession.” She wanted to be my main priority, and it pissed her off that she wasn’t. I couldn’t blame her, but I also couldn’tseem to change. And ever since my dad died, I’ve felt a responsibility to my mother and sisters that I just can’t shake. The combination of work and family didn’t leave much room for her.
Now, I try to rein in my anger. My sisters, I can handle, but my mother simply won’t take no for an answer. If you tell her you don’t want to do something, she’ll just keep bugging you until you eventually get so tired of arguing that you agree. It’s gotten worse lately, too. She’s uncompromising and pushy, and the fact that I’m the only person standing in the huge kitchen shows me that she’s already pissed off everyone else in the house.
“The fifteenth is fine,” I say flatly. “Sarah, was it?”
“She’s Evelyn’s daughter.”
