“He doesn’t compost.”
“It’s not easy to find a composting service in Phoenix.”
“Yes, it is!” she shrieked so loud, I winced. “I vetted three before I settled on the one I picked.”
I took a deep breath hoping she’d do it with me.
Then I advised, “Dream, honey, listen to me. If you’re feeling it for this guy, don’t put obstacles in your path.”
She was silent.
So silent, I thought I’d lost her.
“Dream?” I called.
“You called me honey.”
“Sorry?”
“You called me honey.”
“Yeah? So?”
“You’ve never called me honey.”
Oh.
That couldn’t be right.
But I worried it was.
“You call Raye honey. And Harlow. Willow. Shanti. Jessie. Not me,” she continued.
I wondered how I’d feel if my sister called everyone in her life honey, except me.
I wouldn’t like it.
Shit.
Okay, I was getting ready to meet a mob boss. I didn’t have time for a down and dirty chat with my sister.
But I had to make time because it was way past it for us to do this. This was priority, for me, her, our parents, and it was the only mission I had left to focus on, and I was at my best when I had a mission.
Especially an important one like this.
Though, I could do it multi-tasking, so I propped my phone so I could still talk, went back to my eyeliner and reminded her, “Like I said karaoke night, I don’t think I’ve been a good sister.”
“I don’t have any friends,” she announced.
Good Lord.
I couldn’t keep up with her jumping around on topics.
I grasped on to this latest and said, “Yes, you do.”
And she did. They were all flower children, like her, though more fun.
“I did,” she returned. “Then I started having babies. And they weren’t having babies. So I couldn’t go for drinks or to festivals or whatever, and eventually they stopped asking.”
