Our relationship remained much the same as I passed through childhood, the only difference being my eventual loss of interest in trying to get my big sister to play with me. It wasn’t until Amy came along that we had anything to unify us.
Amy was not planned. My parents were quite happy with the little family they already had, with no intentions of having more children. But when I was eight and Allison was eleven, baby Amy came along and surprised us all.
I always had the sinking, unspoken suspicion that my mom was relieved to get another chance at raising the perfect daughter after the disappointment of her first and second born. Allison had started her rebellious stage early—by six years old, she was already refusing to wear the pink clothes Mom bought for her. When she was ten, she used the kitchen shears to hack her long, beautiful golden tresses. I thought my mom was going to murder her that day. When our parents signed us both up for ballet and piano lessons, Ally refused to go, insisting instead on playing soccer like the little boys in her class.
I, on the other hand, was eager to do anything my parents asked of me. From a very young age, I was convinced that there was no one in the world quite so beautiful as my mother. When the little girls in my class used to ooh and ahh over the princess characters in their storybooks, I remember thinking that the smiling, vapid watercolor faces were nothing in comparison to the real life princess that lived in my house and gave me hugs and kisses before bed every night.
I’ve never been sure if my admiration was enough for my mother, or if she even noticed how deep seated it was. I was a chubby child, my baby fat sticking around years longer than I would have liked. I always had the sense that it bothered her, though I don’t remember her ever addressing it. I do remember her moaning about the way my curly hair refused to be calmed, about the difficulties she faced in putting it in braids. I was shy and hated having to be in groups. When her church group and various social clubs came over, I used to hide behind the couch, terrified of being called on to speak to them. When I did have to talk to strangers, I usually stammered. I was not blonde and beautiful like Allison. And while I happily took the ballet and piano lessons, I was clumsy and lumbering. And tone deaf.
Amy was the perfect child. She was neither rebellious nor shy. She could be trusted to smile prettily at my mother’s friends, to wear the beautiful clothes Mom favored without spilling something and ruining them. Her blonde hair, even more lustrous than Allison’s, always went easily into braids and pigtails. No ballet instructor ever told her that she had elephant feet. Not Amy.
Allison and I were, of course, united against her. Amy was spoiled and she knew it. She was happy to manipulate our parents to get anything she wanted. When Allison turned sixteen, she was given access to my dad’s old car, a somewhat battered Ford Taurus. When I turned sixteen and Allison went away to college, the car, even more battered now, was passed down to me. Amy, on the other hand, received a two-year-old Jeep Cherokee when she turned sixteen. Come to think of it, I’m sure the Ford was, by then, completely unusable, but still.
As kids, and later as teens, Allison and I were in firm agreement that Amy was spoiled and undeserving. But our bond over the unfair favoring of the third sister was not all encompassing. Ally and I rarely fought once we were teenagers, but we didn’t see eye to eye much either. I couldn’t understand why she had to make everything difficult, why she was always so determined to press Mom’s buttons. Why she would dye her beautiful blonde hair—hair I would have killed for—black, just to make Mom mad.
I baffled her as well. She couldn’t fathom why I was so content to go along with every direction from our mother. “She’s not a saint, Ash,” she used to mutter. “She makes mistakes, you know? You’re allowed to disagree once in a while.”
I never got that. Wasn’t it easier to just, well, make things easier? How hard was it to make sure my clothes were straight, or that my hair was done? How hard was it to make sure my homework was finished every night, to hang out with the nice girls at school so I didn’t get in trouble? Why was it a bad thing to want to make my parents happy?
Once I went away to college, our relationship changed again. Allison had started at Michigan State three years before me. By the time I got there, she seemed to be a much happier person than she ever had been living at home. She had good friends, she liked her classes, and she had a busy social scene. Living on her own, she clearly thrived. It was strange, this smiling, cheerful sister of mine. I had never seen her that way before.
She introduced me to her friends, even let me tag along to the poetry readings and the coffee houses that they frequented. When I started hanging out with Emily, Chris, and Ryan, she gave her hearty approval, inviting them along with her group as well. For the first time, I would have characterized us as friends.
So I was sad, of course, when she moved away to Boston after graduation. It seemed like we’d only had that one year to be real sisters before she was gone, our relationship changing yet again. Now I see her twice a year, usually at Christmas or Thanksgiving and once in the summer. She had invited me to come out to Boston, but I hadn’t made it yet. I know Allison thought my hesitance was my mother’s doing; to say Mom didn’t approve of her moving hundreds of miles away would be an understatement.
So it came as no surprise to me that I was looking forward to her visit more and more as the day of her arrival neared. What did surprise me, though, was my reaction on seeing her. I had arranged to meet her at the airport when her flight got in, though she offered to take a cab. Figuring it would be nice to see her before we were in the company of either of our parents, I insisted. When she came through the arrival area and spotted me, her face lit up. I, on the other hand, burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, pulling me in for a rare hug.
“Nothing,” I choked out. “Happy to see you.”
She pulled away, her hands still clutching my arms, so she could see my face. She smiled. “You don’t look all that happy.”
I laughed through my tears. “Sorry. I don’t know what my problem is.”
“It’s okay,” she said, watching me closely. “I’m glad to see you, too.”
She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, an unfamiliarly comforting move that almost set me off again. “No luggage?” I asked her, determined to keep myself together.
“Just my carry-on,” she said, pointing to the wheeled case at her feet. “I pack light.”
We set off for the parking lot, making chitchat about her flight and our jobs. Allison worked as an accountant in some big tax firm. It sounded totally boring to me, but she seemed happy enough with it.
“So, where to?” I asked, once I was behind the wheel. “You want to go straight to Daddy’s?”
Allison sighed. “How about you take me somewhere to get wasted first?”
I snorted. “You can probably do that with Dad.”
She looked at me sharply. “Is Daddy drinking?”
I nodded. “I think so. I mean, he’s never seemed drunk to me, but he always smells like brandy. And he falls asleep in that damn recliner every night.”
“Geez.” Allison sounded stunned. “I don’t know that I ever saw him drink more than a beer or two our whole life.”
“He’s spiraling, Ally,” I said, my voice tight. “She screwed him up really, really bad.” Allison was silent. “I mean it,” I pressed. “I’m really worried about him.”
“Then I’m glad I’m home,” she said softly.
But only for the weekend, I thought as I pulled onto I-94 and headed east. Only for the weekend, before I would be left to deal with all of this on my own again.
* * *
My dad seemed to come alive again when Allison walked through the front door, looking happier than I had seen him since February. He was still much thinner than I would like, and he looked every bit as exhausted as he had the last time I had seen him, but it was good to know he could still do things like smile and laugh.
“You’ve always been his favo
rite,” I said to Allison as we cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.
She laughed. “Oh, yeah. Sure. What do you think he liked better, when I dyed my hair or when I got caught smoking behind the bleachers freshman year?”
I laughed, too. “I guess there was all that. But you know Daddy never got mad like Mom. He just worried.”
No sooner had we rejoined Dad in the living room than he started to bug us about leaving. “Go on,” he said. “You don’t want to sit here with me all night. Go have fun, go out.”
“We’re not leaving, Daddy,” Allison said firmly. “I came home to spend time with you, not to leave you here alone.”
Allison and I sat on the couch together. My dad was watching the evening news, and did not turn it off so that we could talk. After a few minutes, I heard him snoring.
“See what I mean?” I hissed. “It’s only seven-thirty, he can’t even keep his eyes open.”
Allison was watching him, clearly worried. “Daddy?” she called out, jolting him awake. “You okay?”
He looked confused for a minute before he smiled at her. “Sorry, love. I must have dozed off. See what terrible company I am? You girls really should go out.”
After he fell asleep a second time, Allison finally agreed that there wasn’t much point in staying home. She went up to her old room to change while I called Chris.
“Want to go get a drink?” I asked him.
“Sure. Allison ready to get out of the house already?”
I sighed. “My dad’s been asleep off and on for the past half hour.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course,” I lied. “We just figured we may as well get out, if he was just going to sleep anyhow.”
“Good plan,” Chris said, though I couldn’t help but notice that he still sounded concerned. “Want me to call Emily and Ryan?”
“Yeah, that would be good.”
We decided to meet at the house, which was close enough to the downtown area of Wyandotte to walk. Chris texted a few minutes later to let me know he’d gotten ahold of Emily and Ryan and they’d be down within the hour. I wandered back to the kitchen, and found Allison sitting at the dining table.
“Ryan and Emily are going to come, too,” I told her. “They’re all excited to see you.”
“That’s fun,” she said, but she looked preoccupied.
“You doing all right?”
“I’ve never seen him like this, Ash.”
I sighed. “I know. It’s been like this since she left.”
“Does he look like he’s lost weight to you?”
I nodded. “He seems skinnier every time I see him.”
Allison was quiet.
“And the drinking seems worse, too,” I added.
“We need to try to get him out of the house more,” Allison said. “Maybe I could stay for a few extra days, try and get him more active.”
“I’ve tried,” I said, feeling stung for some reason. Did she think I was cool with him just sitting around, drinking and barely eating?
“I know,” she said quickly. “But if I was actually staying in the house, maybe he’d be more likely to wake up a bit.”
I sighed. “I wanted to come down and stay, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Of course not,” she said. “Your job is up there. Not too mention the wedding planning.”
I grimaced slightly before I could stop myself, and she peered at me. “Everything going okay with the wedding?”
“Of course.” I knew I sounded bitter. “Amber Phillips is on it, you know it’s going to be perfect.”
Allison stared at me. “You’re actually letting her plan everything, aren’t you?”
“Like I’d be able to stop her.”
“It’s your wedding, Ash. You don’t have to go along with her—”
“Look, can we talk about this another time? Everyone will be here soon, and I need to refresh my makeup.”
My older sister watched me closely for a minute before sighing. “Fine. But we are gonna talk about it.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I muttered, standing up to go get ready.
* * *
We ended up going to a martini bar called Gizmos, where Ryan berated Emily and me for taking advantage of the large and varied “flavored” martini menu.
“It’s a Snickers martini, Ry,” Emily said, shaking her head. “How is that a bad thing?”
“A martini is not supposed to taste like a candy bar,” he said. “It’s supposed to taste like gin.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I hate gin. I’d much rather have a vodka martini.”
“That would be fine,” he said, looking at my drink in disgust, “if you actually got a vodka martini. Instead you got…what is that?”
“A peppermint patty martini,” I said happily, taking a loud slurp.
“The things I have to deal with,” Ryan said in mock-sad tones.
“I don’t know how you guys drink any of that,” Chris said. He and Elliot had opted for beers. Luckily, Gizmos had a great selection of local micro-brewed beers, or I would have never heard the end of it from my fiancé.
“All right,” Allison said, setting down her own dirty martini. “Let’s get to the good stuff. Tell me about the wedding.”
I suppressed a sigh. I knew Allison wasn’t joking when she had assured me she wasn’t going to drop the wedding discussion we had started before leaving the house, but I had hoped she’d hold off until we were alone. I looked at Chris, feeling uncomfortable, but he only smiled. “Well, let’s see,” he said. “We have the venue booked now, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, my cheeks flushing for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely. “We’re going to have it at the country club down here.”
“You are?” Ryan asked, gaping at me.
“Uh, yeah. Mom booked it a few weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ryan asked. He looked hurt.
“Sorry, Ry, it kind of happened fast. Mom and the wedding planner went over and saw it—”
“Wait,” he said, holding up his hand. “You didn’t even see it?”
From the corner of my eye, I could see Allison watching me. “Well, it’s not like I haven’t been there before, you know. I’ve seen the club a million times.”
“Yeah, but how do you know what they do for a wedding if you haven’t talked to the event coordinator?” Ryan asked. He sounded way more concerned than the situation warranted.
Chris turned to me, a worried expression on his face. “Do you think we should have been there?” he asked. “You never said anything.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said hurriedly, wishing we could change the subject. I had no desire to discuss any of this right now. “Jen knows what she’s doing. I’m sure she asked all the right questions.”
“Okay,” Allison said slowly. “So you have the venue. What else?”
Everyone was looking at me expectantly. I struggled to think of another detail my mom and Jen had covered already. Why hadn’t I paid better attention to those emails? “The dress!” I finally cried. I cleared my throat, knowing I sounded nuts. “I mean, I found the dress. That was one of the first things we did.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Emily said. “You’ll love it, Allison.”
“We’re going to look at bridesmaids dresses tomorrow,” I told Elliot, hoping that if I kept talking it would prevent Allison from asking any more questions. “My little sister Amy’s coming down from school.”
“That’s what Em said.” He took a sip of his beer then grinned at me. “I’m sorry I won’t be involved in that one.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing, man,” Ryan said. “I, for one, cannot wait to be surrounded in all those silks and chiffons.”
“Are you coming with us, Ryan?” Allison asked.
“I am indeed. Your sister is under strict instructions to make no major style decisions without me.”
I nodded.
“We made a pact years ago.”
Ryan blew me a kiss. “That’s right. So you’re stuck with me, ladies. But I think it will be fun.”
“Oh God, it will not be fun,” Allison sighed. “Have you met our mother?”
Everyone laughed and I sighed, feeling like I had dodged a bullet in deflecting the attention. I wasn’t quite sure why I was so unwilling to talk about the wedding. All I knew was whenever the subject came up, my palms started getting clammy and my stomach knotty. Somehow, those feelings got even worse when Allison was the one asking.
I took a long sip of my drink—which really was delicious, no matter what Ryan said, and listened as the conversation moved naturally to Ryan and Emily’s race training. My sister was an avid runner; she had even qualified for the Boston marathon the previous year. Running talk led to an argument between Elliot and Allison about the benefits of vitamin regimens.
I was safe, for now.
My sense of security lasted about as long as it took me to finish my drink. After placing an order for a second round, I jumped up from my stool. “Bathroom break.”
“Don’t do it,” Ryan advised. “You’ll break the seal.”
“Oh, well,” I said. “A girl’s got to do what she’s got to do.”
“I’ll go with you,” Allison said, standing up to join me. I felt my stomach drop. I had a feeling there’d be some sisterly advice handed out in that restroom. I should have listened to Ryan after all.
Allison waited until we had both finished and were washing our hands before she pounced.
“So,” she said, watching me in the mirror. “What’s going on here, Ash?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This whole wedding thing. Are you even excited?”
“Of course I’m excited.” My temper, so close to the surface these days, threatened to snap. “Why would you think I’m not excited?”
“Uh, maybe ’cause you haven’t said more than two words about it since I’ve been home.”
I glared at Allison. “There’s a lot going on, Al. I’m a little stressed about things. Sorry if I’m not all singing with joy and skipping around the place.”
She didn’t roll her eyes like I expected. Instead, she kept them right on me.
An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three) Page 13