Secrets of a (Somewhat) Sunny Girl

by Karen Booth

  Cheeks packed like a hamster, I shot Eamon a look that said he'd better stop right there. “I’m self-medicating,” I mumbled, hoping my breath didn’t smell like a cheese shop. I washed it all down with a long slog of wine. “This is the only thing that feels good right now.”

  “If you want something to feel good, Fiona goes to bed in two hours. This isn’t the healthiest approach to dealing with your sister.”

  “I know it’s not healthy. It's horrible. It's dysfunctional and stupid. But I can't help myself.”

  “I see.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all figured out. I'm going to buy a t-shirt that says ‘Body by Cheez-Its’ and then everyone will know what happened to me."

  He cracked half of a smile. “I do love your wobbly bits. More of you to love.”

  Oh, great. More of me to love—exactly what I’d never wanted Eamon to say about me.

  He grabbed the box and took a handful, while I tried to squash down my territorial feelings about the cheddar-parmesan duo. They were my favorite. And that was the only box in the apartment. “Now what?” he asked.

  “I don't know. I have a hideous sparkly binder dedicated to her wedding, but she doesn't want my help. I have a million things I want to say to her running around in my head, but she doesn't want to talk to me. And to top it all off, we have to go to this stupid couple's bridal shower this weekend where I get to pretend that everything's fine when it isn’t.”

  “You're the maid of honor. No getting around that.”

  “She's only keeping me in the wedding because she doesn't want Dad to know there's trouble between us.”

  “It’s not sustainable. You two can't pretend forever.”

  “And I can't let on with Dad. It would kill him. So pretend, I must.”

  “Luke and I were talking about it today. We agreed it's not fair to your father to tell him. You don't really have any way of knowing whether it's true or not, anyway.”

  “You talked to Luke about it?”

  “We had lunch. I needed a break and we've been meaning to get together. Plus, he wanted my opinion on the groomsmen gifts he was looking at.”

  I reclaimed the box and started main-lining the crackers again. Amy hated me while Luke and Eamon were having the bromance of the century. None of this was fair. “I thought you were writing. You're supposed to be writing. It's December and you're supposed to go into the studio in January to record. Don't you have a meeting with your record label in a week?”

  “Will you stop nagging me about my songs? We're not talking about me right now, anyway.” He snatched the box of crackers from my clutches, closed it, and plunked it on the end table out of my reach. “You’ve got to stop being so self-destructive. You need to funnel this negativity into something positive.”

  “Like what? Honey mustard pretzel bites?” I waited for a laugh, but it never came.

  “I was thinking your mother's necklace. Have you thought about what you're going to do to get it?”

  Yet another damning detail in my life. “I left a message for my grandmother yesterday. She never called me back.”

  “Maybe call the nurse you spoke to? Maybe she can help.”

  On any other day, I would've admired his optimism, but it felt pointless. Still, I supposed I had to try. This was my best chance at redemption. “Do you think it's too late to call?”

  Eamon shrugged. “Not sure. Most places would have nurses working around the clock. If nothing else, you could leave a message.”

  “Right. Good. I'll do that.” I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and looked up the number for the nursing home, which I'd saved in my notes. When the automated system answered, I didn't know which extension to dial, so I hit ‘O’ instead.

  “It's a beautiful day at Shady Pines. How may I direct your call?”

  “Oh. Hello. I'm the granddaughter of one of your residents. I was hoping to speak to one of the nurses. Beverly?”

  “I’m sorry, but Beverly has gone home for the day. Would you like to leave a message?”

  I sighed. “Yes, please.” I gave her my info, prayed that Beverly would care enough to call me back, and hung up. "Had to leave a message."

  “So I heard.”

  Fiona flitted into the room. “Katherine, will you read to me tonight?”

  Eamon pulled her into a hug. “Katherine's not having the best night, love. Will I do?”

  “But Dad. You don't do the voices like she does.”

  "People love my voice. People pay money to hear my voice."

  Fiona rolled her eyes and settled on his lap. I snuggled up next to him. This was one of my favorite things about having her stay at the apartment—when it was just the three of us, I could feel the love in the room. It was better than crackers or wine. That was for sure.

  “I would love to read to you,” I said, getting up from the couch. “It's one of the best parts of my day.”

  Eamon grinned and I knew what he was thinking. I needed to stop being such a pessimist. Some things, like reading bedtime stories to Fiona, were perfect. Everything else would get worked out. It had to.

  A short forty-eight hours later, Beverly hadn’t called me back yet, and the day of Amy and Luke’s couple’s shower-slash-cocktail party had arrived. "I'm dreading this," I said to Eamon. It didn't matter how ridiculously handsome he looked wearing dark-as-midnight jeans, a charcoal suit coat with a subtle black windowpane, and a white dress shirt. That wasn't going to improve my mood.

  “Maybe she'll see you and things will be okay. Hard to be angry with someone when they're in front of your face.”

  “She had no problem being angry to my face the other day.” I stepped into my dress and turned my back to him so he could zip me up. He had this habit of standing super close to me when he did it, with his hips a whisper's distance from my ass and his breath warming my neck. I could admit it—I purposely picked clothes with zippers I couldn't do on my own. The experience was sublime.

  “She's had time to cool down. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed the top of my head, only reconfirming my gut feeling—we should just stay home and have sex instead.

  That would really show my sister.

  “You know, maybe I'm not going to be happy to see her. She's being so unfair. I was trying to protect her. I don't know why she can't see that. And what was I supposed to do? Just offhandedly tell her that while we were running around the yard one day?”

  “I agree. It’s an impossible situation. Which means at some point, somebody is going to have to break.”

  I'd already broken. I was just pissed off enough that I was starting to put myself back together, quite possibly at the very worst time. “Let's just go. God forbid we're late. I'll never hear the end of it.”

  Eamon and I held hands in the backseat on our way out to Luke's parents' house. Neither one of us said anything for a long stretch, and the quiet, in this particular vehicle, felt an awful lot like the drive to the cemetery after my mother’s funeral. That was the first time I'd been in a fancy car. Amy, Dad, and I rode alone, which seemed fitting. It was just the three of us left. Amy and I each had new dresses, bought for us by Mrs. Abelman from next door. Amy's was pale pink and mine was a similar tone of lavender. Mrs. Abelman had said that black was too dour for children, and that the colors were subdued enough for the occasion. Dad agreed. He didn't want to see us in black. He couldn’t bear such a blatant display of how dark that day was.

  Amy and I had each been given a white rose to carry, and because the ladies from Mom’s flower shop were kind and thoughtful, the thorns had been removed so we wouldn't hurt ourselves. Sitting in the back of the car, we each had them lying neatly across our lap. Nobody moved. Nobody said a thing. But then Amy started pulling the petals off hers. One by one. Pop. Pop.

  “Amy, no,” my father had said, placing his hand over hers. “Don't do that, sweetie. You're supposed to put the flower on Mom
my's casket. You want it to be pretty for her, don't you?”

  I sat in silence, but Amy jerked the flower away, turning it over and pulling the petals from the other side.

  “She can't see it,” Amy said, almost defiantly.

  “But she'll be watching from heaven,” Dad countered.

  That made her stop. She thrust the rose into my lap and keeled forward, sobbing uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking. I started to cry so deeply that I couldn't even make any noise. My chin quivered, I gasped for breaths, but the tears were coming so fast out of my eyes that I could hardly see. Dad started to cry, too, and he reached across the back of the seat until he got my shoulder and he pulled both of us closer. He was trying to comfort us, but the truth was that it only felt like permission to fall apart, and Amy and I both gave into it. It was a full and complete surrender. How does it feel to drown in sadness? To be at the bottom of the deepest, darkest water, looking in the direction that you think is up, eyes wide open, and you still can't see any light? No sun?

  That was the way I felt that day.

  Much like my dad had done more than twenty years ago Eamon put his arm around my shoulders and tugged me closer. “You sure you're okay?” he asked.

  “I don't really have a choice, do I? Either this turns out great or it's a disaster. I still have to be here. She's my sister and she's getting married. These are facts.”

  “Hopefully it'll end up somewhere between great and a disaster.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  He looked down at me with his comforting eyes. “Just a guess. Maybe I'll be wrong. Either way, I'll be there. If you're feeling out of sorts, give me a high sign and we'll make our escape.”

  “We should have a code word.” The driver turned into Luke's parents' neighborhood. Cars were already lined up along the street. Ahead a massive cluster of white and silver balloons were tied to the lamppost next to the gate, bobbing in the night breeze.

  “Any ideas?”

  “Tequila?”

  “As a code word?”

  “Or a coping mechanism.”

  Eamon laughed. “How about Fiona? If you need to leave, remind me to call Fiona.”

  How did he manage to be so damn sweet and sexy at the same time? “You’re so much more sensible than I am.”

  We climbed out of the car and scaled the massive stone stairs to the front door. Luke greeted us with a smile that could only be described as perfectly normal and genuine. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as I'd thought.

  “I’m so glad you two are here.” He shook hands with Eamon and then gave me a hug. He held on to me for an extra second or two, patting my back. That was when I knew that things were not going to go well. Those pats seemed to say I'm so sorry, but your sister is still royally pissed at you.

  A waiter greeted us with a silver tray of champagne flutes. Eamon and I both took one and all I could think was God bless Eamon. He hated champagne. He'd taken two so we could trade when I was done drinking mine.

  “Everyone's in the living room,” Luke said. “We have cocktails. Beer. All sorts of food.”

  Since I was familiar with the lay of the land, I led the way. This time, men and women were socializing together. How truly twenty-first century of the Mayhew family. Shelly had obviously been in charge of the flow of this event.

  Amy was holding court on the sofa, flanked by two of her bridesmaids on one side and the notorious Aunt Jan on the other. At least I had an easy entree into chitchat with Jan. I could simply ask her how Justin Timberlake was doing. She seemed like the kind of person who lived for that moment, if only to have some eavesdropping bystander ask, “Do you know Justin Timberlake?”

  Eamon offered me his still-full glass of champagne after I dispatched mine. “What next?”

  “Just a glass of white wine,” I said. “I should probably take it easy, huh?”

  “You can always go hard later if you feel like it.” He bobbed his eyebrows at me, smug as ever, and made his way to the bar in the corner.

  “Crab cake?” a young woman in a black turtleneck and black pants offered.

  I took one and popped it into my mouth, which I instantly regretted as I discovered a shard of shell with my teeth. I spit it out as demurely as possible into my napkin and went in search of the trash. Shelly was standing off to the side out in the hall, speaking with one of the servers. A tall silver trashcan was right next to her.

  “Thanks so much for hosting,” I said to Shelly as I slyly disposed of my treacherous canapé.

  She narrowed her eyes to tiny slits. “You do know my mother did everything. She quite literally wouldn't let me make a single decision. She told everyone I was hosting to make it look like she's less of a control freak.”

  “And how's that going? You and your mom?”

  “I still haven't told her. I'm thinking about waiting for Christmas morning. The wedding will be over, everyone will be drunk on eggnog, and most importantly, my dad's buying her a car.”

  “A car for Christmas. Must've been a good year.”

  Shelly shrugged, looking out over the party. “I’d say a normal year. He loves to buy her extravagant gifts so we can all be reminded how much they love each other.”

  It seemed to me like it would be a lot simpler and far less expensive if they just focused on the love part and worried about the cars when they needed a new one. “How's your love life?” I was careful not to say girlfriend. I was not going to out her at the shower she wasn't hosting.

  “Great, actually.” She smiled and a beautiful blush crossed her cheeks. It went wonderfully with her magenta hair. “How about you? Is that the guy you told me about?”

  “It is, indeed. Eamon.” He was on the far side of the room talking to Luke and Luke's dad, Tom. There were definitely a few women eyeing Eamon, but he seemed oblivious, smiling and laughing. It was so unfair how Eamon was at ease in pretty much any setting, but then again, part of that was simply being comfortable in his own skin. And what lovely skin it was.

  Shelly clapped her hand over her mouth. “Holy crap. That's Eamon MacWard.”

  I laughed and nodded. “The same.”

  Shelly elbowed me in the ribs. “You didn't tell me your boyfriend was famous.”

  “Isn't that rude? Walking around talking about that?” I shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong.”

  “Aunt Jane would take out a full page ad in The Times and talk about it every chance she had.”

  “Well, we knew each other far before he was famous. I think that makes a difference. I look at him and just see Eamon. He leaves his socks on the floor like any other man.”

  A chorus of laughter rang out from the vicinity of the couch, reminding me that as much as I enjoyed talking to Shelly, I was only putting off the inevitable. I still hadn't spoken to Amy. We hadn't even made eye contact yet, but surely she had to know I was here. Eamon was, and he was impossible to miss.

  “How’s Amy holding up?” Shelly asked, clearly referring to the wedding and not the sisterly strife.

  “Oh, uh, I haven’t spoken to her yet. I didn't want to monopolize her.” More like I didn't want her to lop off my head in front of her future in-laws. If anything ruined a bridal shower, it was blood spatter on the carpet.

  “You should go talk to her. I need to check on the next wave of food to come out. My mother did give me a few menial tasks to handle.”

  “Okay. See you later.” I blew out a breath through my nose, feeling as though I was headed for the executioner as I began my walk to the sofa.

  Eamon intercepted me with my glass of wine. “Going in?”

  “I gotta do it at some time,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.

  “I’ll be your wing man.”

  Another step closer and Amy saw me. Our eyes connected and I struggled to decipher what in the hell she was trying to tell me with that look on her face—it was so strange. Was that joy? Excitement? Plain old happiness?

  "There's my sister," Amy exclaimed, ri
sing from the sofa. She stepped out from behind the coffee table and gave me a huge hug. “I’m so glad you're here.”

  I hesitated to give in to the embrace, but after a few seconds I realized that this must be her way of apologizing or at least telling me that I'd been forgiven. I was going to demand the words at a later date, but for now, this was fine. “We wouldn't miss it for the world.”

  She squeezed my upper arms when she let go, and I immediately began an appraisal of how much pressure she'd used. Was it an I love you squeeze? Or an I will murder you in your sleep squeeze?

  “And there's handsome Eamon.” Amy gave him a hug that didn't last nearly as long. That made me think there was something fishy going on. Any woman with half a brain would've hugged Eamon for way longer.

  “I think you've got this,” Eamon said to me. “I’m going back to talk to Luke and his father. Tom's a great guy, actually. Near encyclopedic knowledge of music. Fascinating to talk to.”

  I smiled thinly. “Okay. I'll see you in a bit.”

  I sat down and joined the other bridesmaids. There was a lot of chatter about the wedding and the honeymoon.

  “You finally decided?” I asked. “I feel like you and Luke have been arguing about this for two months.”

  “We booked it last week. We're going to Peru in March. We'll be living in a hut in the mountains so we can experience what it's like to be Peruvian.”

  I burst out laughing, but it was immediately clear that Amy was not making a joke. The other bridesmaids all had abject horror painted on their faces, but they didn't know my sister like I did. “Wait. You're serious?”

  The look Amy directed at me gave me all the clues I needed as to where I stood with her. She hadn't forgiven me for a thing. This was all for show. “Of course I'm serious. Why would I joke about that?”

  I had no answer for her question, or at least not one I was willing to say out loud. Amy was the queen of pedicures and pampering. Peru must have been Luke's idea. “You're just always so funny. Sometimes it's hard to know if you're trying to pull a fast one.” I hated myself for covering up like that, but it was done.