My trip to the shopping centre started with the right intentions. I would overcome innermost fears and protracted anxieties and walk into Harrods with my head held high to buy the perfect gift in preparation for Benjamin's firstborn child, but the juxtaposition of beauty, clothing, accessories, homeware and baby fever central was the exemplar of the Devil versus the Angel technique.
The uninvited phantasm of light and dark is entirely incorporeal, dualistically defined, forcefully persuasive and destructively accurate.
I had to choose between baneful selfishness and sheer selflessness.
Did I want to be in the vicinity of newborn babies whilst blithesome mothers contemplated nursery furniture?
Is it really that bad if I listen to the dourness of evil and ignore the reality of truth? I could pretend for a while longer, go about my day being deliberately obtuse on the matter in the name of broken-heartedness.
Or I could heed the plea of good and face the shadow of pain. Not only for Benjamin's benefit. For mine. For the baby. For the relationship I will, someday, crave and cherish.
I had to pave the way for the little person's auntie because I knew when my twin brother's newly born child, with the eyes of an evergreen forest, was swaddled in the safety of my arms, I would forget all the reasons why I feared our family's new addition and experience the true meaning of love at first sight.
"I have a crazy aunt and I am not afraid to use her" is what the ever so chatty embroiderer stitched onto the stark white vest I purchased to go inside the neutral-coloured gift bag alongside sleepsuits, blankets, cuddly toys and soft books.
I got carried away and almost bought everything in sight until Terrence, the permanent bodyguard and impermanent roommate, interjected on behalf of my bank balance and advised against wasteful expenditure. "It might be wise to double-check with your brother" is what he suggested whilst I stood in the middle of the store and designed the baby's nursery.
I might have died of embarrassment. I mean, who does that? Who takes it upon themselves to rearrange someone else's home? I do, apparently. I got over-excited and lost one's sense of proportion.
My heart was in the right place, though. I wanted to prove to Benjamin and Quinn that I cared about them and the new baby and that I wanted to be present, kind, loving, considerate and thoughtful rolled into one perfect package.
Irrespective of insuppressible mortification, I left the store happier than when I entered, with a bag of goodies in hand and the largest of smiles on my face.
One down, two to go.
Free of guilt, I peregrinated nomadically throughout London until I mustered up the courage to make an appearance at the restaurant like an apparitional body of wide-eyed dumbfoundedness.
There was a time when the thought of returning to work seemed like an impossible task, when the responsibility of waitress service, welcoming guests, taking orders and communicating with the kitchen was like murky waters, too deep to stand in and beyond the capabilities of someone struggling with mental health.
Yet, there I stood, with the immutable path to the boss's office within walking distance.
I am not the person I was yesterday or the day before that. I am growing as an individual and learning to trust what fate has in store for me.
Sure, I will never be complete without my son. But I can survive his loss for the sake of existing.
Laurence was less than impressed to see me. He told me to take a seat whilst he throned himself on the opposite side of the desk in a high-back leather chair like the King of England to read me the riot act.
When I could be bothered to show up for work, I was unpunctual, unpredictable, unforthcoming and unproductive compared to other employees.
As a further matter, I allowed personal issues to affect my job performance and ignored the man's calls, text messages and emails.
I disappointed him and did nothing to warrant a second chance.
However, Laurence, with innate kindness and gentlemanly considerateness, decided that I was worth more than what my actions portrayed. He opened the window of opportunity for me to prove myself and rectify the matter with a clean slate.
I shook his hand and vowed to be the best waitress he's ever hired, which, of course, Sade jokingly argued from the confines of the hallway, where she twigged the conversation with an ear to the door. I know if Laurence declined my request for reemployment, she would have stormed into the office, truncated the dismissal and laid down the law until he agreed to throw a welcome-back mat beneath my feet.
Two down, one to go.
It was easy to spot my brother through the crowd of casually dressed customers and unformed supermarket assistants. I lingered by the automatic sliding doors, with the gentle zephyr of bravery on my face, watching the boy I grew up with stack shelves and slap bright yellow discount labels on the food that was approaching its use-by date.
Benjamin looked miserable and out of place. He did not want to be here, wearing nondescript black trousers paired with maroon and orange fleece and cotton. He wanted to be at the cafe, in the kitchen, where he felt at home.
When we were younger, I remember my brother coming home from rugby practice late, and our father would be on the doorstep, ready to berate him. Hamish would drag Benjamin inside by the ear, then beat him with the belt for every defiant minute he stayed away.
I hated it, the sound of brutal lashes on raw skin, the gruffness of my twin's broken voice when he begged to be heard—just like I hated it when Martin cried, or when Miles sobbed, or when Mary whimpered.
God, I was a coward. I hid in the bedroom every time, with the door closed, my eyes shut, and my hands over my ears, praying for a higher power to intervene. I counted in my head until silence replaced sadness, and I knew it was safe to breathe again.
I never checked on my older siblings in the aftermath of our father's tyranny because they were closed books. You could not approach them to see if they were okay. You'd get a door slammed in your face if you did. I used to think it was resentment. I seldom got on Hamish's bad side, and they felt bitter about it.
Now, I realise the act of cold-hearted refusal was fierce protectiveness in disguise. My older siblings did not want to burden me, the baby of the family, with fear, worry and helplessness.
If only the book of knowledge had come sooner. Tiny or not, I would have fought my way through boundaries and hugged the shit out of them, even if they rejected me because I know now what I did not back then, how much they needed to be loved and appreciated in those dark moments of insanity.
Benjamin, on the other hand, was never off limits. He was always available and approachable. I could go to him at any time of the day for a cuddle. He could have been battered and bruised and broken beyond repair, but painful conditions were powerless against the unbreakable bond of twins. If I walked into his bedroom, sat next to him on the bed and put my head on his shoulder, not a word between us, he caved within seconds, wrapped an arm around my waist and snivelled into my hair.
I was his protector, and he was mine.
Sometimes, Benjamin's sadness morphed into anger in the wake of our father's cruelty. He would lock himself in the bathroom with the murderous thoughts we touched upon later that day, and I would sneak across the hall to rearrange his bedroom. A game I played to wind him up, to divert his frustration.
So, when my brother left the trolley of canned vegetables in the aisle to show a customer where the frozen fish was stored, I tucked the gift bag under my arm, dashed to the abandoned station and made a mess of the shelves.
I switched the seeded bread for tinned tomatoes, turned the canned beans upside down and dumped random crisp packets next to the bagels.
Stealing the price gun labeller, I discounted freshly baked doughnuts for ten pence a pack. Then I ran like the clappers into the next aisle in time for him to return and continue the task.
It took a lot for me not to laugh. I peered around the end of the aisle in between boxes of branded cereal and witnessed the moment the confusion etched across his face. He glared at the trolley, then turned to the bagels to comprehend how the Walkers brand landed in the bakery section.
Benjamin gathered the crisp packets and returned them to the rightful shelf. He stared at those packets in anticipation, as if he half-expected them to grow arms and legs and crawl back to the hand-sized rings of baked dough.
The yellow-sticker bargain doughnuts caught his attention. Recognising the error, he picked up one of the boxes and looked for the misplaced—or rather—stolen price gun labeller. When he came unstuck, he left the plastic container of sugary goodness on the trolley and retraced his footsteps. He probably thinks the gun is somewhere near the frozen fish. It made sense.
Adjusting the gun's information display, I changed the label's pricing and quickly printed stickers for the doughnuts. He will have a panic attack when he sees the freebies in the store.
This time, when my brother came back, red-faced and flustered, I stayed in the aisle but at a distance, pretending to be a customer. He never batted an eyelid or cast a sideways glance. He was too distracted by the free doughnuts.
"What the fuck?" he muttered to himself, and I had to look away to refrain from laughing. "I hate my life."
Chewing my lower lip to stifle amusement, I peeked out the corner of my eye and watched as he ripped yellow stickers off the containers like a savage beast.
Those poor doughnuts never stood a chance, springing into the air and swivelling across the floor, not that he cared enough to acknowledge the confetti of sprinkles. He was done. It's not like the store manager's radar meant anything to a man who felt as though he had nothing to lose, specifically his job.
Holding the gift bag to my chest, I sidled closer. "You dropped the tortilla wraps—"
"I don't care!" Benjamin's green eyes, cold with contempt, swung in my direction. "I have more important things to worry about..." The words died on his tongue when he saw me. "Emma..."
Trapped in his gaze, I gave him a demure smile. "Hey, Ben."
His lips pressed firmly together as he stopped himself from saying something he might regret. A reprimand I deserved, but my brother, no matter how angry, chose to be a better man.
Apart from the night outside his apartment building—where I pushed and probed and aggravated until he could not take any more of the emotional pain I had inflicted—he never lost his cool with me. Today is no different. He stepped away, head low in despondency and hands curled into fists, then proceeded to fix the disarranged shelves.
"I have nothing to say to you," Benjamin whispered, and I swallowed the large knot in my throat. "Did you honestly think the hide-and-seek game would work? You cannot come to my workplace and fuck around. I could lose my job." He fixed the upside-down cans of baked beans. "We are not kids any more, Emma."
"It used to make you smile," I said, leaving the price gun labeller on the shelf of pre-cooked baguettes. "You liked it when I distracted you. You would spend hours looking for hidden medals and trophies. I never made it easy for you."
My brother was silent.
Even though I stared at the floor in shame, I could sense the heat of his eyes on me. "I had this entire speech planned, but when I got here and saw how sad you were, I just wanted to do something right for a change." My cheeks were flushed hot. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
He studied me closely. "I guess I did forget for a short while."
"Yeah?" I asked, peering up meekly. "Is it too soon to ask what's on your mind?"
"That depends on the nature of this visit." He canted an eyebrow. "If it's worth my while, I will be honest with you."
"Well, I had a lot of free time on my hands. I had time to think..." That is not how I should start the apology. "You know what? I could stand here all day and tell you that I deserve to be hated and resented and unloved, but the truth of the matter is, I do not deserve those things. I am a good person, but I made a terrible mistake. I came to your home and hurt you in the most unimaginable way because I was too selfish to consider anyone but myself."
Benjamin listened intently.
"No excuses. You loved Carter like a son, and I was wrong to suggest otherwise..." My eyes briefly flickered to the ceiling to blink back tears. So help me, God, I will be strong. This is not about me. It's about him. "You are not wrong for leaning on Quinn and choosing happiness during the darkest moments of our lives. You, of all people, deserve the best and only the best. If your new family can provide even the smallest measure of fulfilment after our boy's disappearance, I can sleep peacefully at night, knowing that my favourite person in the whole world is going to be okay."
My brother watched a single tear fall down my cheek.
"We are not replacing Carter," I said aloud, and he grimaced at the internal pain I knew he felt. "We are preparing for his cousin." Bringing the gift bag into view, I placed it on the trolley, reached for the personalised sleep suit and held it up between us. "What do you think?" He read the needlework without any degree of emotion. "I am a bit crazy, but I reckon this kid is going to love my craziness—"
Two large arms came around me. My body was crushed, yet I could breathe properly for the first time in a long time. All was right in the world just as long as I had my twin by my side.
I hugged him back, looked heavenward and thanked the lucky stars for granting one wish.
"I love you," he rasped, and I clung to him for dear life. "You are a pain in my fucking arse, but I would not change you for the world. You wanted to know what I was thinking about. You. Emma. Always you."
My hands latched onto the material of his shirt on his upper back.
"Mary invited me over to her place for dinner." His chin rested on my head. "She mentioned that you might be there, and I was worried that you would leave if I showed up, but I would never miss an opportunity to see you."
My sister is so crafty. "A guileful puppeteer is controlling us," I said, recalling how she tried to play cupid when Hugo was around. "Mary is determined to fix everyone."
"Yes." Benjamin released me with a quick rub on the back. "But I would not change her, either."
"Same," I agreed, inspecting the loaves of bread bespattered with yellow stickers. "We better get those off before your manager—" My brother, without my watchful eye, had stealthily picked up the gun and stuck a for sale sticker on my forehead. "Seriously?"
"What?" He bore dimpled cheeks with a self-satisfied grin. "I thought you liked this game." Another sticker on my face—right on the cheek. "Isn't that what you said?" Ninety-nine pence on the nose. "You wanted to distract me in the best possible way."
"Do not get carried away." Whacking the gun out of my face, I peeled labels off my cheeks but damn if those sticky buggers were inexcusable as they came down on me like hot showers. "Okay! You made your point!" The onslaught was never-ending. "Benjamin Hughes!"
"Yes..." He slowly lifted the gun and ejected a sticker onto my chin. "Sorry, the perfectionist in me could not leave a space."
I glared at him. "I look ridiculous, don't I?"
He nodded.
Payback is a bitch.
Unboxing a pack of four chocolate doughnuts, I selected the one oozing custard and—to the sweet sound of my brother's complaints—slathered it across his face. He choked in shock when the creamy filling trickled into his mouth.
"There." Dusting off my hands, I tossed the dismantled doughnut onto the trolley. "We are even—" I got slapped in the face by a chocolate eclair, the hollow shell crumbling, the sickly-tasting filling forcing its way into my mouth. I spat out a lump of pastry. "I cannot believe you did that."
"Oh, there is plenty more where that came from..." He uncapped a can of squirty cream and shook it for good measure. "Now, where do you want it?"
My eyes rounded. "I will murder you—"
Before I could make sense of the change in the air, I ran down the aisle like a naughty teenager with my brother hot on my heels, spraying cream on everything in sight to catch me in the process.
"Ben!" My panicked voice startled the customers, but I slowed down for no one. Everything went in the air: fruit, veg, rice and pasta. "You are going to lose your job!"
"Fuck it," he said, breathless, then pied me in the face with a sour-tasting lemon tart. "Yellow is your colour."
Unable to open my eyes, I came to an abrupt stop and removed chunks of gooey pastry from my lashes. "And here I thought I was the childish twin." The sliding doors opened for me to leave the store. "Terrence is going to kill me. I cannot get in the car when covered in sugar..."
Benjamin is gone. I half-expected him to say goodbye before I left, but I guess the fun was over.
Bystanders gawked as I walked on by like one of the Lost Boys from the movie Hook. Hell, I had cream in my trainers, squelching with each step I took along the pavement.
"Emma!" My brother called, and I spun on my heel to see him jogging toward me with the gift bag gripped tightly in his hand. "You left without me."
"I thought you went back to work or something..." It sounded stupid when I said it, so I do not know why I thought it. "You are not going back, are you?"
"No, Ma'am," Benjamin joked, and honestly, I kinda liked his rebellious side. "I never belonged at the supermarket. I mean, with all the talent in my hands, I should be fighting for a head chef position, right?" He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the dollops of custard on his forehead. "You and me. Let's make a deal right now. I will get a job at Hélène Darroze at The Connaught or something, and you will get your arse in university for a photography degree. Come on." He raised a hand between us. "Pinky swear, or I will go back inside and beg the manager for my job back."
"Emotional blackmail?"
"I will not apologise if it works."
"What happened to Mrs Warren?"
"Alexa never got back to me." He shrugged it off like it was no big deal. "It's all good. When one door closes, another opens."
"I don't know..." I love capturing the world through the art of photography, but the practice of taking and processing photographs was only a hobby. "I am not even that good. Plus, I cannot afford the extortionate cost of a university degree."
"You cannot put a price on happiness." He nudged my chin with his fist. "Or natural talent. You have a gift, Emma. An eye for detail and a passion that sets your soul on fire. It's always been about Carter and me..." He never broke eye contact. "Put yourself first for a change."
I suppose I did have a clear vision and a passion for sublimating life to the creation of photographs. "Fine," I agreed reluctantly, but deep down, I was excited to enter the next phase of my life. "I am pretty good with a camera. I should share my talent with the world."
"Attagirl." A proud smile touched my brother's lips. "Pinky swear."
"I swear." My little finger curled around his not-so-little pinky finger. "That I will get myself into university and get that damn photography degree. Hell, I will be one of the best damn photographers in history. How does that sound?"
"It sounds like we are about to break generational curses and put an end to the toxic patterns that surround our family." His arms outstretched. "Shit, if Mary can get out of that hellhole to take over the fashion industry, then anything is possible, right?"
I laughed. "Right."
***
My sister's townhouse in Chelsea is the epitome of solid architecture and sublime grandeur. I spent the first thirty minutes in complete astonishment, inventorying the entire property.
The double-height living was indisputably the heart of the home, with bespoke floor-to-ceiling windows and open shelving in matt lacquer showcasing the most beautiful books. A dramatic fireplace clad in a textural ribbed dark grey presided over the formal seating area of warm blues and golds, where hand-knitted rugs and contemporary furniture elaborately fringed the softly painted walls.
If the outstanding living quarters did not steal the show, then the six-tiered, smoke glass chandelier centred above the twelve-seater dining table certainly did. Or perhaps the landscaped garden with antique furniture, outdoor bar, external hot tub and ground spotlights were the cynosure of eyes. It could be the luxurious bedroom that was bigger than my whole flat. I had yet to decide.
Patty, wearing a bright pink apron over the sparkly black dress, poured three glasses of expensive-looking wine after placing the cheap bottles I bought on the journey over here on the kitchen counter.
"Where is Quinn?" she asked my brother, and he told her that Quinn would meet us here soon. "I am afraid to ask why the two of you have dry shit all over your clothes. You can find something clean to wear inside Mary's office."
"Thanks." Benjamin is already removing the dirty Sainsbury's uniform. "Where is Mary?"
"Your sister is running late." Patty slipped on a pair of oven gloves. "Don't worry. She won't be too long."
Shooting Terrence a quick text message to let him know I got inside safely, I left the phone on the kitchen table and followed my brother to Mary's office.
Racks of new clothes took up most of the space. I flicked through garments to find something comfortable to wear, but my sister mostly hoarded men's fashion. "I am not wearing a suit to dinner."
"Well, I am." Benjamin selected a grey three-piece suit. "It's not every day that I get to boast designer labels."
I almost left the office to ask Patty if I could look inside my sister's wardrobe for something more appropriate to wear when the criss-cross dress made of champagne satin and thigh-high splits on the old-fashioned desk beckoned my fingertips.
Imbued with a sense of confidence, I touched the sequined detail on the plunge neck design with covetous hands. It would fit my body like a second skin.
"What do you think?" Benjamin looked ridiculously handsome and very smart in a suit. His hand flatted on the paisley waistcoat. "I might keep this one."
"You should," I agreed with him. "I am sure Mary will give you a free pass."
"Probably." My brother checked his reflection in the free-standing mirror. "There is a packet of facial wipes on the sideboard." He scrubbed away the dry cream on his face, then hightailed toward the door. "I will be in the kitchen, telling Patty how to cook."
Once the door shut behind him, I peeled the dirty clothes off my body and folded them onto the desk, ready for the washing machine. Then, with the delicate straps dangling on the tips of my fingers, I pulled the dress over my head and let the soft material fall to my feet. It was too much for a dinner party in someone's home. It was very unlikely that I would wear it outside of the office. But I had to try it on.
Rounding the desk, I stood in front of the mirror and smoothed my hands down the front of my body to iron out the barely noticeable creases when the door creaked open and my sister's reflection appeared in the mirror. "Hey," I said, watching her stride toward me. "Sorry, I should have asked you first. I just wanted to see if—"
"I am not mad." Mary came to my side and admired me in the mirror. A long pause lengthened between us before her throat cleared. "You look just like our mother."
Taken aback, I felt instantly bitter. "I am nothing like her."
"Do not be insulted. Our mother might be a heartless cow, but there is no denying her beauty." Mary opened the pack of facial wipes and removed the smatters of cream on my face. "I have yet to finish the dress. I wanted to add a spine of crystals, but I can see now that you have it on that intricacy is unnecessary. Do you like it?"
"I do, but my opinion is irrelevant." My sister is beyond talented. To say I am proud of all her achievements would be an understatement. "You know best as the designer."
"Your opinion is relevant." Grabbing a soft brush from the desk drawer, Mary styled my hair into a low, elegant bun. "I designed it for you." Satisfied with my tweaked image, she threw the hair accessories aside and palmed my shoulders from behind. She had kicked off the shoes before she joined me in the office, but the lack of footwear did not make a dent in her height. "You look beautiful, Em."
"Thank you." My cheeks warmed at the compliment. "Patty said you were running late. Is everything okay?"
"Yes." It was then, whilst I shadowed her into the hallway, that I noticed she was a little unsteady on her feet. "I went to a bar for a tipple after work." The front door suddenly knocked. "I will get it!"
My sister ran like a crazy person down the hall and seemed to vanish into thin air. To get on her level, I had to consume alcohol and said alcohol was in the kitchen with Patty, Benjamin and...Quinn.
My footsteps faltered when our eyes collided. I had to make things right with my friend, but now that she was in front of me, I did not possess the ability to speak.
"No," Quinn scolded with a finger aimed at me. "You do not walk in here and cower away from me."
I could not tell whether she was serious or not. "Quinn..."
"You silly girl." Quinn's heeled shoes clicked along the floor as she barrelled toward me with arms opened wide and a smile from ear to ear. "You know I am incapable of staying mad at you. I love you too much."
"I am so sorry—" Her hug caught me off guard, not that I shied away. I embraced her for so many reasons. One, I owed her an apology for how I behaved that night at my brother's place. Two, I did not need a reason to hug my best friend. Three, I missed her so much. "We might not be related by blood, but you have been the best sister I could have asked for and the most incredible auntie to Carter. When you found out that you were pregnant, I should have been the least of your concerns. I will never stop apologising for making you feel like you could not be happy."
"Hey," she cooed, her hands coming to my cheeks. "Look at me. I get it, okay? The timing was shit. I knew it would set you back, so I wanted to wait for an appropriate time to tell you. Truthfully, I am glad it's out in the open now. I won't rub it in your face, though. I promise. As far as I am concerned," she covered her small bump with her cardigan, "I am not even having a baby yet."
"No." Peeling her fingers off the hem of the cardigan, I parted the material and touched the smallest of mounds. "You will talk about the baby every day, and I will be right beside you, happier than a pig in shit," I added, and a burst of airy laughter left her lips. "I am so happy for you and my brother. I am even more thrilled that he finally got the balls to come back to you."
"Thank you," Quinn mouthed.
"Do not thank me. I am going to be the best, the coolest, and the craziest aunt that you pair of lovebirds could have asked for."
"I love how she is stealing all the limelight." Mary's light-hearted joke faded into the background when I noticed a tall figure skulking into the open space. "Emma, I invited your friend Hugo to dinner. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," I lied with a fake smile. "However, I wonder why he did not message me directly." Hugo texted this afternoon to see if I was okay, yet he never deemed it appropriate to give me the heads-up. "The thought slipped your mind, did it?"
"I wanted to surprise you." Hugo's appreciative gaze swept over me as he leaned in to give me a hug. "You look really nice."
"Thank you," I said politely, then accepted a glass of fizz from Benjamin. "So, what's for dinner, Patty?"
Quinn's eyebrows raised when she detected the saltiness in my tone of voice, but she never commented. I was unsure if the vexation was directed at my friend, Hugo, or my sister, Mary. Maybe both.
"You have a few options." Patty gestured to the fancy casserole dishes on the kitchen island. "There is a fish and mushroom casserole with crispy phyllo. Hasselback eggplants with parmesan. And, last but not least, my favourite: Puglian-style paella. I hope you like mussels."
I had never tried mussels before, but I am not against seafood. "It smells delicious."
Mary offered to carry the wine bottles. "Let's eat in the garden."
Dinner beneath the stars went surprisingly well, considering the untalkative awkwardness between certain individuals.
I parked myself between Patty and Benjamin to avoid Hugo. It's not that I disliked the man in any way, shape or form. I am glad that I found a friend in him. However, I could not shake the irritability I felt since his unexpected arrival, which is probably unfair, because he did not invite himself. He was asked to be here.
I sighed into nothingness.
Mary had to learn the definition of boundaries and fast. I have asked her nicely not to meddle in my personal affairs. What must I say or do for her to take me seriously?
The Sunshine Band's "Give It Up" played softly from the bar's overhead speakers. I have lost count of how many times it has invaded the playlist tonight. I will know the lyrics word for word by the time I hit the sack tonight.
"Are you sure that's wise?" Patty's brisk sternness had everyone's eyes lifting from the dinner plates. "Mary, I am not looking for an argument, but you promised to take it easy on the alcohol."
"Please do not start with that nonsense," Mary rebuked, and I snuck a glance at my brother, who was already watching me for a reaction. "When was the last time I sat down with the twins and enjoyed dinner with them? Oh, that's right. Never. This never happens. A glass of wine is not going to hurt anyone."
"You were half-cut when you got here." Patty set the plate of half-eaten eggplant to the side. "Which reminds me, why didn't you answer the phone when I called."
My lips puckered.
Okay, so they are about to have a lover's spat with an audience.
"I was busy doing that thing," Mary enunciated every word with precision. "Don't look at me like that. You know what I am talking about."
Patty's eyes narrowed. "You are lying."
"I am not lying." My sister spilt wine on her legs when she snatched the glass on the table. "Hey, I never planned to get drunk earlier."
Some might argue that drunkenness is still ever-present.
"But when an opportunity arises, I must do whatever it takes, remember?" Mary's bulbous eyes pleaded with Patty for cooperation. "Oh, for goodness sake. I might as well come out and say it. I have, potentially, found fake dates for Martin's wedding next weekend."
Feeling slightly nauseated by thoughts of the dreaded family reunion, I reached for the wine bottle, refilled the glass and threw effervescence down my throat.
"Why do you need fake dates?" Hugo forked paella into his mouth. "Aren't you both in a relationship? No judgement. Only curious."
"You are more than welcome to join us." Mary is on a destructive roll tonight. "My bet is Emma does not have a plus one on standby. You should totally take that spot."
Hugo's lips parted to speak, but I beat him to it. "Mary," I hissed, and she shrugged one shoulder. "Will you stop? If I wanted a date for the wedding, I would have asked Hugo directly."
"Fine. Do not come as her date. Be there as her friend," Mary continued to interfere, and I had to stop myself from kicking her beneath the table. "Anyway, I am on the hunt for fake dates because our father is a homophobic prick who will more than likely strangle me if I show up with a woman on my arm."
"That sucks." Hugo, with a tight smile in my direction, swigged wine to wash down all the food he'd inhaled. "I guess it's not the worst idea. You can still share a room but step out as straight friends. It works."
I cannot believe that everyone is entertaining this madness. "Our father is not stupid," I said, low and serious. "Besides, he will remember Patty. The moment he sees her, he will know she is the girl you ran away with. You know I am right."
"No, I don't think her name was ever mentioned." Benjamin embarked on the crazy train. "Someone from church told him that Mary had been caught kissing a girl. He was too angry to ask for a description."
Irked by the entire conversation, I shot him a warning look. "Do not encourage them."
"Hey, what they do in their spare time is their business," Benjamin defended himself, and my eyes rolled back. "Em, be reasonable. Mary is right. If she wants to attend the wedding and forgo Dad's judgments, she has to play the part. No one is asking her to leave Patty behind. But I agree with them. Fake wedding dates is a smart move."
I could not suppress bitterness if I tried. "Since when did we care about Pappa Hughes' approval?"
"It's not about Hamish." Mary twirled the wine glass by its delicate stem. "For Martin. I will not be the ruination of his big day."
"This is wrong," I said, and Patty placed a hand on my knee in a comforting gesture. "No, I am not upset with you. I think it is really unfair that you guys have to hide your sexuality. You are gay and proud."
Mary and Patty smiled at each other.
"I will never understand why Martin invited our parents." No longer hungry, I slid the plated mussels out of view. "The wedding could have survived without them. Why must everyone pretend to be okay because they demand respect? We hate them."
"Martin has forgiven them." Mary had an agreeable glint in her eyes, but she would be understanding for our brother. "Miles, too."
"You have got to be shitting me." My jaw was on the floor for most of tonight's shenanigans. "Why? Our parents do not deserve forgiveness. Not after everything they put us through."
"Who cares?" Mary's nonchalance was a facade. I know that our father's hatred and our mother's rejection crippled her. She would give anything to be accepted by them. "If our brothers are willing to let bygones be bygones, who are we to question them? All I know is I have not been in the same room as my siblings since I was young." Her smile was sad. "I cannot describe in words how excited I am to see the gang back together."
Benjamin's eyes searched mine for reassurance.
"I am okay," I told him, which did nothing to mollify him. "Really, I am. But Mary, if our father so much as gives you a dirty look, I will not be held accountable for my actions. I will air all his dirty laundry if he upsets any of you."
"We are not obligated to speak to Hamish." Mary checked a message on her phone. "Oh, shit. Our 'maybe' dates said they would think about it."
My brows welded in confusion. "Think about what?"
"To think about attending the wedding. God, Em. Keep up." Mary's hands drummed on the garden table with excitement. "You know what that means, don't you? It means that I am days away from receiving a guaranteed yes."
Patty's hands covered her ruddy face. "Are these guys even nice-looking?"
"I can only describe the one gentleman because I have not had the luxury of meeting his friend." Mary delved in for a second serving of casserole. "Think tall, muscular, handsome, dangerously confident and the type of eyes that stare into your soul."
I huffed in dismay.
He sounds like my kind of guy.
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I will be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
—Emma?
—Terrence?
—Laurence?
—Sade?
—Benjamin?
—Quinn?
—Patty?
—Mary?
—Hugo?
—Martin?
—Miles?
—Hamish?
—the fake wedding dates? 👀
—anyone I missed?
Thank you for reading. ❤️
Please don't forget to vote. ⭐️