Brenna, Brat (Detroit ABCs)

Chapter 3

D ion glared at me and if hatred in someone’s eyes had lethal power, then I would have keeled over immediately. “I will not,” he announced, and drew a trembling breath before placing his hand over his heart. “Never. Never!”

“Do you have to be so dramatic?” I sighed. He reminded me of my brother. Patrick also got this way at times and made every little thing in his life into a national emergency. Over the past few years, though, he had experienced some stuff that actually deserved a dramatic response. He had gotten a job across the country, moved, and failed at it; he had wrecked a relationship with his fiancée and ruined his chances for happiness with her; he fathered a baby with another woman; finally, he had come home to Michigan in disgrace to live in his childhood bedroom.

Now, those were things to get up in arms about. Taking out the garbage? Not as much. “It’s your turn,” I told Dion. “I did it last week.”

“I have more important things to do. And it’s sleeting and my shoes are a lot nicer than yours,” he pointed out.

The first part of that was probably not true, but the second and third parts were very accurate. The weather was truly disgusting and Dion did dress expensively, while I had replaced my stolen Schone boots with a cheap pair that I’d borrowed from my sister Sophie. It didn’t mean that I wanted to go outside wearing them, though, because the trash was his responsibility. “Dion,” I stated, but while I was prepared to argue all day, he dealt with our issue in a different way. He ran out, splashing right through the slush that he had claimed would ruin his shoes, and jumped into the car that he’d conveniently and illegally left in the loading zone again. Then he was gone.

Fine, I would take out the trash, and I would take care of all the other closing procedures that he was also supposed to do tonight as per the schedule that I’d taped on the door of the employee break room. That was actually our boss Alecta’s office, but she was rarely here to use it. I’d pushed her rococo desk to the side and pulled in some chairs that I’d found upstairs in the old atelier area. They were postmodern chrome and leather and they were a little worn, but I loved them.

It was dark outside as I rolled the can to the curb and I tried to be as alert as I usually was, but I had something else on my mind. I still had a few more things to accomplish before I left for the night and one of those was an idea I’d come up with that was not on our closing checklist. Earlier, Dion had started complaining about how many spammy texts he got and how they interfered with some dumb game he played, and it had sparked an idea for me.

When I was back at the lacquer table, I typed for a while before I felt satisfied with the result. “Good evening,” I read out loud from my phone. “Thank you for your interest in the Alecta Alberne Gallery. We are pleased to announce that we will represent a promising new Detroit artist in an upcoming show. Stay tuned for details.”

I’d made the message very vague on purpose, because it was all a lie. We had no plans for a show and we had no new artists, either. My boss Alecta was away on a trip and there was no room for anything else, anyway, since the gum sculptures weren’t selling at all.

“You were automatically added to our preferred customer list due to your previous interest in our gallery,” I typed, also a lie. We had no such list. “Reply with ‘yes’ to continue to receive our important messages and ‘no’ to be removed from any future communication.”

I read it silently this time and decided that it sounded really good. I’d gotten all kinds of texts like this myself, and Dion had just been whining about them. It was a great way to remind a person—our customers, I meant, of our existence. I sent it.

I held the phone in my hand as I started to complete the actual items on the closing checklist, and it wasn’t too long before I received a response: “No.” Just “no,” that was it, and I looked at the screen and sighed. It had been a stupid idea and I wasn’t sure why I’d thought of it, let alone gone ahead and done it. I continued to move the vacuum around the floor, kind of cursing myself, when another word arrived, too.

“Hi.”

I looked at it, wondering how I should respond. I decided that a professional veneer was best, so I typed, “You have reached a representative from the Alecta Alberne Gallery.” I nodded, pleased with how impersonal that sounded, and sent it. Then I waited.

“Brenna, I know it’s you,” Campbell Bates wrote. “These messages are coming from your number.”

What? I wasn’t texting him! I’d used a messaging app that was supposed to hide the sender, with the gallery logo as the profile picture. So why was my number visible? “With whom am I conversing?” I wrote, and this time? There was no answer at all. Holy Mary, this was ridiculous! I was so embarrassed that I wanted to throw my phone out into the street and run, but that wasn’t going to change the fact that he’d already seen and written back, “Brenna, I know it’s you.”

Ok, that was bad. Terrible. I looked for a moment at my screen and heat turned my face into a Brenna oven. The good news was that I’d never have to see him again, I told myself. At least I’d be spared the humiliation of that.

I deleted the useless messaging app, finished the vacuuming, wiped off the lacquer table, and dusted some of the art. I didn’t touch the gum sculptures because they were too breakable, although they had collected a lot of grime in the weeks that they’d sat on their pedestals. Pre-chewed gum was still sticky, after all, but no matter how long—

A woman’s scream echoed through the room, bouncing off the high ceilings and old wooden floor before trailing off in a gasping, gurgling moan.

I screamed too, and a man yelled, “Holy shit!” He catapulted across the gallery and grabbed my shoulders. “Brenna, are you all right?”

“Yes,” I choked. “Yes, it just startled me. I thought I’d locked that door.” I must have forgotten to when I came back in after taking out the trash, being so preoccupied with the dumb message that I’d been planning to send to this exact person.

“Holy shit,” Campbell Bates repeated. “I had prepared myself to hear it, but when you screamed too…”

“I was startled,” I said again, and now I had reason to be even more embarrassed. I felt myself heating again, in fact, now a lot like a Brenna inferno.

“Phew,” he said. “I’m glad you’re all right.” He smiled at me.

I decided again that a professional attitude was my best course and cleared my throat. “Are you on the hunt for another gift?”

“No, I don’t need anything today, although I did hear that the gallery is going to have a new exhibition on an undefined date with an unnamed artist.”

“Yes, we sent that notification to all our preferred customers,” I said, but he grinned even bigger and seemed to be trying not to laugh.

“Funny how I was on that list. I didn’t remember signing up for it when I bought the sculpture. That was when you gave me your number on that business card,” he added, “which was how I recognized it.”

This was only getting worse. “I give my number to all the preferred customers.”

“Lucky us. I was going to get in touch with you, too,” he said, and there was a long pause. “Do you want to know why?” he prompted.

Yes, I really did, but I wasn’t going to say it because I had already humiliated myself enough. “I remember you were interested in some of our other pieces, like ‘ La gaule ,’” I said, drawing his attention to the two chewing gum squirrels having their fun.

“What did you say?”

“It’s the inappropriate title of the work, and it’s in French because the gum is from Montreal,” I said. “I didn’t name it myself.”

“But you know what it means and you said it with a nice accent. Do you speak French or was it a good imitation?”

“I speak it.”

“What’s the significance of that title?” he asked. “‘La’ what?”

“It’s slang for an erection,” I said, and I realized that my eyes were on his pants, the part in front and behind which his male equipment resided. Holy Mary. I pulled my gaze up to his face and saw him grinning at me, and I needed to wrest back control of this interaction. “That’s enough about that. If you’re interested in me giving you une gaule —I mean, if you’re interested in me giving you information about the sculpture with the title of ‘ La gaule ,’ let me know.” My internal temperature had now risen so that I was a Brenna fusion reaction.

“I have no interest at all,” he stated. “The reason I’m here is that I have something for you. A present.”

I looked at him. “You do?”

“You said before that this place closes at six,” Campbell reminded me. “Let’s go have dinner. Come on,” he urged, and I realized that I was nodding at him.

That was how we ended up at the Italian restaurant he’d talked about the first time he’d come into the gallery, the time when I’d said no, that I didn’t want to go out with him. Why would he want to have dinner now, after I’d turned him down and after what had happened when we’d gone skating? I’d thought a lot about my exit from the rink, and when I’d described it to my big sister Nicola, she’d shaken her head.

“Brenna, that was rude,” she’d told me. “It wasn’t that man’s fault. I don’t understand who he was, anyway.”

She didn’t understand because I hadn’t given her the full story of how Campbell had come to the gallery and that he’d invited me on an impromptu ice-skating excursion. In the version I’d shared with Nic, I’d gotten mad at a guy who’d tried to help me find my stolen boots, then I’d stormed off and left him in the parking lot. We were acquaintances, I’d explained, and that part had been accurate.

“I spent so much time saving for those…” I had stopped. Nicola understood what it meant to work hard and I didn’t need to explain to her how it felt to have something stolen from you, either. I remembered her consoling me when someone (Grace) had forgotten to lock our family car and someone (me) had forgotten her phone on the back seat. It had been taken, and I had been heartbroken but Nic had helped.

“You should apologize for acting like you blame him for losing your boots,” she’d told me, but I didn’t like to do the “sorry” thing. I’d said sure, but I knew that I wouldn’t. I hadn’t expected to see Campbell Bates again, anyway, but now here I was, waiting for him in front of the restaurant he’d picked.

“You park like a pro,” he said as he also approached. “I saw you whip into a spot about three inches big.”

It wasn’t bad, I acknowledged. “Let’s go in,” I said, and he held open the door for me. I saw that he was carrying something but he kept it on the side of his body so that it wasn’t totally visible, no matter how I tried to peer around him. When we’d been seated, he asked if wine was ok, and he knew which bottle to pick. But before we ordered any food, we talked like we had done while we were skating. We were being friendly and having a conversation, I meant, and no one appeared angry about the last time we’d parted. He told me about a ski trip he was planning; I talked about one of Dion’s hook-ups leaving scary voicemails that he couldn’t handle, so I’d had to listen to them to assess the threat level and then delete them.

Then the server came to take our orders. “I take it that you don’t speak Italian,” he said after she had gone off with our dinner selections. Yes, I had stumbled over the word “vongole” as I asked for pasta with clams. “How did you learn French?”

“In college,” I said. “I went to study abroad for a year in France and I picked it up. I loved it there.”

“Would you go back?”

I nodded. “I’d really like to. I’m saving for something else right now, though. A new sewing machine,” I explained when he seemed to be waiting to hear.

“You like to sew?”

“My grandmother taught me. I make most of my own clothes,” I said, looking down at the dress I wore. “I made this.”

“Really? Shit, that’s good!”

“Do you think so?” No, he didn’t know what he was talking about. It was only that most people couldn’t even sew on a button or hem a skirt, so they were shocked that anyone could do more.

But Campbell was nodding now, as well. “It’s very cool that you know how to do that. My grandma, my dad’s mom, used to sew some stuff for us but my mom wouldn’t put it in the house.”

“It didn’t fit with the designer’s aesthetic,” I guessed, and he nodded.

“That’s exactly right. Are you trying to buy a big machine? I don’t know anything about them.”

“Not big, but with more features than what I currently have, and I want to get a new one because I used to have a refurbished model…” He couldn’t have actually cared about this. “I’m saving for that and new boots, and then maybe I’ll think about a trip.”

“Well, now you won’t have to worry about buying Schones.” He slid the bag he’d been carrying across the floor and over to my side of the table. “Size seven.”

“What?” I looked inside, and I did see a familiar logo on a big shoebox. “Are these boots for me? Why did you buy these?”

“Because someone stole yours while you were with me,” he answered. “It sucked for you and it pissed me off. I was talking to the rink manager when you ran out, and then I talked to her again after you left, but they weren’t going to do anything about it. I did instead, and there you go.”

“This brand is hard to find.”

“Yes, I know that,” he told me, and laughed. “No one around here sells them and they’re rare online, too. But I tracked them down eventually and they finally got delivered today, all the way from Austria. It took even longer because I’m not a German-speaker, or French or Italian either, if you’re wondering. I couldn’t remember the name for a while, and I figured that you’d want the same kind.” Then he mentioned, as if it was nothing, “I wasn’t thinking very clearly that day. I ended up having to go to the hospital after I left the rink.”

I stopped trying to peer into the box to check the color. “The hospital? Why?” I asked.

“I hit my head when I fell on the ice,” he answered. “Later that day, I guess I started acting weird. I went to the ER and it turned out I had a little bleed.”

“A bleed? In your head?”

“It’s all right now,” Campbell told me. “Then I was waiting until I had the boots before I saw you again, because you were pretty pissed.”

“Not at you, though,” I answered quickly. “I wasn’t mad at you, just about losing something that was important to me. They only sold them in one little store in New York, and I worked there until I could afford them. I was really proud and then when they were gone…but it didn’t relate to you.” I remembered my sister saying that I should apologize. “I can’t believe you hit your head that hard and you didn’t say anything!”

“Who knew it was so bad?” he asked rhetorically. “If I hadn’t acted loopy, I probably wouldn’t have found out, either. I just thought I had a headache.”

“Who told you that you were acting strangely?” I asked.

“A friend.”

Oh, a woman. That had been a Saturday night, so she was the real deal. Today, by the way, was Tuesday, but I was more worried about his brain. “You didn’t say anything about getting hurt when we were at the rink,” I pointed out.

“I’d done worse when I played, and that kid was crying, remember? You had bent your wrist and probably bruised your ass again, and then your stuff had been stolen. I didn’t want to complain when the situation already sucked.”

I shook my head.

“Also, I wasn’t aware that my brain was bleeding,” he acknowledged. “I would have acted on that. But I’m fine, now.”

The wine had arrived and he moved our conversation away from potentially fatal injuries as we drank it. It was very tasty, and so were the salads and the bread, and later the pasta. I ate and talked, and I realized that I was having fun. It wasn’t due to the quality of the meal, though. I was enjoying this a lot, how he laughed at things I said and the funny stories he told me, too. Like, he talked about a man in his office who had lost his car somewhere in a Detroit Metro Airport parking lot and then had spent hours walking around and looking for it.

“Poor guy. It was getting later and later and he was posting pissed-off updates the whole time in our work group chat,” he said. “He kept asking us for help.”

“What were you supposed to do?”

“I ended up going over there to drive him around and search,” he said, “because he was so cold and tired. It turned out that it wasn’t even at the airport and he had left it at one of the off-site lots, but he’d also forgotten which one.”

“You really went over there to help him?” I asked.

“I’m his boss and I’m the reason he has to travel so much that he forgot where he was,” Campbell said. “It seemed fair. But yes, the other people in the chat did think that I was crazy.”

“And now they’re probably thinking that they can get away with more.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re nice to people, too nice, they step all over you,” I warned him. That scenario had never happened to me, but I had examples. “In fashion school, there was this one guy who was a really, really fast sewer. It was like he had birds and elves making everything, so he had more time on his hands and he would offer to help other people. They totally took advantage of him, using his time but also his thread and pins, wearing out the blades on his rotary cutter, stuff like that. He turned very embittered and he stopped helping anyone at all.”

“You think my employees will take advantage of me now?”

“I think they’ll try and you should be careful that they don’t. You’re the boss and you have to act…but I’m sure you already know all this.”

He took a sip of wine. “These are things that I’ve heard before,” he agreed. “‘They’re you’re employees, not your friends.’ That’s my dad’s mantra. And my sister lives by it too,” he added. “I answer that I do things differently. I do things my own way.”

And I thought that it looked like he was doing things quite nicely. He was wearing another lovely suit, with the lapels in exactly the right proportion to his broad shoulders, and I enjoyed that he’d chosen a spread collar for his shirt and tied a full-Windsor knot to go with it. The man really knew how to dress for success and if he ran his department with the same polish and flair, then his dad and his sister should shut up. Still, if they felt they had to say it, then there was probably something wrong.

My family would have told me to be quiet, that his business issues were none of my business. I tried to remember that as I sipped my own wine, but then I said, “Is your way the right way? What does your boss tell you?”

“The name of my company is the Ghregg Bates Financial Group, so my father is also my boss,” he said, and now his job made more sense. I hadn’t totally understood how he would have a position with so much authority at his age, but I got it now.

“It’s a strange situation to be in,” he continued. “Lucky, but strange. When I started there, it was hard to be his son. My dad began as a bank teller and he worked his way up until he was in management, and then he went out on his own. He’s very smart and very driven. He’s a true success story.”

“Good for him.” Maybe I didn’t sound too impressed, as if I thought that his father hadn’t done enough. Actually, I just I didn’t care at all how accomplished he was.

“My sister is the same way,” Campbell continued. “If she wants something, she goes after it. She ran cross country and I know she was tripping those other kids on purpose.”

“Really?She did?”

He laughed, but he didn’t tell me no. “Neither of them have a lot of tolerance for people who don’t share their drive,” he answered instead. “They’re very tough managers.”

“But you’re not.”

“Sometimes I try to be that way,” he said. “I try to think of what they would do, but I find myself falling back into my own style. It’s more of what I call, ‘Leading a horse to water.’”

“That’s a management style? And I thought that the saying went, ‘You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink,’” I said.

“Exactly,” he answered. “I lead everyone to the water and they have to drink on their own. My sister and my father lead the horse, yank the bridle, and force its nose beneath the surface.”

“That sounds like cruelty to animals.”

“It obviously works,” he pointed out. “Look at what my dad has accomplished, and my sister’s going to do a lot, too. She’s younger than I am and she’s already moving up fast. But yeah, they don’t have a lot of friends within the company.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I’m the captain of our softball team, by popular vote.”

I could see him as being popular. I bet he was in high school, for example, but not because he was the meanest like my sister Juliet was back then. He would have been well-liked because he was friendly and fun, and he drew people in. It certainly couldn’t have hurt that he was so attractive.

“I was also the captain of my hockey team in college, and my style worked then,” he told me. “I think it does in my job now, too. Things are going well.”

“Why did you make that face?” I asked immediately. The expression had only appeared for a second before it was gone, but I had seen worry. Concern.

“Are you going to start extrapolating?” Campbell asked me, and I decided that I was.

“You’re…”I studied him.“Twenty-six?Twenty-seven?”

“Eight.”

“And you’re already managing a big part of your father’s company,” I pointed out. “I bet it caused a lot of resentment when you and your sister started working there, and that’s why you said it was hard to be his son.”

“It may have caused some resentment. Why is that important now?”

“It sounds like your sister handled it by acting mean. That’s a valid response to criticism,” I defended her. “Some people say that it’s bratty, but it’s a very natural way to deal with others when they’re stupid and rude.”

“I don’t act like that,” he stated, and I realized that I’d gone a little off-track.

“No, you go the other way and try even harder to be genial because you want to draw everybody in and make connections. It’s like how you were chatting up the hostess and then she gave us the best table.”

“Was I chatting her up?” He seemed surprised. “I only remember saying hello.”

“You don’t like it when people don’t like you,” I continued, “but that’s part of being a boss.”

“You’re…”He studied me, too.“Twenty-two?Twenty-three?”

“Four.Why?”

“Because you’re pretty young to know everything.” He grinned. “You’re also correct, slightly. I’d rather get along with people, but I don’t have a problem with cracking down. You should see me when they’re slow getting around the bases or throwing meatballs in our softball games. I’m screaming at them from the dugout, swearing and throwing shit around…”

“Right,” I said, “and you’re also attacking the umpire and fighting spectators in the stands.”

“I’ve been ejected more times than I can count,” he told me. “Do you really think we have umps and spectators?” He laughed and I did, too, before I knew I was doing it.

The meal went by very quickly even though the service was poor. When I was a waitress, I refilled glasses a lot more promptly and I certainly wouldn’t have smiled at only my male customer. But Campbell seemed pleased enough, and I noticed that he left a very large tip. He walked me out to my car, too.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said. “You were right and that is a good restaurant.”

“We could go back some time,” he suggested, but he didn’t say anything else about wanting to see me, and he didn’t try to set firmer plans.

Not that I was bothered by those things. “Sure,” I said offhandedly, to demonstrate my lack of concern. “Also, thank you very much for the boots. You really didn’t have to buy me new ones.”

“I think I did,” he responded. “I felt responsible for bringing you into that nest of crime.”

“The suburban ice rink filled with kids having birthday parties did seem dangerous. After all, you left with a brain injury.”

He laughed. “See you around, Brenna,” he told me, and there was nothing really left for me to add to that. It wasn’t “see you later ,” “I’ll be in touch,” or a hug. Not even a freaking handshake. I got in quickly and drove back to my apartment, where I turned on every light.

“I did have fun,” I explained to Cleo. “It’s a great restaurant and he picked up the tab.”

I knew what she would have said, if she’d had a mouth.

“Ok, it wasn’t just that the food was good or that I was glad not to pay,” I admitted. “I did like to being with him. He’s fun to talk to. We have interesting conversations and he doesn’t get all touchy about things. You know how people do that,” I reminded her. “They’re always jumping to the conclusion that you’re trying to be rude and bratty. Campbell mostly laughs or he understands the points I’m trying to make. He didn’t get upset when I started talking about nepotism, for example. He had obviously thought about it, too.”

I picked up the length of silk crepe I’d purchased for the New Year’s dress that I hadn’t made, studying it before I draped it over her.

“Can you imagine how he must have been in school? I bet he had a human chain attached to him wherever he went because he’s such a charmer. He enjoys being friendly…oh,” I finished flatly, because I suddenly understood something. How dumb was I? I’d said it myself, after all: I’d been the one who’d talked about how Campbell wanted people to like him. He wanted to be friends with everyone, that was what I’d told him.

And then he’d met me, Brenna. I was the Brat with a capital B, as my sisters often called me, and I must have seemed like a personal challenge to him. That was why he’d asked me to go ice skating and out to eat. It was because he wanted people to like him and I didn’t like anyone; he’d made the effort with me because he had that drive in him, as if he had something to prove.

“I get it,” I said. “It all makes a lot more sense. I couldn’t understand why he kept texting and stuff, but now I do.”

Cleo seemed to agree that I was right.

“He’s lucky that his dad got him his job,” I said, frowning at the fabric. Why had I chosen this color? I didn’t even like it anymore. “Campbell probably wouldn’t have been able to make it on his own, not with how he’s so interested in being nice and his whole ‘leading the horse’ theory. That was dumb.” If she’d had a head, she would have nodded it.

I gave up on the fabric and sat on my bed, which was the most comfortable spot in my apartment. It was only twin-sized but I’d saved and then splurged on the mattress, so it was very comfortable. The sheets were high-quality, too, because I hated cheap sheets, and I’d made the pillowcases out of some very beautiful mulberry silk that was a much better color than the stuff that I’d draped over Cleo.

I frowned at her and decided that I needed a distraction from these thoughts. I put Campbell out of my mind by wondering what was happening with my sisters. There was usually something going on, and I thought that there definitely should have been news from Juliet. She had been in such a hurry to get engaged and get married, but now she wasn’t saying a word in our group chat about any wedding planning.

Hm. No, she wasn’t saying a word in our group chat, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t talking about it privately, out of my range. I thought for another moment and then made a call to the person I considered to be the weakest link, the sibling most likely to spill any secrets. While the phone rang, I tried on the new Schone boots that Campbell had bought. They were even nicer than the ones I’d had before, the most expensive model out of the three varieties handmade by the company for a hundred and sixty-six years. They were meant to be worn forever, if someone didn’t steal them from you.

My sister finally answered. “Hi, Brenna,” Addie said warmly. “What’s new?”

“Not much. What’s happening with Juliet?”

“So, Granger and I went to the doctor today, and the baby looks great, totally healthy,” she announced.

Oh, yeah. I should have opened by asking about that. “Good,” I said, and tried to sound enthusiastic.

My sister laughed. “I know you don’t really care. What are you calling about? Juliet?”

“Why isn’t she planning for her rush-rush, hurry-up wedding? Or is she, and she’s just not telling me?”

“She’s doing a little,” Addie answered cautiously. “She’s thinking about things.”

“She had to jump into getting engaged. Wasn’t that so they could jump into getting married? Or…” I had another thought. “Is there something wrong? Did they break up?”

“No! Of course not,” she answered. “They’re on hiatus from wedding stuff because Beckett isn’t doing very well right now.”

“He’s that sick?”

She didn’t answer.

“Well, why don’t they just go to Ohio and get married in an office like Sophie did?” I continued.

“Holy Mary, the romance of that statement…” She yawned. “Sorry, I’m so tired. I know I’m going to fall asleep on the couch on Granger’s shoulder.”

She wasn’t taking me seriously, which made me mad. “Why aren’t they eloping?” I demanded.

“I don’t think that either of them wants to admit that there’s a need to run off to Ohio, not yet. And I’m not sure there is a need, either,” she told me. “He could feel better soon and then they’ll start planning again. She’s thought of a few things. I know that she wants to have it at their house, maybe with the ceremony outside and the reception in the ballroom.”

Yes, their house had a ballroom, a real, stunning one, like from the Gilded Age when people had parties with hundreds of guests. “But you think he’s going to be ok?” I demanded.

“Why don’t you ask Nicola?” Addie said, punting to our oldest sister, the nurse and also the final authority in most of our arguments.

I didn’t want to talk to Nicola, which was what I answered. Unlike Addie, she wasn’t a person who would easily spill any secrets.

“Then why don’t you talk to JuJu yourself?” she suggested. “She really needs our support right now.”

“Not from me,” I told her.

“Yes,” she insisted, but then had to add, “if you’re nice about it. She doesn’t need to argue with you or have old problems thrown up in her face.”

“You mean like how she wouldn’t talk to me at our swim practices and pretended that she didn’t know the ugly, scrawny, slow girl with the same last name as hers? Or how she also did that in high school because she was busy trying to win the popularity contest there?”

“That’s exactly the stuff I mean,” my sister said, sighing. “Juliet has grown up a lot. She’s not the same person who used to ignore you, not anymore. She was very insecure back then—”

I snorted with laughter. In my opinion, there wasn’t another person in the world more pleased with herself than our sister Juliet. Insecure? No.

“Ok, I have to go,” Addie announced, and I could tell that she was angry at me.

“Me too,” I said, “except that I have actual plans besides falling asleep on the couch and drooling on my husband. Remember what Mom always used to say about the importance of keeping a marriage spicy…”

“Don’t be a brat,” she said shortly, and hung up. It was probably pregnancy hormones that made her so irritable, because I hadn’t been bratty at all.

No, I wasn’t a brat, and I was getting tired of hearing that word. I wasn’t going to serve as Campbell Bates’ personal challenge in his quest to have everyone like him, either. I looked across the room at the silk crepe draped over Cleo and then I got up, walked the two steps to the dress form, and yanked it off her. I waded the fabric into a ball and tossed it into the corner, next to the garbage can. I hated it; everything about that yardage was ugly.

This whole night felt that way. “I don’t care,” I told Cleo, and she believed me.