A Perfect Mess (the Keegans #2)

CHAPTER ONE

CASEY

“There’s your sister!”

The excitement in my mom’s voice is hard to miss.

I’ve only been hearing it my entire life.

I’m crammed into my parents’ electric sedan, and my father has just turned into a small gravel parking lot.

Nearby, a large maroon barn cuts into the sky.

Undertones of music reach us through our slightly open windows as my father maneuvers into the nearest open spot in the packed lot.

I’m back in Bayshore after spending roughly all of my adult life trying to escape it. My parents think this is a surprise visit.

Surprise is right. Little do they know I have nowhere else to go after being laid off, dumped, and kicked out of the downtown Chicago apartment I shared with my ex.

The barn is our destination, a grand opening celebration and ribbon cutting for the newest event space in Bayshore. It’s operated by none other than Piper Keegan and her boyfriend, a chef named True or Gru or something else that I didn’t entirely hear when my mom told me.

My big sister Claire is already drifting toward us across the parking lot like a radiant goddess, exactly what I’d expect from someone whose life is going exactly according to plan.

She has Paul, her perfect fiancé, in tow, the two of them looking like they just stepped out of an influencer’s social media profile. I can just imagine the caption she’ll use on a filtered photo carousel later: Loving my small town life & my husband to be. #blessed

Claire has always been the epitome of beauty and grace—glossy hair that refuses to acknowledge lake humidity, while mine poofs out like a Pomeranian at the slightest hint of moisture.

She also holds a bit of mystery, which attracted the punk rock boys for a time in high school.

It’s not that I think I’m ugly—after all, I have dainty wrists and something like freckles—but I’m nowhere near that effortless, natural beauty of my older sister.

She could eat ribs in white gloves. And despite my best efforts, the only type of “mysterious” energy that I can conjure is in the “how did she get mustard on her collar” sort of way.

Once my father is parked, we get out of the car.

My parents greet Claire the way they always have—like the sun just came out after a storm.

I smooth down my green sundress while I wait my turn.

Claire smiles at me, but it looks pinched.

She’s three and a half years older than me, and I spent my entire childhood trotting behind her like a duckling.

Claire was the one who taught me to French braid, who let me sleep in her bed during thunderstorms. These days, I’m not sure she’d give me a ride down the street.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Our hug is awkward.

A little stiff. There was a time when she’d have squeezed me until I coughed and then tickled me until I screamed.

Now it’s the hug you’d give a coworker you used to like.

I suspect she’s still mad at me from four months ago when she asked me to be her maid of honor and I said no because I panicked about disappointing her.

“How long will you be gracing Bayshore with your presence?”

There’s a bite behind her words, the tone I try to avoid by never coming home. It makes an acid knot form in my stomach, and at the same time a hollow begins spreading behind my ribcage.

I can’t tell her the truth. Before I moved to Chicago after college, Claire made sure to tell me exactly what she thought of my plans: “You’ll never make it there. You should stay in Bayshore where there’s support and people who understand you.”

She called it “being realistic.” I called it a reason to never come home again.

So that means I can’t admit that I’m currently unemployed, freshly single, and using my trusty sedan as a suitcase.

“Just for a little bit,” I say breezily, popping on a bright smile. Because that’s vague enough to not be a total lie. My mother is watching us approvingly, because I know she wants us to be the sisters that get along, and not whatever we have been since high school graduation.

The five of us walk toward the festivities.

The big barn doors are open, showcasing gleaming rafters and dark stained floors.

High top tables are placed sporadically throughout the party, where people are clustering to sip drinks and network.

Here, it feels like I’m back in the best of times in Bayshore—a bright and fragrant, sunshine-filled afternoon, one block from the shore, with happy faces and excited chatter all around us.

Maybe being back here for an indeterminate amount of time won’t be so bad after all.

“So did you hit that six-figure promotion, Casey?”

My sister’s level voice at my side tugs me out of my momentary euphoria. I turn slightly, arching a brow.

“How did you know about that?” I never told her I’d applied for the promotion, because in the life achievement category, I always place second to my perfect big sister. I don’t like giving her ammo against me.

“How do you think?” She elbows me, which probably looks like it’s all in good fun to the outside world. “Mom told me. Of course you’d never tell me.”

She’s right about that. Nor would I ever tell her that instead of getting promoted, I got let go.

“Well, I didn’t want to talk about it until it was finalized,” I say slowly, measuring my words. “Which…it isn’t. Yet.”

Nor is a replacement job finalized, or even existent. But she doesn’t need to know that either.

“I’m sure you’ll get it. Just give it time.

” She pops on the type of sage smile that I remember her perfecting back when she was a junior in high school.

Back when her boss bitch persona really clicked into place after she decided she was going to be a lawyer.

“So where’s Jake? I’m surprised he isn’t here helping keep Chaotic Casey in line. ”

I run my tongue over my top teeth. Little comments like those are papercuts, but they create major wounds when they stack up. It just so happens to be one of my sister’s greatest skills. Snark disguised as friendliness.

“He’s working,” I say, which is true. It’s at that moment that I realize Claire has never asked about my life in Chicago since I’ve moved there—instead, she asks about my love life.

Always referring to Jake like he’s my keeper.

I’m about to add more when our mom shouts an excited greeting to someone she recognizes.

I watch as she and my father drift off into conversation with another couple.

Perfect Paul has already offered his hand to a group of local businessmen, which just leaves me and Claire at the fringes of the party, smiling through the awkwardness.

“He’s coming to the wedding, right?” She lifts a brow as though daring me to change my plans.

My flightiness has always been a sore point with her, along with most of my other personality traits.

I can just hear her put-out sigh if I were to tell her no.

And honestly, I just want to get through this little family reunion unscathed.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in town, but it might be weeks. It could even turn into a long-term residency in my parents’ basement, if things don’t go according to plan. But do I even have a plan besides waking up each day and trying to make sense of life via caffeine and fiction?

I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to get into all these unsavory truths right now. I just want to eat petite appetizers and hear about other people’s lives, for God’s sake.

“Yes, Claire,” I say, unable to hide the annoyance in my voice.

“What’s with the attitude?” she snaps.

I shake my head, trying to choose my words with care. “You ask me with this tone in your voice—”

“Tone?” A haughty laugh escapes her. “Would you prefer I use some other voice that isn’t my own?”

I can already see where this conversation is headed. And to me, it seems like every conversation with her ends this way. I am infinitely tired, and the family reunion has barely gotten started.

“That’s not what I meant to say. Let’s go try some appetizers, can we? Apparently Piper’s boyfriend-slash-partner is a chef, and she made some new marshmallow thing—”

“Her new store is the cutest. Have you been there yet? Well, of course not, you’ve been in Chicago.” She tuts softly as though scolding herself. “I get coffee there sometimes. It’s so cute.”

I pop on a smile, determined to make it through this grand opening party without a sisterly quarrel or a nervous breakdown. Grinning and bearing it seems the best approach for now, so I nod enthusiastically. “I’d love to go sometime.”

I wait for her to invite me, to say hey, we should go together.

But nothing comes.

And just as I’m about to force the stuck words past dry lips, Paul pulls Claire into a conversation, which allows me to take a deep breath and wander off on my own. I love my family, I do. I just kinda sorta feel like I’m in an emotional vise when I’m around them.

Now that I’m not thinking about all the ways in which my life seems like a disappointing report card, I can see the partygoers here. I spot Piper Keegan herself, her bright smile drawing me in.

And then I’m hit with the freight train of realization.

If Piper is here, her older brother Griffin will be here. Right?

I wouldn’t say I was in love with Griffin back in high school, but I would have failed out of a few classes if he’d asked me to. We’d been friends, in the way that quivering, horny teenagers are “friends” with any boy until there’s the slightest chance of something more happening.

I wave at Piper drifting her way through the crowd. She’s beside a man I can only assume is Gru, unless that’s not his name. She looks positively delighted to see me, and I could crumple at her feet with gratitude.

It’s nice that there’s someone in town who’s happy I’m here.