Chapter Eight #4
Shannon and I start with the teardown, carrying the food platters back into the kitchen. Mom has already laid out Tupperware for the leftovers. Judging by the volume of what’s in front of us, I’ll be eating pasta salad for the rest of the week.
“Great turnout,” I say to Shannon, looking for anything less lame to talk about.
“Not bad, right,” she says with pride. “Hopefully the weather is this good for the actual wedding.”
“Uncle B was saying the farmer’s almanac is promising a perfect summer.”
She laughs. “Ah well, if the almanac says it…”
“Exactly. Can I help with that?” I ask, pointing to the tray in front of her.
“You can, thanks,” she says, sliding it toward me.
“Mom says the new bungalow’s looking really great.”
“It’s getting there,” Shannon agrees. “The kitchen still needs some work, but the living room is pretty much done now. How long are you home for? You should come by.”
The glass door slides open and the floating head of Dan appears, haloed by the patio light behind him. “Babe, me and the boys are heading down to Shoeless for a few beers.”
“We need to finish clearing up,” Shannon says. Her voice is strained.
He dismisses this immediately. “It’s basically done. I’ll come back and finish it tomorrow.”
“What about the cards? I wanted to go through them tonight.”
“There’s no way that’s a two-man job. You just do it.”
“Sure,” she says flatly. If Dan notices her tone, he ignores it, reminding her to leave the garage door open before disappearing back the way he came.
The glass door seals us into the quiet kitchen, the only sound the click of the Tupperware lid as Shannon snaps it into place. I can’t think of a single thing to say that isn’t that guy sucks, and neither, apparently, can she.
“What a day!” Mom glides into the room with a triumphant grin. “And here they are! My girls, together at last.” She smacks a loud kiss on my cheek, and then my sister’s.
She’s delightfully rumpled, the scent of sangria mingling with her perfume, her cheeks rosy from an entire afternoon of gossip with Aunt Irene and her friends. All that’s left of her lipstick is a faint line around the edge of her lips.
“Did you have fun, Mom?”
“I thought it went very well,” she says. “But how about our beautiful bride?”
We wait for Shannon to respond, but she’s lost in thought, spooning the fruit salad back into its container.
“Shan?” I prompt.
“Hmm?”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Definitely,” she says, in the least convincing performance I’ve ever seen. Mom shoots me a look that says did you do something? I shake my head.
“That reminds me!” Mom’s voice has gone up about ten octaves. “Irene says the Millers are thinking of downsizing.”
Shannon looks up, eyes kindling at the prospect of the Miller house going up for sale. “Do they have a realtor?”
I slip away while the two of them launch into their favorite subject and head back into the garden, taking my sweet time stacking the folding chairs against the side of the house and then gathering up the table linens under my arm. Dan’s definition of basically done and mine are very different.
I’m about to head inside when I hear the fence swing open and smack back against its hinges.
“Forgot my wallet,” Dan says, coming into view. His smile drops the second he realizes it’s me.
“There’s still a lot to do here,” I say, gesturing around the garden. “Sure you don’t want to hang around for a while and head down later?”
“I’m sure,” he says.
“So nice to see you’re still striving hard for the world’s worst boyfriend award. How many years have you won it in a row now, Dan?”
“Got a newsflash for you,” he sneers. “It’s fiancé. Don’t know if you noticed today’s theme, but there’s a wedding happening soon.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Though no one says you have to be the groom.”
“Of the two of us, I don’t think it’s my invitation we need to worry about.”
“Yeah well, we’ll see. There’s no saying when you might start pulling a few more late nights over at town hall.”
“A lot of chairs to put away,” he says, like I hadn’t just spoken. “Looks like you’ll be here a while. And don’t forget the cards.”
He swipes his wallet off a nearby table and walks out the way he came. I fight the impulse to grab him by the collar and drag him back by force, or even better, to run him out of town with a pitchfork.
I promised to be good, and I was. I did not ruin the party. I have not said a word to Shannon, or to anyone else, about the wedding, or Dan, or how much he sucks, or about how my sister is throwing her life away on this loser.
But now the party is over. And if he thinks I’ve let it go, he’s about to have a very rude awakening.
—
“I can help with the cards, if you want?” I say, walking back into the kitchen with the box under my arm.
“Oh,” Shannon says, clearly torn between what she wants to do (open the cards) and what she thinks she should do (wait for Dan to open the cards).
I go in for the kill. “Makes sense to take a note of all of them now, so we know you haven’t missed any?”
“That’s true,” she says, warming to the idea. “We’ll just make a list of everyone who left one. Dan and I can go through them in detail tomorrow.”
We set up mission control on the family room floor, the cards strewn out all over the ancient glass coffee table that’s been here since before I was born.
Shannon uses a letter opener to neatly slice open each envelope, opening the card and reading out the sender in her most businesslike voice before sliding it back into place and stacking it into a neat pile at her elbow.
As the ever-dutiful assistant, I input every detail into my laptop.
At this point I’d literally file her taxes for her if it means I’m allowed to be in her presence.
“Uncle Bill and Aunt Irene,” she says. “Check. Two hundred dollars.” My eyes bulge. The amount of money that changes hands at weddings is obscene.
We content ourselves with small talk while we work. She tells me about which of her friends are pregnant, and I tell her about Sam’s attempts at catfishing our neighbor, who she’s convinced keeps stealing her packages.
“Any men in your life?” Shannon asks me next. “I remember you saying something about a guy you worked with.”
I cringe at this; she can only be referring to Andy, who I used to talk about a lot. I’m grateful she doesn’t remember his name.
“No one,” I tell her, and I can tell she’s judging me. But can you blame me? With Shannon and Dan as my model, serious relationships seem like no fun at all.
“By the way,” she says, offhand, “I might be coming to New York soon.”
“What, seriously?” In all the years I’ve been living there she’s never once visited.
“Yep,” she says, sweeping up the stack of cards and tapping them against the coffee table. “There’s a realtors’ conference. It’s a good networking opportunity.”
“Are you and Dan going to make a weekend of it?”
“The dates clash with a council thing, so it would just be me, if it happens. But I’m not sure yet. They only send the top salesperson.”
Holy shit. This is it. This is my opportunity. How long have I been waiting for a chance to separate my sister from Dan and talk some sense into her?
“You could stay with me,” I blurt. “And hang out for the weekend. It would be really fun.”
“That might be good, actually,” she says. “Everything is so crazy expensive there.”
“Totally,” I say, adrenaline flooding my system. “I could show you the sights. You’ve never been to New York before.” It sounds like an accusation when I say it, and I see her shoulders tense up. I quickly change tack.
“We could try and check out a few dress shops, for the wedding?” I offer. “That big dress shop from Dream Dress is in New York,” I add, in reference to a beloved reality show. “You could meet Randy!”
She laughs. “That would be cool.”
“I’d die to see what he’d put you in.”
“Well, I’ll let you know if it comes together.”
“Please come,” I beg her, my tone desperate. “I really want you to. It feels like we never see each other since…It will be fun. I promise.”
“It would be good to check out some dress shops. There’s one I have my eye on.”
“Totally. Send me the dates and I’ll check with my roommate? Should be fine.”
“Sure,” she says, slicing another card open. “Earl and Sheila. Canadian Tire. Sixty dollars.”