Chapter 11 Hope
HOPE
Marshall doesn’t call.
He doesn’t text.
The only person who tried to reach me on New Year’s Eve after I left the party was some spam number.
I deleted the voicemail because no I do not owe the IRS money that I need to pay over the phone, thank you very much.
Or whatever latest scam they’re running.
I didn’t bother listening to the message.
“You look like death,” Hillary says from my stove. Is she…cooking?
Maybe I bumped my head while we were hanging decorations yesterday. Like I fell off a ladder and hit my noggin on the hard floor. This might all be some twisted reality I just need to wake up from. Because, to my knowledge, my sister hasn’t cooked a day in her adult life.
“If you’re going to hit me with the I told you so bit, you can save it. I’m not in the mood.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her tone is surprisingly sad.
“Why would I tell you anything? You pick apart everything in my life. You make me feel like I’m some loser who’ll never find love or do anything worthwhile.”
“Shit, I do do that, don’t I?”
I reach a hand to my forehead, certain I’ve got a goose egg up there somewhere. No way I’m living in reality right now. I have to be in a coma dream.
“Vincent left me,” Hillary says, her shoulders dropping.
“What?”
“He’s in Malaysia shooting a movie. And he took his new fiancé with him. We’re getting divorced.”
“Sorry?” I say, unsure whether that’s a good or bad thing. With Hillary, it’s hard to tell sometimes.
“He cheated, not that anyone’s surprised.
It was kind of his thing.” She plates a small stack of pancakes and carries it to my dinky kitchen table built for two.
“I came here because I have nowhere else to go. He kicked me out of the house, and well, that prenup was iron clad. I have some money so I can start over, but that’s about it.
But don’t worry. I’ll be out of your hair this afternoon. ”
Dammit I do not want to feel an ounce of sympathy for the sister who has made it her life’s mission to put me down. But on top of her confession about her life imploding, her pancakes are really damn good. “You can stay longer. If you want.”
“Just a day or two more,” she says, offering me a genuine smile I haven’t seen in years. Not since our mom passed. “But no longer than that. I know I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”
If she’s expecting me to argue, I’m not going to. “So where will you go?”
“I was thinking Alaska.”
“Alaska? In January?”
“It is January, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Happy fucking New Year.”
“Marshall loves you, Hope.”
“Really? Because it sounds like he just wanted to add another notch to his bedpost.”
“He wasn’t the one who said that, if you recall.”
True as that may be, where is he? Why hasn’t he called or showed up? “He’d be here if he loved me. We both know that.”
“Doesn’t he own a gym? It’s January first. It’s basically the Super Bowl for gym owners, isn’t it?”
“True,” I say, sighing. It’s possible he thinks I blew him off last night. But it still bugs me that he didn’t try to call or text. What if something had happened to me?
“Maybe just this once, you could give him the benefit of the doubt?” she suggests.
“Why are you standing up for him? I thought you couldn’t see the two of us together.”
“Only because I was jealous.”
“You? Jealous? What do you have to be jealous of?”
“You have your life together, for one. And a man who’s so in love with you that he faked a relationship with you just to get close to you. I bet he even had some romantic gesture planned for midnight.”
“I do not have my life together,” I say shaking my head. “I wasn’t even the real event coordinator for last night. My friends let me have the title to protect me from you.”
“Ouch.”
“And why did you let me leave if you thought Marshall was planning something special?”
“Because I’m an asshole. I thought we established this?”
“Why the sudden change of heart?” I ask, nodding at the pancakes.
“Would you believe me if I said New Year new me?”
“No.”
We lock eyes for several beats before we both burst out in laughter.
“Being an asshole is exhausting,” Hillary finally admits.
“And I don’t want to be that person anymore.
I’m so sorry for all the shitty things I’ve said to you.
I know this lame apology doesn’t make up for the way I’ve treated you over the years since Mom died.
But I’ll keep working on it, okay? I’ll work on being a better, supportive sister. ”
“Okay.”
“And if you want help taking down your decorations today, I’ve already picked out some Christmas movies we can watch. I even put together some snacks for the occasion.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. Maybe my love life is a mess, but at least one thing is going right today. I finally have my sister back. “I’d like that.”
“Hey, who called you last night?”
“What?”
“I heard your phone ring last night. It’s almost as loud as you when Marshall’s locked in the room with you. Who called?”
“Some spam number.”
“At midnight?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“I already blocked the number and deleted the voicemail,” I say, handing over the phone I’ve been carrying around in my hoodie pocket like a total sap hoping Marshall will reach out and explain what happened last night.
I want so badly to be wrong about what I overheard.
Isn’t that usually what breaks up the couples on Hallmark movies?
Some stupid misunderstanding because one person overhears half of the conversation?
“This isn’t spam,” Hillary says.
“How do you know?”
“Because it says county jail.”
“I don’t know anyone in jail. That sounds like spam to me.”
Hillary hits play on the deleted voicemail she’s somehow managed to retrieve.
“Hey Hope, it’s me. Marshall. Your fake boyfriend who was really hoping to become your real boyfriend at midnight. But then some dickweed made a comment about me just trying to get in your pants, and well, I uh, punched him. Long story short, I got arrested.
“So…I’ll have to save that New Year’s Eve kiss for next year. If you want to be my girlfriend for real. I want it all, Hope. And I want it all with you. Anyway, I’m out of time. So I hope you get this and don’t think I bailed on you.
“Funny, because I’m actually the one who needs bail. Not that you need to bail me out of jail. I punched a guy and then shoved him into a perfectly good pan of deviled eggs—okay, I got to go. Nathan says I’m really out of time now. Hope—I love you.”
“Do you believe me now?” Hillary asks.
I push out my chair so quickly it topples over.
“Where are you going?” Hillary asks, a knowing smile on her face.
“Down to the county jail. I have to go tell my fake boyfriend I love him.”