Chapter 9
9
Sybil
“More macaroni and cheese, Warren?” My plate was empty, too, but Mom held out the serving spoon to her future son-in-law at the other end of the table.
“I couldn’t. I’m training for that triathlon, but you know I loved it, Mary. Almost as much as the dressing and ham.”
She beamed at him, then her gaze swept to Grace. “A triathlon. I can’t believe your level of dedication. And that you two are doing it together!”
Grace had been the put-together daughter her whole life. Her Barbie dolls always ended the day tucked into their sleeping quarters next to tidy and color-coded closets. Mine usually had half their hair colored purple, and at least one would be missing a leg that I’d used as an impromptu knife when I got bored with playing house and decided to play assassin with my stuffed animals. It carried over into adulthood. She was the carbon copy of our mom’s personality, while I was my dad’s girl. How my parents had ended up together was still a mystery to me. I wondered if my dad would have turned the conversation to add how proud he was of my commitment to exploring different career options like office temp, stationery store clerk, and trampoline park attendant. He’d bounced from job to job most of his life, so I figured he would have, if he’d stuck around.
“I’m just so proud of you two,” Mom continued, looking between Warren and Grace. It wasn’t a dig at me—I mean, it probably wasn’t—but it felt like one, since there was no afterthought to include her youngest as she returned the spoon to the bowl.
“I’d love some more, Mom,” I said.
She huffed but spooned some onto my plate. “I bet you would, seeing as it’s good for hangovers.”
“I’m not really hungover. I’m just tired.” I thought about reciting what Kieran had said the night before about alcohol and insulin and carbs, but then I remembered I’d gathered that tidbit while tipsy and with my pants down in a donut shop. Activities Mama Mary rarely approved of. I opened my mouth to speak, but she gave me one of her pointed mom looks, and I shut my mouth.
“That’s what I thought. Aren’t you too old for things like that? Partying and carrying on? It’s no way to get back on your feet.” I curled my toes into the carpet, wishing I could burrow my way into the basement. The lecture that was about to begin was why I didn’t want to come home. Mom pulled no punches, and she had me in her crosshairs. “Especially now that you’re seeing this new guy. He’s not out all night drinking, too, is he? Because—”
“Mom,” Grace interrupted, changing the direction of the conversation on my behalf. “We got some good news.” God bless my sister, who ran interference like a pro. “I talked to the seamstress, and she’ll be able to make the adjustments to Great-Grandma’s wedding dress in time. She’s a specialist in vintage clothing.”
I shot Grace a thankful look for diverting the conversation and distracting our mother. Her mom’s dress had been in the family for generations and passed down, but Grace had been concerned about the age of the fabric and whether the alterations would be safe to make. Grace for the win again.
“And…tell her the rest,” Warren prompted, his beaming smile hiding nothing. I’d known forever Grace would knock it out of the park as a parent and be a lot like our own—loving but firm. Warren would be the cheerleader parent on the sidelines of every game, but no one was going to be as fun as Aunt Sybil. I’d always known I would be a fun aunt.
Grace grinned at me. “Since there is so much fabric on the train that the dress can’t structurally support anymore, she said there will be enough to make that into Sybil’s dress, too.” Grace met my eyes kindly. “So we’ll both get to wear some of her dress.”
Tears immediately filled Mom’s eyes, and she grabbed her chest, resting another hand on Paul’s arm. My annoyance with her lecturing faded to nothing immediately, and she held out her arms to hug Grace and then clasp my hand. “I can’t wait to see both my girls in that dress. That means so much. We’ll take a hundred photos.” She wiped a tear away from her eye, and I reminded myself she meant well. My stepdad grinned and patted her back.
Later, I helped Mom clear the table and began scrubbing plates in the kitchen.
“I can’t believe it. Grandma’s dress.” Mom repeated that for the fifteenth time. “I just want to twirl. It would mean so much to her that one of you girls was getting married in her dress.” She grinned ear to ear, and it was contagious. When Mom was happy, she kind of sparkled, which I’d always admired. “And I knew it wouldn’t be you. You told her at her eightieth birthday you thought it was ugly and you would never get married if you had to wear a dress like that.” Mom laughed, the dish towel waving in the air. It was one of her favorite stories, repeated over and over whenever the wedding came up.
“Yeah, well…I was seven.”
“Oh, my sweet girl,” she said, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You were the same girl at seven that you are now.”
I wasn’t sure how to take what I knew she meant to be loving, and I tried to ignore the growing sense of disappointment that fell on me like a cloak when I walked into this house. “That’s me,” I said, drying a serving dish and tucking it into the cupboard. “Lucky you’ve got one daughter who didn’t let you down.”
“Oh, stop that.”
Water sloshed as I scrubbed out a well-used pot, and I waited for more, but she pivoted away from me.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Grace said, and I mouthed “Thank you” to her. She gave a conspiratorial eyebrow raise and started scooping leftover ham into a glass storage container. “I wanted to add one more person to the guest list for the bachelorette party weekend. Do you have any extra save-the-date cards?”
“I haven’t actually mailed them yet,” I said, a sinking feeling tugging at me as I put a plate in the drying rack. “So, good news! Easy to add another person.”
“Oh, honey. It’s in two months. Those should have gone out a month ago, especially since some people will be flying.” Mom helped Grace pack up the food, the two working side by side.
“Yeah. Just need to confirm the hotel,” I said, speaking into the sink and hoping the water would swallow up my words, because I also needed to call the hotel and, before I did that, pick a hotel.
“If it’s too much, I can just do it myself,” Grace offered, and there was only kindness in her tone, which was much worse. “I know you’re busy and things are stressful.”
“No, I’m your maid of honor. I can do it!” I added cheer to my voice. “You shouldn’t have to plan your own bachelorette party.” I scrubbed the pot in my hands with an intensity I’d never before shown for dishes. “I’ll take care of everything.”
In the silence, I peeked over my shoulder to see Grace and Mom share a look. A “how do we tell her?” look that made me want to curl up into a ball. They didn’t think I could take care of it. And I didn’t want to ruin Grace’s wedding. She deserved to have a hiccup-free, well-planned event. “Or maybe Shelby can help. She’s so organized,” I said with the same false chipperness, referring to her oldest friend and bridesmaid.
“Great idea,” Grace said, and Mom agreed. “She’ll be happy to, and it’ll take the burden off your plate,” Grace added, and the two of them shifted into conversation about the dress, leaving me able to escape unnoticed.
I hurriedly dried my hands and slipped out of the kitchen. I slid a hand along the familiar sideboard covered in family photos. The one in the back in a purple frame was my favorite. I was six or seven with missing front teeth, and Dad had snuck me onto a roller coaster I wasn’t tall enough to ride. He’d snapped the selfie while we were loading into the car and told me first not to tell Mom he let me break the rules. He was always saying things like that, and I loved how free I always felt with him. In elementary school, I’d been working hard on a science fair project, tending to my plants and checking how the different additives to water influenced their growth. Grace did so well in school, and I’d wanted to do the same, so I’d spent all my time and energy making sure it went well, and then my best friend introduced me to a new video game two weeks before it was due, and I kind of forgot about the plants. In the end, my project titled “How Long Can Plants Go Without Water?” earned a ribbon, and Dad said some people did better with luck than work and I was one of those people.
I smiled and traced a finger over the frame. I’d told my mom immediately about the roller coaster because I had a big mouth, but he was right. Things like forgetting to water plants or mail invitations were normal for me my whole life. Luck worked better for me than trying only to end up failing. Dad called sometimes, and we saw him every couple of years after he moved across the country to chase his dreams of opening a skate park, but he was a footnote in our lives. I had his eyes and his nose and his laugh. I knew that if one day my luck ran out, I might end up as a footnote, too. That’s why it was best to let Grace hand planning to her friend. I could still share the notebook full of ideas I had. I set the photo back down, tracing my and my dad’s matching smiles.
In a little white basket at the end of the sideboard, my mail was stacked, the top three envelopes stamped with “past due,” “final notice,” and “open immediately.” I thumbed through them, hoping for something more fun, or at least less ominous, but the best thing in the pile was my invitation to Grace’s wedding. “Ms. Sybil Sweet” was in an elegant script across the envelope.
“Your mom insisted yours be mailed like everyone else’s,” Warren said from behind me, glancing over my shoulder. “Said it was more special.”
“Waste of money,” I said, studying the cream-colored envelope and graceful slope of the calligraphy.
“I don’t disagree, but I’ve learned to not quibble over the small things with your mother.” His brow creased at the stack of bills in front of me. “That doesn’t seem promising,” he said, pointing to the basket that could have doubled as a colorful bouquet with the amount of red text and pink envelopes.
“Yeah, my student loan provider wanted me to feel special, too.”
I chuckled, but Warren’s expression remained unchanged. “Do you need to borrow some money?”
I had seventeen dollars in my checking account and five more bills waiting in my email inbox, the ones that hadn’t turned to my physical mailing address yet. “No,” I said, shoving the mail into the pocket of my hoodie. “It’s okay—I’m good. I’ll actually be moving out soon. A few things are panning out.” I tried on the false chipper tone that had worked with my Mom and Grace. “I’m sure Mom and Paul will be ready to have their house back,” I joked, giving him a good-natured punch in the arm.
I wasn’t sure why I’d said it. I had nowhere to go except the couch in the small house my three best friends shared with their ancient pit bull, Cupcake. Grace would have seen through this half-assed, very obvious lie, but Warren was from a family where they spoke honestly to one another and didn’t hide their fuckups if they ever happened, so he didn’t get it yet, and his face cracked into a smile.
“That’s great, Sybil!” He raised his hand for a high five, which was adorably clueless enough to give my panic a moment of respite.
“Yeah,” I said, returning his high five while the weight of the impressive collection of failure in my hoodie’s front pocket shifted. “Great.”
Warren flashed another smile and patted my arm awkwardly before walking toward the kitchen. After a moment, I heard my mom ask, “She is?” I pulled the phone from my pocket.
Sybil: Is Cupcake looking for a nighttime snuggle buddy?
Marcus: Well, yes…but Cupcake’s farts are currently room clearing.
Sybil: Don’t tempt me with a good time.
Emi: She’s on some new medication. But if you need to stay here, you can!
Deacon: You can share my bed
I chuckled and posted a heart reaction to Deacon. I looked back at my dad’s photo and then to the stack of bills. I knew I could crash at Emi’s and go back to the temp agency. I considered returning to the donut shop to get another lemon-curd-filled treat—something sweet always helped me whenever I had to make a decision—but even if I needed the sugar boost, it was clear I could never show my face there again.