Chapter 55
SADIE
My parents’ backyard has been turned into a grown-up version of the infamous Summers Sisters birthday parties we had as kids.
There’s still cake—cupcakes in our three favorite flavors: lemon, strawberry, and chocolate.
Balloons, but muted colors instead of the bright ones from our childhood.
And instead of a giant bounce house, which Sophie had her first kiss in—that was an interesting birthday party—Grant built a stage for karaoke.
This was my mom’s idea. She thinks I’m in the middle of a premature midlife crisis and that maybe a party will magically fix everything. I can’t convince her that there’s nothing to fix, but I’m happy to hang out with my sisters and eat lemon cupcakes.
I absentmindedly move some white folding chairs around, my hands still trying to catch up to the fact that I’m not in charge of this party.
“Sadie!” Sophie’s squeal is loud and warm before she hugs me from behind and then quickly withdraws, her finger tracing my tattoo. “This is beautiful on you.”
I turn, grinning at the sister who looks most like me. “Thanks, Soph. I’m glad you’re a little early. Surprised, but glad.”
Sophie giggles. “Yeah, I’m usually late to the party, but I have some news I wanted to share with Mom and Dad before.”
I tilt my head. “What’s that?”
Her face scrunches up in excitement before she reveals, “I bought a van!”
“That’s amazing!”
Her green eyes roll up toward her brows. “They won’t think so.”
“Who cares? Is it something you want to do?” I ask.
Her purple lips stretch into a grin. “More than anything.”
“I’m happy for you, Soph. Really.” I pull her in for a long hug, her scent of motor oil and bubblegum strong.
“I can’t believe Mom is making us have a party,” Emma complains with a smile as she steps out of the sliding door from the house into the backyard.
“Emma! Check out Sadie’s new tat!” Sophie runs over, grabbing Emma’s hand, and brings her over to where I’m standing.
Emma shakes her head playfully. “Did it hurt?”
I think back to the needle pressed against my shoulder and don’t feel any pain for my skin, but for the words Milo said about his dad.
“Not really,” I answer. “Not like I expected it to.”
Emma smiles at me before she turns back to Sophie. “Is that your piece of junk parked out front?”
“Piece of junk? That’s a little harsh,” Sophie mutters.
Emma laughs. “It’s cute. It just needs some work. Like, a lot of work.”
“I’m willing to work hard for the things that matter, and you know what . . . that piece of junk out there matters because it’s part of the dream,” Sophie says defensively before she smiles and adds, “And it’s all I could afford.”
“Then how do you plan on fixing it up?” Emma asks.
Sophie just quotes, “‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’”
“Or maybe there’s a sister.” I lightly elbow her. “I just sold my house and could give you a bit to at least make sure the engine runs smoothly.”
Sophie’s eyes widen. “Really? I mean, you don’t have to, but it was a bit of an iffy drive from Dallas.”
I chuckle. “I’m sure.”
“But Sadie, you don’t have a job and you’re about to leave the country,” Emma reminds me.
“I can’t believe you’re going to Europe!” Sophie squeals.
I kind of can’t believe it either, but tomorrow, I leave for Venice. I’ll explore Italy and Spain, then Switzerland and Austria, and spend my final month in the UK and France. I want to walk places I’ve only read of and touch history in a way I’ve only dreamed.
I’m doing it for the plot.
“I’ve got plenty, especially if it’s investing in a place my little sister really wants to go.”
And I do. One thing about being an accountant for the last seven years of my life is I lived by numbers more than experiences, and the numbers in my account grew while the experiences in my life stayed stagnant.
“There’s my girls!” our mom exclaims as she opens the back door. “I am so excited for this little shindig to celebrate my babies who are definitely not babies anymore.”
She squeezes her way in between all of us, tears already streaming down her face as she grabs for our arms. We wrap her up.
“Mom,” Sophie says. “The party hasn’t even started. Why are you crying?”
“Because I just love you all so much and want the best for you,” she answers, sobbing.
“Your version of best or ours?” Sophie questions.
Sophie has always been the bolder one of us three—not afraid to ask the hard questions or take the hard answers.
“I mean . . .” our mom trails off.
Emma swoops in. “We know, Mom.”
“It’s just, I guess when you were babies, I imagined these big, beautiful lives for each one of you, and I’m realizing it wasn’t my story to write,” Mom says quietly as she uses her cotton shawl to wipe at her face. “It’s hard to let that go.”
“Well, you’re going to have to, Mom. I bought a van,” Sophie announces.
“Oh, I know. Your dad is out there right now looking at what it’s going to need.” Mom laughs between her tears. “He said you picked a real clunker.”
We all join her in laughter.
I don’t have a perfect family. I don’t think anyone really does.
But I love the way our imperfections complement and challenge each other.
I know I’m going to do things that might disappoint them, but I think, for the most part, they truly just want what’s good for me, just like I want what’s good for them.