Chapter 7
EILEEN
The inevitable sensation of nostalgia mixed with despair churns in my stomach as I approach my parents’ house. I love my family, but sometimes I feel like an outsider. Scratch that, I always feel like an outsider.
I am the afterthought.
My sister is the eldest and everything that happens to her is a novelty. My youngest brother is the baby, and who knows why, but he’s always in trouble. I can fend for myself, according to my family. So, there’s nothing left of my parents’ minimal attention worth sparing on me.
I don’t expect a lot from my family. A lot of the time I expect nothing because that’s just easier. It’s been proven time and time again that I’m their last priority, if even at all.
When I park in front of my childhood home and spot not one, but three more cars than usual, I know they aren’t going to care about my graduation tickets. Something a lot more important is brewing at the McBean residence.
Who cares? I tell myself.
Logically speaking, it can’t be any worse than the thousands of other “emergencies” that have usurped me over the years.
I hear the commotion as I enter the house. Everyone is talking and of course no one’s making any fucking sense. My sister screams hysterically.
Typical Charlie, I think.
The guy who she’s been dating for the last couple of months is right next to her staring into the wall and looking pale. Okay that, admittedly, is weird.
Who died?
Mom is on her phone. Dad is pacing back and forward.
My grandmother is taking a page out of my sister’s book, squawking and screaming.
My grandfather is sitting in the corner of the couch watching TV like nothing’s happening.
Maybe he got lucky and went deaf in the middle of this hell storm.
My brother is on the other side of the couch, staring at his phone.
At least some things never change around here.
I’m pleasantly surprised my aunts and uncles aren’t part of this chaos. I look at the white envelope I hold with my graduation tickets. I sigh, putting them back in my purse. Maybe some other time.
I should leave before they see me and drag me into whatever’s happening. It’s only a few steps, I almost make it to the door when someone taps my shoulder. It’s Sam.
“Forget it. I’m not saving you from whatever shit is happening,” I say, grabbing the door handle.
“The ‘artist’ knocked her up,” he says.
“You’re making shit up,” I counteract his statement. “She won’t be happy when she hears that.”
“Nope,” he says deadpan.
I let go of the handle, groaning as I rub my temple. “Please, please, please tell me this is a fucking fever dream, or I’m on Punk’d or something.”
“I wish,” he grunts. “Charlie’s pregnant. Sound the alarms, the world’s ending. Mom and Dad are already moving her into an emergency bunker.”
I chuckle because he’s not wrong about how our parents overreact whenever Charlie’s involved. This really sounds like something that’s going to take about eighteen to twenty years to get resolved. And make no mistake. I want no part in it.
“Well, Tiger,” I call him with the nickname Dad used for him when he was younger. “Good luck with this shit. Hope you find a job before Charlie turns your room into a nursery.”
“Ha ha. Hilarious,” he says.
Obviously, he’s not in the mood for sarcasm, and I can’t believe he made it this far in the day without picking up and leaving. I’m ready to change my name, get a new face, and move to Canada, and I’ve known for all of three minutes.
But who could blame me?
One way or another, my parents are going to make me part of the solution. I salute him before opening the door. See you in a couple of decades... or never.
But before I can turn around and leave, Charlie charges at me.
“E!” She doesn’t even bother to call me by my full name. “You’re here.”
Fantastic. I look at the ceiling praying for a miracle, but nothing happens. The ground isn’t swallowing me either.
I’m doomed.
Charlie hugs me tightly while she continues sobbing. “You have to help me. Please. I don’t know what to do!”
Of course you don’t, I think tersely. That’s just who you are, Charlie.
Feeling somewhat dazed after dealing with my family, I decide to stay at my parents to help my sister. I’m sitting alone in their living room with nothing but a lamp, a pen, and my journal to keep me company.
I’ve been tapping my pen against my journal for the last hour, hoping it calms my nerves, annoys me out of my funk, rallies me into action... something. The rhythm keeps me company in the loneliest corner of the Earth, shielding me from the fucking bullshit that’s become my life.
I shouldn’t enable her, but that’s like the family motto. “Charlie first.”
Charlie left early with her loser boyfriend because she’s “tired.” Mom went to bed because she has to go to work tomorrow morning. Which leaves me, once again behind picking up the debris of the mayhem my sister and the rest of my family left behind.
Because of course, it’s Eileen’s responsibility to create a plan of action.
I don’t envy my sister. Sure, she drives me fucking bonkers. But she’s a grown woman who can’t even take care of herself. If anything, I feel sorry that my years of enabling have left her so sorely unprepared to have a baby.
Then again, she loves pretending to be fragile so everyone would do anything for her. I swear she just bats her eyelashes and everyone is at her feet asking what she needs. Maybe I should ignore her pleas, but if I do, my parents would be stuck doing everything for her.
In conclusion, me sitting alone in my parents’ house to plan a fucking wedding for my pregnant sister is of course, my own fault. Surfing through bridal websites, checking dresses and destination weddings isn’t something I really want to do. The cost of a wedding is outrageous.
Where are we going to find the money to afford any of this?
I look at my calendar and sigh. I thought my parents were going to cancel the trip.
Logically, I knew that we’d have to cancel it.
Since I insisted on buying the vacation insurance, we should have been able to recover almost everything minus the two hundred and sixty dollars of insurance. “Should have” being the operative term.
They waited until Charlie left—until I suggested we cancel the trip—to admit they hadn’t booked anything on their end.
“It was a big financial commitment. We were waiting on a few things before we finalized plans,” my mom told me.
Waiting on what?
Me to flunk grad school?
For me to break another bone... or worse?
There’s no money to recover because they’d never spent a dime on the vacation they promised me. So, if I understand everything right, the budget for the trip is going into Charlie’s wedding fund.
Camilla called me crazy. A neurotic loon. Well, here I am proving her wrong and unable to call her because she’s off of the grid.
But I knew that everything was too good to be true.
Once I have a list of websites, possible places to have the ceremony, and bridal stores, I decide it’s okay to go to bed.
Charlie insists we should hire Amanda, her best friend from high school, to plan the wedding. I don’t want to hire a wedding planner. My parents haven’t given me a final budget yet, but I know it’s not going to be enough to pay Amanda’s rates.
So long, Aruba, I think mournfully.
It was fun dreaming of you while it lasted. As I start making my way to my old room, the home phone rings. Seriously, who calls at almost two a.m.? It better not be Charlie complaining about heartburn. I’m out of patience for her today.
“Hello,” I answer curtly.
“Is this the McBean residence?” a sexy, husky voice asks on the other side.
“Yes…” I confirm, staring at the phone for a second. Who is this? “Can I help you?”
“Uh, I’m looking for Marek.”
Who the fuck is Marek?
“You have the wrong number,” I say before hanging up.
Nice voice. His call doesn’t make any sense to me, but I wouldn’t mind him selling me shit over the phone if I get to hear his baritone.
The phone rings again. “Didn’t you just say that this is the McBean residence?” he argues the moment I answer.
“Yeah, but no one named Marek lives here,” I counteract.
“You have the wrong number,” I clarify, pausing between words so he can understand me.
“Look, lady, I’m looking for my cousin, Marek. He’s supposed to be with Charlie,” he explains with a condescending voice. “You know Charlie, right?”
I roll my eyes. Don’t try me buddy, I don’t have much patience left.
“Oh, that guy,” I say. “The artist Charlie’s dating.”
He chuckles and asks, “Is he there?”
“No,” I answer a little short. Why is he looking for his cousin here? “Don’t you have his cell number?”
“Duh,” he says. “But he’s not answering, and we need to talk.”
“Why would you call here then?”
“This is Charlie’s number, isn’t it?” he asks.
Yes, because my sister can’t afford to live on her own, but she can drop four hundred and fifty dollars on the Tori Burch purse she drags everywhere. Priorities, I guess.
“Nope, they’re not here. Don’t know where they went, and I don’t know when they’ll be back,” I half lie.
“He’s not answering his cell,” he says with a resigned sigh. “Well, fuck it. This is the last time I try to save his ass.”
Well at least someone else is as annoyed with them as I am. Maybe I’m not alone in wading through their pre-marital chaos.
“Let me guess,” I infer, taking the phone with me to my room. “He needs you to bail him out of his latest problem?”
“Yep,” he says with a yawn. “News travels fast or—”
“I think I can relate,” I admit. “I just spent the last two hours doing recon for this wedding they just have to have.”
“Why you and not Charlie?”
I snort. “She’s allergic to responsibility. Or even, like, committing to plans beyond vague ideas.”
“Ouch,” he says with a chuckle. “That bad, huh?”
I glance over at a family portrait from a decade ago. Charlie’s crying in the center between my parents because of a bee sting, Sam’s screaming, and I’m tripping into the frame because of a mud patch no one bothered to mention.
My parents framed it because they said they wanted a reminder of who we were growing up. I’m starting to think we’ll never get past that awkward phase of life. So maybe things are meant to suck.
“Isn’t it always?” I say to him, myself, and no one in particular.
“Not sure,” he says genuinely. “People keep telling me there’s better shit out there but—”
“Where?” we say simultaneously.
I snort. “Jesus fuck, we sound tired.”
“Well it is ass o’clock.”
“I meant about life,” I explain further.
“I know,” he states, his voice a tad defeated. I’ve never seen this guy, but I imagine he pauses to shrug before he says, “But hey, you sound not terrible.”
“Thanks?” I respond to his statement, unsure if I should be offended.
“You ever planned a wedding?” he asks.
“No, but, I’m a fast learner.”
“Cool.” He sounds animated. “What’s your rate? Some charge two hundred an hour.”
What? “I’m not a hooker,” I squeak.
“I meant wedding planner,” he corrects, but he’s laughing his ass off on the other side of the line.
“Who are you?”
“Oh, shit, sorry,” he says, sobering up. “Jason, cousin of the idiot groom. And you are?”
“Eileen, sister of the idiot bride.”
“Nice to meet a future in-law,” he jokes. “Marek convinced me to give him a hand with his situation.”
I nod slowly and then realize he can’t see me. “Cool, you’ll be the company to my misery then, and you don’t sound terrible either.”
He sighs. “Fair enough. I hope to meet you soon,” he says with a low, sexy voice that makes my body tingle.
“Same,” I whisper before hanging up.