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It’s part drama queen, part narcissism, and one huge part neediness. She hates being alone, despises not being a part of your conversation—even if she really doesn’t have anything to do with it—and she’s clingy.
And yes, I realize this sounds exactly like the sort of person you try to steer clear of, but she’s also my sister, and I understand why she’s like that.
Losing our mom when we were nine and twelve years old was rough. It really hit Camille at the worst possible time—a time when a daughter really needs her mom around. Add in the fact that I was very clearly Dad’s favorite, and him utterly retreating inward after mom died, and you get a recipe for…well, someone like Camille.
She can be a huge pain in the ass. She’s emotionally draining a lot of the time. But family is family.
Years and years ago, I secretly came up with a rating system to gauge, emotionally, where Camille was on any given day. One is normal. Ten is “call her therapist, call her psychiatrist, and call the police while you’re at it.” It’s even easier face-to-face, but at this point, I can even give an accurate reading over the phone.
Right now, based on those three words, Camille’s at a six. Not great, not terrible.
“Hey,” I say brightly, trying to invoke a positivity I don’t really feel. “What’s up?”
“What’s up??” she blurts. “What’s up is where are you? I’m just sitting here all alone, Eloise. I look like an idiot!”
My brows knit. I even glance at my phone for a second and thumb over to my calendar to see if I’ve forgotten about something.
I haven’t.
“Camille, where are you?”
“At Per Se, for lunch!”
I exhale slowly. Yeah, I know what this is. Again, it’s not that my sister is delusional, or forgetful. It’s that she’ll create a scenario in her mind where you fucked up, for which she will then “forgive you”. It’s manipulative as fuck, but…that’s Camille. The problem is, once she’s come up with this scenario, she genuinely gets into this headspace where she starts to believe her own bullshit.
This is exactly what’s happening right now.
Today, Camille has concocted a scenario in which I’m apparently standing her up for a lunch date at the very expensive, very posh, Michelin-rated Per Se restaurant. Normally, the “fix” for this would be to go over there, come up with some sort of apology, and just have lunch with her, because that’s the easiest damn solution. And hey, I hear the food’s great.
Except today, I can’t do that. Because today I’m here, in hell, working my very first day as Alistair Black’s underling at Crown and Black.
“Camille, I’m so sorry.”
She sighs heavily. “It’s fine, I understand. You get forgetful sometimes. Just get here. I’m doing the chef’s tasting menu. The uni risotto is supposed to be insane?—”
“No, Camille, I can’t come. Not today.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Why not?” she spits in a clipped, annoyed tone.
I blow air through my lips. “I’m at work, actually. It’s my first day.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “Massimo,” I mutter, like that’s the only explanation anyone needs. “He… He got me this associate’s position at the law firm he’s going to be using for business.”
Camille squeals. “Oh my God! Ellie! That’s so amazing!”
For all her crazy, again, she’s also my sister.
“I’m so fucking happy for you!”
“Thanks!” I gush back. “It’s…overwhelming. But I’m really excited to?—”
“Wait. Which firm?”
Shit.
