What if she says no?
She won't say no.
The next thing I knew, Jason skulked into the dining room, followed by his grinning mother. He sank down to one knee and delivered the most dispassionate proposal a man had ever given.Katherine, will you marry me?
His mother gasped.
I wanted to cry.
And then I'd said what I had to.No. I'm sorry.
When I told Amy what happened, you’d have thought I'd fought off the evil empire, even if I'd crushed a guy's pride in the process. The truth was that Jason and I were not in love, and that was an inescapable point. I came from a long line of people who had not taken that seriously. I was certain I was never meant for marriage anyway—too screwed up, too much nightmarish baggage, some of which my sister carried around as well. I'd only been within spitting distance of love once, with an Irish hottie my sister knew very little about. That guy, the sexy heartbreaker, had been too much to hold onto.
“Look, Katherine. I'm not you. I can't spend every waking minute being pessimistic. I get enough of that at work. Please don't fault me for finding a guy and falling in love.”
My shoulders dropped. “You're right. You're absolutely right. I want what you want. I've spent my whole life wanting you to be happy.” That much was true. That part I didn't have to fake. I'd woken up every morning for the last thirty-two years hoping she'd have a good day, even before she'd been born. It was this thing in the very center of my brain, a drive planted at my conception. Had that ambition come from Mom? Was it God's way of keeping my sister safe? He had to have known our mom wasn't going to be around to do it herself.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Now can we please order some pie? We're supposed to be celebrating, but I can't be late getting back to work.” I flagged Patty, who nodded at me as she poured a silver-haired gentleman a cup of coffee and swiped a stack of empty plastic creamer cups from his table. “When are you going to tell Dad?”
“I’ll call him tonight. He'll just start stressing about when the wedding is going to be and who's going to pay for it and where he should go for a tux. He'll probably book his train ticket as soon as we get off the phone.”
Dad was always planning. He never wanted to be caught off guard. I could relate—Amy inherited supermodel cheekbones and I got a hatred of surprises. “Don't give him a hard time about any of it, okay? I'm sure it'll be emotional for him. You're getting married. It'll probably bring up stuff. You know. About Mom.”
“Yeah. I need to psych myself up for that.”
“Ladies?” Patty asked. “More ketchup?”
I grasped Amy's hand and held it up for Patty to see. “Look at what happened. My little sister. Engaged.” There it was—my happiness. I guess I could muster it if I focused my attention outward. Note to self: stop thinking so much.
The sweetest off-balance smile you'd ever seen broke across Patty's face. She knocked my sister on the shoulder with her knuckle. “Look at you. Getting married. Is it the banker? The one with the tight tush?”
Crimson flushed Amy's face. “Yes. Luke. He asked last night. It was our eight-month anniversary.”
“Which is why we're celebrating with pie.” I was determined to hold on to this flash of happiness. I wanted to love it, give it a name, and keep it in my purse for later. “What do you want, Ames? Chocolate cream? Banana?” I looked up at Patty. “You know me. I'll have coconut.”
Amy dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin. “I don't know. I'm going to have to start thinking about fitting into a dress. Maybe french fries and a sandwich the size of my head is enough indulgence for one day.”
Patty rolled her eyes. She didn't have much patience for healthy pursuits in her place of employment.
“She'll have the chocolate,” I said.
“Got it. On the house. It's a big day.” Patty sidled off.
“Hey, if you're worried about the apartment, don’t.” Amy pushed her plate aside. “Luke and I already talked about it and we'll pay my half of the rent through the end of the lease.”
It hurt to know they'd already talked about my place in their new life, and that I would apparently be playing the role of difficult older sister. I needed to get used to no longer being consulted about things that involved me.
“You guys don't have to do that. I make good money.” Better than good, actually. My position at the North American Color Institute paid great, thanks to a genetic gift that made me really good at my job—a one-in-a-billion anomaly called tetrachromacy. Most people saw a red rose as two or three shades of that color. But when I looked at that same rose, I saw two or three hundred colors. If I looked at something in the sunlight, the difference between hues was even more pronounced.
“It was Luke's idea, actually.”
“You guys should save your money. Go on an amazing honeymoon. I'll get a roommate if I need one.”
“I know you. You won't get a roommate. We're paying my half of the rent. End of discussion.”
It was sort of adorable when she ended an argument with an assertion, like Dad used to when he was tired and grumpy and just wanted us to shut up so he could watch TV. Most of the time, Amy never wanted a disagreement to end. When we were little, Amy turned everything into a negotiation, some of which went on forever. Most of them had revolved around who got to be Barbie and who had to be Skipper, or who got to lick the beaters when we made brownies, but there had been big things we'd had to agree on, too. Like whether we should tell Dad that we were pretty sure Mom was cheating on him.
