I expected my sisters to sense my tension instantly, but they were both in their element socially. Bailey was still in hostess mode, working the kitchen like a pro. Birdie was the opposite: floating around the perimeter of the yard, sun-bleached hair that she wore twisted into a loose braid trailing over one shoulder, white summer dress that made her look like the concept art for a more relatable Disney princess. At some point she must have caught my eye, because less than a minute after my pulse started returning to a plausible pace, Birdie appeared at my side, cracking a seltzer open with her perfect manicure.
“Hey, Sissy, do you want a seltzer?”
“Only if it’s spiked,” I muttered, then added, “I’m good,” louder.
She lowered herself onto the bench next to me with a graceful, slow-motion hover. Birdie was the opposite of me in every way. She was easygoing, artistic, and good-natured. Her wedding was in six months, and the only thing she’d planned was the honeymoon, and she had zero stress about the entire thing.
If it were my wedding, six months out, every vendor would be booked, I’d have the entire day, every minute scheduled. Every single guest would have RSVPed or would be cut, no exceptions. I’d most likely be broken out in hives, mainly because the thought of getting married, of being legally tied to another person, made me want to crawl out of my skin, but the thought of promising to do that in front of family and friends was only slightly less terrifying.
Birdie angled her body, so her shoulder touched mine. “Did you get home okay last night?”
My eyes sliced to her as panic rose in me. Had she heard about the break-in? The note left in the car? Why was she asking that? But the little arch of her eyebrows, the half-smirk, told me she was fishing for date gossip.
Of course. Evan. I’d completely forgotten the night before had even happened.
Fuck.I was already so paranoid, I totally forgot the date I’d gone on. She wanted to know about Evan.
I exhaled, picturing the bruised banana of a man I’d dined with and how he’d spent five minutes mansplaining the optimal way to de-pit an avocado. “I’m not going to see him again.”
Birdie made a sympathetic noise. “What was wrong this time?”
“He was boring.”
“Youneedto give him a chance.”
“How many questions do you think he asked me?”
She counted on her fingers like she was doing long division. “Um… ten?”
I stared at her.
“Five?” she ventured a second guess.
“Warmer.”
“Lessthan five?”
“One. When he said he wanted to see me again and I told him it wasn’t going to happen, he said ‘What?’”
Her head tilted to the side. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. I can tell you Evan’s college roommates’ names, Troy, Mark, Lane, and Peter. His fraternity, Phi Delta Gama. He’s a Libra. His parents divorced when he was nine, he has two sisters, Megan and Michelle. He’s the youngest. Middle name Christopher?—”
“He didn’t ask you one question?” she interjected. “I mean, about yourself?”
“Nope.”
“I’msoglad I’mnotsingle.”
Not single? Aren’t you though? For all intents and purposes. I was surprised I didn’t have stitches from the number of times I bit my tongue when Birdie talked about her fiancé, who held the position in name only.
I couldn’t remember the last time Dylan Hart had attended a family event, including a holiday. Sometimes Birdie would fly out and meet him on the road, but he never came to her. He never made any concessions for her. She did everything alone.
She sipped her seltzer thoughtfully. “Maybe you just like being single more than you think you should.”
Or maybe I’m just still hung up on a man who ghosted me twenty years ago.
“There’s a truck!” Leo, the smaller of the twins, shrieked, nearly catapulting himself off the trampoline.
