I roll onto my back and stare at my ceiling, which has a water stain that looks like a deranged rabbit. I’ve named him Gerald. Gerald judges me silently.
“I know, Gerald,” I tell the ceiling. “I really outdid myself this time.”
My phone vibrates, once, and then twice before completing losing its shit
With a deep breath that feels like I’m signing away my peace, I grab it.
Seventy-three new texts.
All from my sisters.
MARGOT: Harper Amélie Beaumont.
MARGOT: HARPER.
MARGOT: You’ve been avoiding us for days
MARGOT: Don’t you DARE ignore me.
MARGOT: I will hire a LAWYER to find you
MARGOT: I will have them subpoena your couch.
AMELIA: It’s not THAT BAD
AMELIA: For God’s sake, you could have just told us that YOU MARRIED THE ICE PRINCE OF FOOD MEDIA instead of sneaking back to NYC alone
AMELIA: THIS IS LIKE THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED
AMELIA: Not to you obviously
AMELIA: Your life is a disaster
AMELIA: But CONTENT-WISE? chef’s kiss
AMELIA: Declan says congrats btw
AMELIA: he also says Victor looks like he could kill a man with a stare
AMELIA: which is… hot?? discussing w therapist later
I wince at the mention of Declan—Amelia’s fiancé, the calm, sweet, annoyingly competent man who is about to marry my youngest sister and join our chaos for life.
MARGOT: We’re coming over. NOW.
MARGOT: I’m bringing wine.
MARGOT: And my legal pad.
MARGOT: And possibly handcuffs. For you. Or him. Unsure.
AMELIA: I’m bringing Thai food and our crochet bags because this is a CRISIS and crises require YARN
AMELIA: also I have the gif someone made of your wedding where they added the Super Mario death sound when the officiant says “you may kiss”
AMELIA: it’s at 5.3 million views
AMELIA: you’re basically Beyoncé now
