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“I suppose,” Doris said with a theatrical sigh. “But I should wait until after the wedding.”
“Good idea.”
“You can’t blame a girl for trying, now, can you?” Doris slipped a thick bundle of papers into an envelope and handed the packet to Bliss.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bliss replied, tucking the envelope into her leather bag. “I, uh, was hoping that you and I,” she said to Tiffany, “could have lunch or coffee or something. You know, get to know each other.”
“As long as it’s what you want and not John’s idea.”
“Tiffany!” It was Doris’s turn to appear aghast
“Bliss understands,” Tiffany said. “Ever since John came back to Bittersweet, he’s been trying to steamroller me into doing things I’m not comfortable with.”
“That’s between you and Dad,” Bliss said.
“So you’re not going to try and pressure me into attending his wedding?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Bliss sounded sincere. “But it’s up to you. This whole concept of a new family—stepmother, half sisters and the like—hasn’t been easy for me to swallow, either. But I’m trying. And I’d like to start by having coffee or…a glass of wine…or whatever with you. But it’s your choice.” She glanced back at Doris, who was assessing the situation between the two half siblings with surprised eyes. “Thanks.” To Tiffany, she added, “I’ll give you a call.”
“Any time.”
Bliss left and Doris stared after her. “You could have been more friendly, you know.”
“Just because she bought a policy—”
“That has nothing to do with it. You should be friendly because she’s your damned sister, Tiffany.”
“Half sister.”
“Whatever.” Doris straightened the papers on her desk. Her lips were pursed into a perturbed pout, little lines appearing between her plucked eyebrows. “You’re lucky, you know. A sister—even a half sister—is a special person. More than a friend.” She cleared her throat. “There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think of mine.”
Tiffany cringed and felt like an insensitive oaf. Doris’s sister had died less than a year ago from heart disease. “I suppose you’re right”
“There’s no ‘supposing’ about it. I am right. It’s not Bliss’s fault that her father’s a jerk who never claimed his other kids. The way I look at it, Tiffany, you have a chance to have a family now. Your father, well, you can take him or leave him. Your choice. But your sisters, they’re gifts. Now, let’s go over these casualty reports, then you can tell me about your love life.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” Tiffany said.
“A situation that needs to be remedied and I just happen to know a divorced father of four, forty years old, six-foot-three with gorgeous blue eyes and a smile to die for.”
“I’m not in the market”
“He has a great job, nifty sense of humor and—”
“And I’m still not in the market.”
“You can’t mourn forever, honey,” Doris said, her eyebrows lifting over the tops of her glasses.
“I’m not mourning—not really.”
“Then why not go out, kick up your heels a little?”
“When the time is right.”
Doris walked to the coffeepot and poured its last dregs into her mug that seemed permanently stained with her favorite shade of coral lipstick. “You’ve got to make it right, Tiffany.”
“I will.”
“When?”
