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“Thanks, Anna, but it’s alright.” I escaped into the relative quiet of the bedroom with my dress, pulling off my work clothes and shoving them into my bag. I loved my sister–my stepsister, really–but I didn’t really fit into her life. After my dad died, my link with Anna was an uncomfortable one. She had her husband, her kids, her mom, and while I was always invited to family gatherings–Christmas, birthday parties, her wedding–I wasn’t a real part of the family. It washerfamily, not mine. We were friends, but notbest friends,in the way I often heard sisters described: we didn’t have that intimate bond. It didn’t help that she was a decade older than me, married with school-age children, and settled in a way that I wasn’t. In a way that, if I was perfectly honest with myself, made a green tendril of jealousy twine into my heart, squeezing and squeezing until I had to pull away from her, or risk lashing out. We weren’t close, and I knew it was my fault: she had always been there when I needed her, like tonight. Even if her kids and husband took up most of her attention. Her love.
I slipped the plastic dry cleaner bag off of my borrowed dress, marveling again at the fluidity of the fabric. I checked the tag, and–oh. It was silk, and I recognized the designer: one I would never, ever be able to afford, even if I did athousandfreelance articles on the side. Handling it with care, I pulled it over my shoulders, feeling the smooth material settle against my body. Anna’s mirror was above her dresser, and was decorated with printed photos of her and her kids and her husband. I could only see my top half, but… it fit perfectly. I had been expecting it to be too big–my boss’s boxy blazers and pleated slacks didn’t suggest a svelte figure–but the fabric draped over my body like a caress. The cut was conservative, but the color was striking: almost the exact shade of my eyes. There was nothing to be done about my hair and makeup; I pulled a hair tie from my bag and pulled my blonde locks into a high bun, hoping it looked cool and chic and not librarianish. I pinched my cheeks to give them some color, leaning in towards the mirror, and a picture I hadn’t noticed before fluttered in the slight gust of air I created as I bent closer. My stepmom, and…Dad.Even after five years, I still hadn’t gotten used to the gut punch that was seeing his face unexpectedly. My chest never failed to constrict painfully, my eyes sting. I took a deep breath, calming myself. Red, puffy eyes wouldn’t help my already iffy no-makeup look.
“How are you doing in there, Ella?” Anna asked, nudging the door open. I saw the moment when her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, you look gorgeous!”
Her expression was warm, looking at me for a moment as I stood half-dressed in her bedroom. My step-sister did love me–I had needed the reminder more than I realized.
A crash came from the direction of the kitchen and the moment was lost. Anna rolled her eyes and moved towards it as if drawn by a magnet; but looked over her shoulder at me. “I have a pair of silver heels in the closet. I haven’t worn them in years, but they would be perfect with that color.”
I retrieved the heels–she was right. They were nothing extravagant, just plain, stiletto-heeled shoes, and a few years out of style, but they fit me, and the silvery leather peeked out from beneath the hem of the ocean blue silk as I walked like tiny fish darting in the water. Collecting my belongings, I made my way back into the living room, where Anna and the kids were now cleaning up a huge mess of building blocks.
“They’re perfect, Anna,” I told her, pulling up the hem of the gown to show her. “Thank you.”
“I’m just glad someone is wearing them. I haven’t had a reason recently…” She smiled up at me from the pile of toys. “Have a great time at the party, and seriously, Ella, come over anytime.”
I smiled back at my sister, but she had already turned back towards her children and their happy mess.
Charlie
“You remembered your notes, right?”
“I remembered my notes, yes.”Godfuckingdamn it.If Jack didn’t stop nagging me, I would… I didn’t know what. I had enough to think about without worrying about how I would get away with the murder of eldest brother. “Just a life update for you, Jack, I also know how to tie my own shoes.”
He scowled at me, his jaw set as if he wanted to say something like “I don’t like that tone of voice, young man,” but was worried about sounding too much like an old woman.Well, you blew by that milestone years ago, so you may as well go ahead and say it,I thought, knowing my face likely had an identical scowl. I knew we looked alike, all four of us brothers. Like someone copy-pasted our father.
If only Jack wasn’t still trying to be mymother. I was 25 years old, after all: an adult. I had graduated from college. I had gotten a masters degree. I had started a business, and sold it. And still:
“Just checking. Doors open in 5 minutes, I don’t want you to be scrambling at the last minute, trying to find it. It’s in your pocket?”
My hand betrayed me, patting my breast pocket like I wasn’t sure. Like I hadn’t already checked for my notes a hundred times. “Yes, I have it,” I said, trying to keep the growl out of my voice. That was the last thing I needed to do: blow up like a baby alpha who can’t contain himself, and in front of Jack, master of self-control. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I returned to the mantra I repeated a thousand times a day:Jack loves you. Don’t kill him. Jack loves you. Don’t kill him.When I was sure my voice would be calm, I opened my mouth again. “Thank you, Jack.” He smiled distractedly, half at me, half at the waiter passing by with a tray of canapes. “Seriously,” I said, and my tone made his focus snap to me. “I appreciate everything you’ve done getting ready for this.”
“I know it’s important to you,” he said, in that warm, confident voice of his, the one that reminded me so much of our dad. He clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
I blinked away the tears that threatened, wondering where they sprang from–I wasn’t usually a crier. I forced a broad smile onto my face instead. I knew it was useless; even if he hadn’t known me since birth, even if he hadn’t practically raised me, I knew he could scent what I was feeling in that moment, my emotions bubbling up until my skin practically radiated with excitement and anxiety and grief and love. I did it anyway, and said, my voice admirably jovial-sounding, “Let’s get this thing started.”
* * *
I paced myself with the champagne by shaking hands. I hated doing it–hated the feel of all those stranger’s hands touching mine, hated the schmoozing and the quote-unquotenetworking, and usually, our family managed to avoid it. We didn’t need it. We were Princes, my father had always said, the corners of his eyes creasing at the double entendre. I knew my sisters-in-law were likely huddled away in a corner somewhere, drinking champagne and avoiding the crowds, and I yearned to join them. Jack was probably shaking hands though. He would do that kind of shit for me, even if he hated it more than I did. It was fucking annoying.
Tonight was different: Ididneed the people that now packed the ballroom, eating ridiculous mini cheese souffles and drinking champagne.Nicechampagne, too; I knew because I had paid out of my own pocket. I didn’t need the attendees money, not really–I could have asked my brothers to fund this little project. I could have funded it myself, if I really wanted to; could have cashed some investments, sold off a few shares.
And it wasn’t like they were supposed toknowI was the financier behind the project. After all, I had sold my fintech company to get out of whatever limelight had threatened, wanting to escape into the warm, comforting embrace of my family. The non-profit wasn’t truly mine–I had already handed it over to the brilliant omega woman who would be heading it. My name wasn’t on the website, I wasn’t on the board of directors. My involvement would end with this gala. This was my one and only chance to get Natalie as many rich donor connections as I could fit into one ballroom.
I needed this not for the money, but for the… what? The validation? The approval? Most of the time, I had my brothers, myfamily, and that was enough. This, though, I wanted to do by myself. I wanted the project to get off to a good start, wanted to get my little baby bird of a project in front of enough rich eyeballs and powerful checkbooks to ensure that it would take flight. That it could soar.
Personally, I wanted to return to the nest.
In order to do that, though, the nest had to stop seeingmeas the baby bird, and see me as a fully grown eagle. Or whatever the fuck.
“It’s going well,” a sweet, almost sing-song voice said at my elbow, interrupting my increasingly nonsensical metaphors.
My eyes still scanned the donors, but I didn’t need to look to tell who that voice belonged to. “Thanks, Margaret,” I replied, thankful to talk to someone I knew.Family. I could feel my shoulders relaxing just standing next to her calming omega presence, smelling her comforting honey scent. She reached over and grasped my hand just for a moment before releasing it, and I smiled. Margaret was comfortable. Safe. I took a drink of my champagne, letting the bubbles buoy my spirits, and met her gaze.
Her small smile was warm and encouraging. “Tonight is going to be special for you, Charlie.” She paused, considering. Her eyes roved over the assembled crowd: donors, press. Somewhere in the crowd was Natalie, the program’s CEO, also shaking strangers’ hands. I knew she was feeling as excited and anxious as I was. “I can smell it.”
Ella
I supposedI should have guessed by the gown, or maybe the invitation, but I was still struck speechless by the elegance of the event as I walked through the ballroom doors. I had never been to a non-profit launch party, but I had to believe that they couldn’t all be like this.
