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“And maybe you thought I might, you know, want to come?” she yelled. “I love pasta. I love Italian things. I know they make good shoes. I could’ve visited the birthplace of Manolos. Did you think of that?”
“You’re kind of a newlywed, and Keltan took you to Lake Como on your honeymoon,” I said.
“It was a lake!” she screeched. “It’s nothing but a sea without the salt. Or beaches. Or sharks. Wait, are there sharks in lakes? If there aren’t, Lake Placid had some seriously big plot holes.” She paused. “But that is not the point. The point is you were going through a divorce and hurting and then you just left, and I thought you were going to join a convent or something. It was a traumatic time.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Oh, I’m not done,” she snapped. “And then when you finished your little Eat, Pray, Meditate Without Shoes On, you come home without telling anyone and then get drunk with my husband. Without even inviting me. I am much more fun to get drunk with than Keltan.”
“You’re pregnant,” I pointed out, and I realized I hadn’t even seen Lucy pregnant yet since I was pretty sure the conversation I had with her last night was all with my eyes closed. I itched to see her glowing with a new life inside her, hopefully with a little more meat on her bones, since I knew Keltan would not let her starve herself when she had a baby to feed.
I knew Lucy wouldn’t do that either. Because I knew that she would love that little being inside her from the first moment she’d found out. All of her vanity was surface. Deeper down, she was one of the most selfless, brave and loving people I knew. She would do anything and everything to take care of her baby.
I didn’t open my eyes because I was still sure I’d throw up if I did so. Not because I was scared I’d burst into tears when I saw her. That’s what I told myself at least.
“I’m fun to get drunk with even when I’m sober,” she hissed, unaware of the dark turn my thoughts had taken.
I was happy for her continuing tirade, it stopped the demons from doing too much damage.
“Because I’m fun,” she continued. “And I’ve missed my sister and I’ve worried about her more than I worried about my ankles looking like Kim Kardashian’s.”
The bed depressed.
A hand went to my forehead, it was cool, warm, and dry. Comforting for none of those reasons, but because it belonged to Lucy. My sister. My protector, best friend, and lecturer. The woman who burned down the cars of men that had broken my heart. Put them on terrorist watchlists and then fed me ice cream for the short period I’d considered myself heartbroken in between relationships.
I had no idea what heartbreak was back then.
Nor did I have an idea what love was.
Not until him.
I’d been so sure I’d been searching for it. That all-consuming, beautiful and fulfilling love, that I’d run from what I’d found. Because it wasn’t beautiful. Or fulfilling. It filled me up only long enough to rip me apart from the inside out.
“Keltan told me why you drank whisky,” Lucy murmured. “That you saw Heath. That it was bad.”
My stomach clenched for different reasons than the aforementioned whisky, though it was still making sure I didn’t forget about the after effects.
Heath’s name whispered from my sister’s kind lips was worse than any whisky induced hangover.
I swallowed hot ash, struggling to sit up without hurling and to blink without crying. “Yeah,” I agreed on a croak. “It was bad.”
It was now I found the strength to blink my eyes open. I immediately snapped them closed when a light that burned my corneas assaulted me. I took a long second before I tried blinking again. And I did it slowly, gave myself time to get used to the obnoxiously bright light obviously designed to give me some sort of brain bleed.
Lucy came into focus.
And I was right, she had a glow.
And not just because I was hungover and the light in the room had the power of the sun itself, despite the fact the curtains were drawn.
No, because she was Lucy. And she was beautiful no matter what. But she had changed. It was jolting for me, since the last time I’d seen her, she was still beautiful, but her angles were sharper, more severe in a gorgeous, runway model type of way.
But all those edges had softened. Her face was fuller, with a flush that was usually absent from her pale skin. Her hair was wavy, shiny, and messy around her face. And she was wearing a white tank and white silk pajama bottoms so I could see where her frame had filled out to what it had meant to be all along.
