“What’s so funny?” Emma snapped.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, struggling to gain control over my hysterical laugher. “I was just wondering how many times Mom had to clean up our similar messes in the kitchen.”
“A gazillion for you.” Emma cracked a smile. “You never could cook.”
“I still can’t,” I insisted, laughing a little harder. “Remember that one Mother’s Day when you put me in charge of the toast?”
A laugh burst past her lips. “Yes! I still can’t believe I couldn’t even trust you to make toast of all things!”
“I don’t know how I screwed it up so badly.” I picked up a piece of Mom’s toast from on top of the trash. “It was like this, maybe even worse.”
“Worse. It was like bread dust!” Emma laughed even harder. “Remember how she ate it anyway?”
“Oh my God, you know how horrible that must have tasted?” The thought of eating something so dry nearly made me gag.
“I know! I watched her chug orange juice after.” Emma rinsed the pan in the sink and set it down. “Mom didn’t care though. She ate all she could; it was like three tiny bites. That was all that was salvageable.”
We both laughed.
“Remember what she said?” Emma asked, once we had managed to contain ourselves.
“A little burnt toast never hurt anyone,” we said in unison.
“And then she smiled and gave me a kiss.” I could remember the moment as though it were yesterday.
Silence bloomed between us as I thought about how much I missed the way our mom used to be, and how much I wanted her back. Everything about life was different now, even burnt toast.
I spent the rest of the morning trying to stay out of the kitchen while Emma cooked for her party. The sound of the mixer going nonstop and nineties music floating from the kitchen had been the soundtrack of my morning. If it were my party, I would have had everything catered, even if it cost enough to max out a credit card. It was one more thing added to my sister’s already heightened stress level. Again I was reminded of how strong Emma was.
A little after lunch, Emma finally took a break. She came into the living room with some sort of white substance crusted along one of her cheeks, and sprinkles of flour peppering her brown hair.
“Jeez.” I trailed my eyes over her. It had been so long since I’d seen her look so chaotic. “Who won in the war against the flour?” I popped another pretzel into my mouth, and paused the show I’d been watching.
“Oh my God!” she shouted. “What are you doing?”
My eyes widened at her sharp tone. “I’m eating and watching TV...”
“I can see that. Why haven’t you decorated?” She flailed her arms around in full freak-out mode.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to decorate.” Wrong answer. I knew the second the words slipped past my lips I shouldn’t have said them, because her hazel eyes grew dark and wild as they narrowed on me.
“I told you hours ago the decorations were in the hall closet!”
“I remember.” I rolled up the bag of pretzels, realizing now why she had mentioned where they were. “You meant you wanted me to get them out and decorate, right?”
“Yes! I did!” She smoothed her hair away from her face. The sound of her inhaling slowly and deeply let me know how frustrated she was. “Please, Charlotte. This is really, really important to me. I want everything to be perfect. There’s only a few hours left until everyone starts showing up. Help me get this place together. Please,” she said once she had composed herself.
Maybe my sister wasn’t a superhero after all; maybe she had finally hit her tipping point. Thanks to me.
“Okay.” My voice was soft and smooth, as though I were talking someone off a ledge. “Let me go get the bags.”
There were seven bags of stuff in the hall closet, as well as three boxes. I understood now why she had been freaked out.
“Wow, don’t you think you went a little overboard with the decorations?” I teased.
“No.” She picked up one of the boxes. It said Fondue Fun on the side in bubbly brown letters. “It will be just the right amount.”
I pulled a string of white lights from one of the bags, snaking it along the floor in front of me. “If you say so.”
Silk tablecloths, more white lights, napkins, the fanciest paper plates and plastic silverware I’d ever seen, and loads of crape paper decorations were what I found in the other bags.
A heavy sigh escaped me. There was so much to do, and hardly enough time. I wished I had realized what she wanted me to do hours ago.
SIX O’CLOCK CAME FASTER than I thought it would. I barely had enough time to shower and get ready before the first knock sounded at the front door. Smoothing my hands along the fabric of the black dress Sadie had said would look fabulous on me, I gripped the knob and opened it. Twice I had almost talked myself out of wearing the dress, but decided against it because I was hoping Dawson would be among the invite list. Time had not been on my side tonight to ask Emma if he was. Heck, I hadn’t even gotten a moment to ask who she was marrying. Every time I entered the kitchen, she kicked me out.
I swung the door open and the person who stood on the other side made me glad I’d stuck with my dress decision.
“Hey.” Dawson flashed me that charming smile I adored.
My heart pounded in my throat as I took in the sight of him. The light blue button-up shirt he wore did wonders for his tanned complexion and incredible eyes. Paired with khaki slacks and shiny leather shoes, he looked mouthwatering.
“Hey, yourself.” I tossed his words from last night back at him, along with a smile of my own. Nerves pinched at my stomach seconds later, making me feel stupid for doing so. I was being cheesy. I hated cheesy people.
“Can I come in?” His grin grew, making me realize I was blocking the doorway with my body.
“Yeah, sure.” I stepped to the side in a swift movement. “What are you doing here?” I was puzzled by his presence. When I thought for a moment, it made sense. Emma and Dawson had gone to school together. He’d lived down the road from us our whole life. Parish Cove was a small town. I was sure Emma had practically invited everyone to be polite.
“I—” He was cut off by Emma entering the room.
“You’re here! Thank God.” She walked straight to him and tossed her arms around his neck, pulling him against her body. “How does the place look? Is it too much?”
My heart stopped as I stared at them.
I watched as Dawson shifted his stare from me to the decorations, and then to my sister. “It looks good. You did great, babe.”
Babe. He’d called her babe. Emma had her arms wrapped around his neck. Their bodies were pressed so tightly against one another that I doubted you could fit a penny between them. Still I doubted what I was seeing. Dawson and Emma could not be together. My sister would not say yes to the one guy she knew I always wanted. She wouldn’t. Their lips touched, and the situation came crashing in on me from all angles as my entire world tilted. Emma’s fiancé was Dawson. He had asked her to marry him, and she had said yes.
Dawson freaking Phillips was marrying my sister.
The pressure of my nails digging into my palms brought me back to reality. I released my fists and painted a smile on my face.
Emma got everything, didn’t she?
I couldn’t help the thought. It pounded through my head. Gathering my emotions, I closed the door.
“It really does look nice,” I agreed. My voice was more composed than I thought possible. It also reminded Emma I was in the room. Dawson didn’t need a reminder, he knew. He’d never forgotten my presence. He had gauged my reaction to the news. Sympathy entered his stare and I shifted my gaze to Emma, refusing to gape at him as though he had broken my heart any longer.