How to Ruin a Wedding(35)
“Didn’t peg you for a lover of the arts.”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder, revealing the top of her sleeveless dress. “Unfortunate as it is to admit any sibling worship when I turned out to be so amazing, Anders might have rubbed off on me.”
“Your brother adores you,” I say, pausing as she stops to view a landscape of a forest. “I think he’d like to hear that.”
She rolls her eyes. “What he’d like to hear is that I’ll call off this wedding and stop making him worry about my mental health every other day. God forbid a girl get sent to the psych unit once.”
Whatever she sees on my face makes her bark out a laugh before narrowing her eyes.
“So,” she says, “Anders didn’t tell you about that.”
Just how close are you really, then? is what I hear. It’s treacherous—this balance of playing the doting girlfriend, the supportive friend, while having only read a chapter of Anders’s story. If anyone skips ahead to a page I haven’t reached, I’m lost trying to fill in the blanks.
“Unfortunate as it is to admit any sibling worship,” I repeat, “his love for you is pretty evident in the way he talks about you—including what he doesn’t share.”
She stares at me for three seconds, then faces the painting again, though not before I catch a small smile.
“That’s his fatal flaw, you know. He loves too hard.” She snorts. “Maybe I shouldn’t be saying that to you, but if you can’t accept him for who he is, then you should leave.”
There it is again, a snag of guilt pulling at my chest. What will Anders say when I’m gone? Will his family worry all he holds in his bones will crumble? Will they hate me for whatever lie he tells them about our separation?
Why do I care if they do?
I smother the guilt, but I can’t stifle the building curiosity rising within me at the mere mention of Anders’s name.
“Some people would say loving isn’t a flaw at all.”
“It is for Anders,” she says, crossing her arms. “He does anything and everything for whoever he loves. Whatever’s in his capabilities. He has this need to protect people, to care for them so they don’t feel any pain. He doesn’t realize that can be painful in itself.”
That doesn’t make any sense. Since when is trying to protect someone you care about a bad thing? As an older sibling, I know exactly what it’s like—it’s not even conscious; it’s a reflex.
“You don’t agree,” she says when I don’t respond. “But you’re an older sibling, too, so you don’t get it. But as a younger sister, nothing sucks more than feeling like everyone’s waiting for you to crack. Like you’re too fragile to make basic decisions. And worse, the guilt of always being a constant worry in their life. I mean, if I can get over losing the head cheerleader spot senior year to Mary Tambini despite her inability to do a basic handspring, I really can come back from anything.”
“That’s not how my sister feels,” I snap, then immediately hold up my hands. “Sorry, that was aggressive. I mean, everyone is different, and from what I know about Anders, you’re severely underestimating the way he views you. He doesn’t think you’re weak.”
She groans, moving on to the next installation—a series of different-sized canvases with delicately painted bubbles stretching almost to the ceiling.
“This one is from a local artist. Chasing Reflections. It’s one of Anders’s favorites,” she says, arms crossed. “Older siblings are so dense. I was just starting to like you for getting Anders to back off the wedding. Please don’t bombard me with some lovey-dovey defense.”
A good point to bring up. I shouldn’t go against Anders in a way that’ll raise flags, but I need to get on Valerie’s good side. Earn her trust. Learn more about her relationship, figure out exactly where to poke, pull, twist, and pry, like she’s my own personal Bop It! Securing a place in her inner circle is my top priority.
If she wants to have incorrect opinions about sibling relationships, that’s her prerogative.
I press my hands together like I’m in prayer. “Forgive me for bombarding you with lovey-dovey interactions. Shall I equal things out with an insult?” When she raises a brow, I add, “I have never seen someone so terrible at parallel parking. Honest to God, I felt such secondhand embarrassment even though no one was around to see it.”
She laughs. “You should’ve. There were probably wandering ghosts that pointed and laughed. If you’ve seen him try to reverse into a space, you’ll know it can get even worse.”
“How’d he even get his license?”
She leans in like we’re coconspirators. “It took him five tries. And on the fifth, I’m pretty sure Aunt Bethany bribed the DMV examiner.”
I grab her hands. “Please let me tease him about that.”
“I’d love it if you did. It’s one of the only things that riles him up.”
At the image my brain conjures of the cool, collected, charming Anders being anything but, my lips pull into a smile.
“Gross,” Valerie says, shoving me before continuing her journey through the gallery.
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