An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three) (16 page)

“Why are you surprised by this?” I asked, shaking my head.

“I shouldn’t be. Our mother is a master manipulator. But it’s hard not to feel some shock when she slaps you in the face with it so blatantly. What a witch.”

When we were teenagers it had always made me feel upset when Allison so openly disparaged our mom. I hated the way that they fought and hated even more the way Allison talked about her behind her back. I was surprised to find that her insult still made me slightly uncomfortable, even with the way I myself had been feeling about our mother.

“Well,” I said, wanting to redirect the conversation, “I for one am glad you agreed. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” she said, clearly embarrassed. Allison didn’t do emotional very well. “And it will be good to see Daddy. I would have come, no problem, if she would have just asked me.”

“Not her style, Al.”

She laughed. “You’re telling me.”

We hung up a few minutes later, and I started my car. As I drove home, I felt a strange mixture of excitement and worry. It would be good to see Allison again, really good. But I could also imagine the fights that were sure to break out between her and my mother. I really didn’t think this wedding could handle much more drama.

“Maybe they’ll both be on their best behavior,” I said out loud. I managed to keep a straight face for a whole thirty seconds before I started to laugh. “Or maybe not.”

Chapter Fifteen

My relationship with my sister Allison could best be described as fluid. Over the years, it seemed as if our roles, and the way they corresponded and played off the other, were in a constant state of change.

Allison was born three years before me and two years after my parents got married. I couldn’t remember a time from childhood, not even when we were very little, that the two of us had been particularly close. As a child, I annoyed her. My earliest memories of Allison, before she started kindergarten and left me behind at home, were of her trying to get away from me. She didn’t want to share her toys, she didn’t want to play games, and she definitely didn’t want me taking up any of our mother’s attention.

Our relationship remained much the same as I passed through childhood, the only difference being my eventual loss of interest in trying to get my big sister to play with me. It wasn’t until Amy came along that we had anything to unify us.

Amy was not planned. My parents were quite happy with the little family they already had, with no intentions of having more children. But when I was eight and Allison was eleven, baby Amy came along and surprised us all.

I always had the sinking, unspoken suspicion that my mom was relieved to get another chance at raising the perfect daughter after the disappointment of her first and second born. Allison had started her rebellious stage early—by six years old, she was already refusing to wear the pink clothes Mom bought for her. When she was ten, she used the kitchen shears to hack her long, beautiful golden tresses. I thought my mom was going to murder her that day. When our parents signed us both up for ballet and piano lessons, Ally refused to go, insisting instead on playing soccer like the little boys in her class.

I, on the other hand, was eager to do anything my parents asked of me. From a very young age, I was convinced that there was no one in the world quite so beautiful as my mother. When the little girls in my class used to ooh and ahh over the princess characters in their storybooks, I remember thinking that the smiling, vapid watercolor faces were nothing in comparison to the real life princess that lived in my house and gave me hugs and kisses before bed every night.

I’ve never been sure if my admiration was enough for my mother, or if she even noticed how deep seated it was. I was a chubby child, my baby fat sticking around years longer than I would have liked. I always had the sense that it bothered her, though I don’t remember her ever addressing it. I
do
remember her moaning about the way my curly hair refused to be calmed, about the difficulties she faced in putting it in braids. I was shy and hated having to be in groups. When her church group and various social clubs came over, I used to hide behind the couch, terrified of being called on to speak to them. When I did have to talk to strangers, I usually stammered. I was not blonde and beautiful like Allison. And while I happily took the ballet and piano lessons, I was clumsy and lumbering. And tone deaf.

Amy was the perfect child. She was neither rebellious nor shy. She could be trusted to smile prettily at my mother’s friends, to wear the beautiful clothes Mom favored without spilling something and ruining them. Her blonde hair, even more lustrous than Allison’s, always went easily into braids and pigtails. No ballet instructor ever told her that she had elephant feet. Not Amy.

Allison and I were, of course, united against her. Amy was spoiled and she knew it. She was happy to manipulate our parents to get anything she wanted. When Allison turned sixteen, she was given access to my dad’s old car, a somewhat battered Ford Taurus. When I turned sixteen and Allison went away to college, the car, even more battered now, was passed down to me. Amy, on the other hand, received a two-year-old Jeep Cherokee when she turned sixteen. Come to think of it, I’m sure the Ford was, by then, completely unusable, but
still
.

As kids, and later as teens, Allison and I were in firm agreement that Amy was spoiled and undeserving. But our bond over the unfair favoring of the third sister was not all encompassing. Ally and I rarely fought once we were teenagers, but we didn’t see eye to eye much either. I couldn’t understand why she had to make everything difficult, why she was always so determined to press Mom’s buttons. Why she would dye her beautiful blonde hair—hair I would have killed for—black, just to make Mom mad.

I baffled her as well. She couldn’t fathom why I was so content to go along with every direction from our mother. “She’s not a saint, Ash,” she used to mutter. “She makes mistakes, you know? You’re allowed to disagree once in a while.”

I never got that. Wasn’t it easier to just, well, make things easier? How hard was it to make sure my clothes were straight, or that my hair was done? How hard was it to make sure my homework was finished every night, to hang out with the nice girls at school so I didn’t get in trouble? Why was it a bad thing to want to make my parents happy?

Once I went away to college, our relationship changed again. Allison had started at Michigan State three years before me. By the time I got there, she seemed to be a much happier person than she ever had been living at home. She had good friends, she liked her classes, and she had a busy social scene. Living on her own, she clearly thrived. It was strange, this smiling, cheerful sister of mine. I had never seen her that way before.

She introduced me to her friends, even let me tag along to the poetry readings and the coffee houses that they frequented. When I started hanging out with Emily, Chris, and Ryan, she gave her hearty approval, inviting them along with her group as well. For the first time, I would have characterized us as friends.

So I was sad, of course, when she moved away to Boston after graduation. It seemed like we’d only had that one year to be real sisters before she was gone, our relationship changing yet again. Now I see her twice a year, usually at Christmas or Thanksgiving and once in the summer. She had invited me to come out to Boston, but I hadn’t made it yet. I know Allison thought my hesitance was my mother’s doing; to say Mom didn’t approve of her moving hundreds of miles away would be an understatement.

So it came as no surprise to me that I was looking forward to her visit more and more as the day of her arrival neared. What did surprise me, though, was my reaction on seeing her. I had arranged to meet her at the airport when her flight got in, though she offered to take a cab. Figuring it would be nice to see her before we were in the company of either of our parents, I insisted. When she came through the arrival area and spotted me, her face lit up. I, on the other hand, burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, pulling me in for a rare hug.

“Nothing,” I choked out. “Happy to see you.”

She pulled away, her hands still clutching my arms, so she could see my face. She smiled. “You don’t
look
all that happy.”

I laughed through my tears. “Sorry. I don’t know what my problem is.”

“It’s okay,” she said, watching me closely. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, an unfamiliarly comforting move that almost set me off again. “No luggage?” I asked her, determined to keep myself together.

“Just my carry-on,” she said, pointing to the wheeled case at her feet. “I pack light.”

We set off for the parking lot, making chitchat about her flight and our jobs. Allison worked as an accountant in some big tax firm. It sounded totally boring to me, but she seemed happy enough with it.

“So, where to?” I asked, once I was behind the wheel. “You want to go straight to Daddy’s?”

Allison sighed. “How about you take me somewhere to get wasted first?”

I snorted. “You can probably do that with Dad.”

She looked at me sharply. “Is Daddy drinking?”

I nodded. “I think so. I mean, he’s never seemed drunk to me, but he always smells like brandy. And he falls asleep in that damn recliner every night.”

“Geez.” Allison sounded stunned. “I don’t know that I ever saw him drink more than a beer or two our whole life.”

“He’s spiraling, Ally,” I said, my voice tight. “She screwed him up really, really bad.” Allison was silent. “I mean it,” I pressed. “I’m really worried about him.”

“Then I’m glad I’m home,” she said softly.

But only for the weekend
, I thought as I pulled onto I-94 and headed east. Only for the weekend, before I would be left to deal with all of this on my own again.

* * *

My dad seemed to come alive again when Allison walked through the front door, looking happier than I had seen him since February. He was still much thinner than I would like, and he looked every bit as exhausted as he had the last time I had seen him, but it was good to know he could still do things like smile and laugh.

“You’ve always been his favorite,” I said to Allison as we cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.

She laughed. “Oh, yeah. Sure. What do you think he liked better, when I dyed my hair or when I got caught smoking behind the bleachers freshman year?”

I laughed, too. “I guess there was all that. But you know Daddy never got mad like Mom. He just worried.”

No sooner had we rejoined Dad in the living room than he started to bug us about leaving. “Go on,” he said. “You don’t want to sit here with me all night. Go have fun, go out.”

“We’re not leaving, Daddy,” Allison said firmly. “I came home to spend time with you, not to leave you here alone.”

Allison and I sat on the couch together. My dad was watching the evening news, and did not turn it off so that we could talk. After a few minutes, I heard him snoring.

“See what I mean?” I hissed. “It’s only seven-thirty, he can’t even keep his eyes open.”

Allison was watching him, clearly worried. “Daddy?” she called out, jolting him awake. “You okay?”

He looked confused for a minute before he smiled at her. “Sorry, love. I must have dozed off. See what terrible company I am? You girls really should go out.”

After he fell asleep a second time, Allison finally agreed that there wasn’t much point in staying home. She went up to her old room to change while I called Chris.

“Want to go get a drink?” I asked him.

“Sure. Allison ready to get out of the house already?”

I sighed. “My dad’s been asleep off and on for the past half hour.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” I lied. “We just figured we may as well get out, if he was just going to sleep anyhow.”

“Good plan,” Chris said, though I couldn’t help but notice that he still sounded concerned. “Want me to call Emily and Ryan?”

“Yeah, that would be good.”

We decided to meet at the house, which was close enough to the downtown area of Wyandotte to walk. Chris texted a few minutes later to let me know he’d gotten ahold of Emily and Ryan and they’d be down within the hour. I wandered back to the kitchen, and found Allison sitting at the dining table.

“Ryan and Emily are going to come, too,” I told her. “They’re all excited to see you.”

“That’s fun,” she said, but she looked preoccupied.

“You doing all right?”

“I’ve never seen him like this, Ash.”

I sighed. “I know. It’s been like this since she left.”

“Does he look like he’s lost weight to you?”

I nodded. “He seems skinnier every time I see him.”

Allison was quiet.

“And the drinking seems worse, too,” I added.

“We need to try to get him out of the house more,” Allison said. “Maybe I could stay for a few extra days, try and get him more active.”

“I’ve tried,” I said, feeling stung for some reason. Did she think I was cool with him just sitting around, drinking and barely eating?

“I know,” she said quickly. “But if I was actually staying in the house, maybe he’d be more likely to wake up a bit.”

I sighed. “I wanted to come down and stay, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Of course not,” she said. “Your job is up there. Not too mention the wedding planning.”

I grimaced slightly before I could stop myself, and she peered at me. “Everything going okay with the wedding?”

“Of course.” I knew I sounded bitter. “Amber Phillips is on it, you know it’s going to be perfect.”

Allison stared at me. “You’re actually letting her plan everything, aren’t you?”

“Like I’d be able to stop her.”

“It’s
your
wedding, Ash. You don’t have to go along with her—”

“Look, can we talk about this another time? Everyone will be here soon, and I need to refresh my makeup.”

My older sister watched me closely for a minute before sighing. “Fine. But we are gonna talk about it.”