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Authors: Kate Perry

Project Date (28 page)

BOOK: Project Date
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For a moment, the incongruity of the scene—what happened to the science digests and wool slacks?—distracted me. I gawked at her, sitting there speaking calmly when the world was falling apart.
She flipped another page. “And I told you to stop calling me Daph.”
But that snapped me out of my stupor. I dropped my shoes and pointed at her. “You are the Antichrist.”
“Excuse me?” She looked up from her magazine and blinked at me.
“This is all your fault.” I pointed at her.
She frowned. “What?”
“All of this.” I waved my arms around. “You’ve ruined everything.”
“Have you been drinking?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“That’s not the point here, Daphne,” I yelled. “The point is you’re an albatross around my neck.”
“What does a bird have to do with anything?”
“A bird has nothing to do with this!” Grr. I paced across the living room and back. The woman was absolutely clueless. “The only thing that has to do with anything here is that you’ve ruined my life.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Because I came home early last night? I already apologized for that. You need to learn to forgive.”
“Daphne.” I snapped my fingers. “Focus for a change on something other than yourself.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
Of course she didn’t. “Aside from the fact that you’ve totally disrupted my life since you’ve been here—”
“I’ve tried to keep out of your way, and I think I’ve done a good job,” she said, straightening indignantly.
“Ha!” I barked. “Like when you took apart my office? Or when you took out MacGyver? Or, wait—maybe when you raided my closet without asking?” I looked her up and down.
She huddled defensively. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“That’s the problem with you, Daphne. For someone who’s so smart, you don’t think.”
“I resent that.”
I stopped pacing to spear her with a look. “Give me a break. Did you pause to consider how I felt lying to Mom and Dad? You know they’re going to blame me if they find out you were here.”
“They won’t find out.”
“Ha! Mom always finds out, and I take the blame.”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Mom and Dad never expect anything from you.”
“Because they never even pay attention to me. And I have you to thank for that.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“YOU,” I yelled, pointing. “All they ever talk about is their precious little Daphne. They don’t even know I exist when you’re around.”
“You exaggerate.”
I felt years of resentment bubble up and overflow out my mouth. “Exaggerate? Right. Like when they forgot my birthday because you finaled in the science fair? Like when they took you with them to Africa but left me at home?”
“You were starting college,” she said defensively.
“And you weren’t in school?” Now that I started I couldn’t stop. I felt years of rage seep out of my pores. “Even after you moved away, all I heard was how brilliant you were, how giving you were for deworming orphans in Somalia—”
“It was Rwanda.”
“—and why wasn’t I more like you.” I stood over her and glared. “You know what? I’m sick of it.”
She stood up, shaking. I would have thought it was with repressed emotion, but I doubted she was capable for feeling that deeply.
“You know what? I’m sick of it too.”
“Huh?” I blinked. I hated reverse psychology.
“You think it’s easy being me?” She scowled at me, her hands on her hips.
Was this a trick question?
“It’s not,” she yelled.
I recoiled, trying to remember Daphne ever raising her voice, even when we were kids. Nope. She was the calm one. I was the one who whooped and screamed.
“I’m sick of all the expectations.” She started to pace, her arms wildly flying around her. “I’m sick of having to be perfect.”
I was so shocked, I toppled onto the couch as she swept by me. “Daph—”
“DON’T CALL ME THAT,” she screeched. “And don’t interrupt me.”
I sat back and shut up—that’s how freaked out I was.
“I’m so
sick
of being the example,” she ranted. “Why can’t I be free like you? Why do I have to have all the pressures of performing? Do you know how hard that is?”
I opened my mouth to reply—
“Don’t say anything,” she said, glaring at me. “I’m not done.”
My mouth clamped shut.
“All my life I’ve done the right thing and
I’m damn tired of it
.”
Daphne cussing? Okay, now I was
really
worried.
“I didn’t want to be a research scientist. I didn’t want to be so responsible. But does anyone listen to me? NO.” She stamped her foot. “I’m always expected to be perfect.”
“But—”
“I said don’t interrupt me!” she screamed, beating her fist against her thigh.
Oh, hell—she was going off the deep end and I had no one to help me.
“I’m fed up with having to be perfect. I want to be like you.” She glared at me like I had stolen her favorite toy.
“Um.” I waited for her to yell at me, but when she didn’t, I decided to go for it. “What do you mean, you want to be like me?”
“I mean I want to do what
I
want, not what other people expect me to do. Like dance on a bar.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You want to dance on a bar? For a living?”
“You never listen! None of you ever listen.” She growled, huffed off to her room, and slammed the door shut.
I stared after her. Even in misery she had to overshadow me.
Then I remembered the look on Rio’s face as he drove off and tears filled my eyes again.
What did it all matter? It was too late. I’d royally screwed up.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Five Reasons to Be an Only Child
1.
No one to boss you around.
2.
Sole rights to the bathroom.
3.
No sharing your clothes.
4.
Privacy.
5.
Parents’ undivided attention.
Rrr-hha-r.
Rrr-hha-r.
I peeked an eye open and glared at the alarm clock. What the hell? It was Saturday.
Rrr-hha-r.
Oh yeah. Daphne’s birthday party. Mom wanted us there early to help out.
Rrr-hha-r.
I lifted a hand to whack it silent but, in a rare moment of lucidity, decided against it. I wasn’t sure the plastic I’d made and molded to repair the body would hold up to any more abuse.
Using the tip of one finger, I delicately pressed the button to turn the alarm off. Unfortunately, the bare amount of pressure was still too much for the clock. I heard the crisp snap of my pseudo-plastic and a ping when it hit the floor.
“Damn.” I covered my head with the comforter and wondered if anyone would notice if I stayed there all day. My parents would be all about seeing Daphne; they wouldn’t notice if I danced naked around the birthday cake. And I had no one else that’d care one way or the other what happened to me. Except Matt. Maybe.
An image of a dark-haired, Irish–Puerto Rican stud came to mind and I forcibly pushed it out. I would not think about him. Not at all. If he was narrow-minded enough not to give me another chance, fine. I wasn’t about to waste my time weeping over him either.
“The bastard,” I mumbled into my pillow.
But then I inhaled and caught a whiff of his scent on my sheets from when he spent the night, and I realized how empty my bed was. I wondered if he was sniffing his sheets and missing me.
“Bah!” I shoved the covers aside and got up. I needed coffee. A lot of it, if I was going to have any chance of making it through the day.
I picked my robe off the floor, put it on, and did a zombie stumble to the kitchen.
Daphne was at the counter already. Of course. She had a mug in her hand. I looked around for evidence of that vile crap she called coffee, but didn’t find anything.
I ignored her presence and reached around her to fill the kettle with water. Slowly I started my press pot ritual, using it as a meditation to clear my mind.
It worked until Daphne slammed her mug down on the counter. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Startled by the uncharacteristic show of aggression, I glanced at her. She didn’t look too violent though, so I willed myself to find nirvana and returned to the rhythmic cleaning of my coffee grinder.
Hands on her hips, she huffed in frustration. “So we’re just going to ignore this.”
“There’s nothing to ignore.” I wound the cord of the grinder around the body and put it back in the cupboard. I caught a glimpse of a tin of General Foods International Coffee (I use that term loosely) in the very back corner, semi-hidden behind a can of cocoa. I was tempted to throw the tin away but I didn’t have the energy. She’d just buy more—what did it prove?
As I shut the cabinet and poured hot water over the grounds, I heard Daphne murmur, “Why do I even bother?” and stomp out of the kitchen.
I shrugged. Whatever her deal was, she’d be gone once this damn party was over and then everything would go back to normal. Except for my heart, which would still be terminal.
Sigh.
After my coffee was ready, I doctored a mug and took it to my room to wallow in self-pity.
Unfortunately, Matt called and interrupted my pity fest. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Just my life in shambles around me. “Nothing.”
Pause. “What’s wrong?”
I scowled. “Why do you have to be so astute?”
“It’s my fatal flaw. So what’s wrong?”
What wasn’t wrong? I had no desire to list everything for him. He’d just tell me he said so. And he’d be right.
“Doc? Come on. Tell me.”
“Why can’t I just have my coffee in peace?”
“This doesn’t have to be difficult. Just tell me what happened and I’ll help you fix it.”
I scrunched my nose in an effort to stem the tingly feeling that signaled the onslaught of tears. “You’ll tell me I deserve what I got.”
“Probably, but I’d still help you fix it.”
I laughed, though it sounded hollow and weak even to my ears.
“Is this about Rio?”
My heart constricted at the mention of his name. “Do you ever wish you were an only child, Matt?”
“I
am
an only child.”
Oh, yeah. “God, you’re
so
lucky.”
Matt chuckled. “You know what you need to do?”
“What?”
“Resign yourself to the fact that you have a sister and build a relationship with her.”
I frowned at the phone. “That’s the brilliant advice you’ve got for me today?”
There was a shrug in his tone of voice. “It’s the best I can offer you. Except for a ride to your parents.”
“I’ve got to go over there early.”
“That’s okay. I told your mom I’d help too.”
What a relief. At least I wouldn’t have to ride over there with Daphne.
“Daphne can come along too.”
“She said she was going to walk because she needs the exercise.”
“Doc.”
Shrug. I tried. At least I wouldn’t have to ride with Daphne alone, I amended. “Fine. Pick us up at eleven.”
“See you in an hour.”
He hung up before I could ask him to call back and tell Daphne he’d pick her up too. Which meant I had to talk to her myself.
Blech.
I downed my now lukewarm coffee and went to the kitchen for a refill. The door of her room was still closed. I debated posting a note for her on it, but quickly vetoed that idea. If she didn’t see it and missed Matt’s ride, she’d blame me. No, I had to tell her in person.
Hell.
I took a deep breath, strode to the door, and knocked on it once. “Daphne, Matt’s picking us up in an hour.”
Before she could open the door and initiate conversation, I scurried back to my room and enclosed myself in its safety. No, I wasn’t a coward—I just wasn’t interested in striking up a conversation similar to last night’s right before going to our parents’. Mom had Spidey sense where we were concerned and I didn’t feel like hashing everything out as guests were arriving to celebrate Daphne’s birth.
Speaking of which, I needed to figure out what to wear. Black seemed appropriate. In terms of celebrating Daphne’s birth, in any case.
Opening my closet, I scanned the contents to see what I could find. Now that I knew Daphne had been raiding my stuff, I noticed the signs of intrusion; clothes hanging funny and in general disorder. Some (Daphne) might argue that my clothes were already disorderly, but I maintained that I had a system.
I didn’t know how long I stood there pushing hangers back and forth, but it had to be a long time because I heard Daphne start and finish her shower and I still hadn’t picked something to wear.
“As if it matters,” I mumbled. Closing my eyes, I grabbed a hanger and pulled it out. I shrugged when I saw it was a black long-sleeved dress I didn’t particularly like. Who’d care? It wasn’t like I had anyone to impress. If Rio were coming with me—
“Bah!” I scowled and threw the dress onto my bed. He wasn’t going to be there. He was never going to be there. I blew it.
I swiped at my eyes (I wasn’t crying—it was just excessive moisture) and tried to work up the energy to go take a shower when all I wanted to do was huddle in my bed.
But Matt was coming and my mom wouldn’t have let me out of the party. Not unless I were in ICU almost dying, and even then it was a toss-up. So I bucked up and got ready. Halfheartedly, but at least I was dressed. I skipped makeup—too much effort—and put my hair in a tight bun à la Daphne.
As I slipped on a pair of black pumps, I thought I heard voices so I left the sanctuary of my room to investigate. Sure enough, Matt and Daphne were in the kitchen talking.
They looked up when I walked in. While their jaws didn’t quite fall to the floor, they looked a little puzzled.
“Are you going to a funeral after Daphne’s party?” Matt finally asked.
I shot him a dark look. “Are we going or what?”
They exchanged a look but, wisely, neither one said anything. Daphne gathered a wrap—not mine, but I did notice she had on one of my cute Betsey Johnson dresses. She looked like she might pop out of the low neckline, but it showed off her longer legs nicely, as loath as I was to admit it. The scarlet print flattered her too, but then our colorings were similar so that wasn’t a surprise.
I locked the front door and followed them to the car. Because I wasn’t in a social mood, I climbed into the back seat. The better to avoid conversation.
I was aware of the random glances they both gave me. Matt’s were puzzled, like he was trying to figure out how he could help me. Daphne’s were pissed, like I had no reason to be angry with her. Or maybe she was trying to gauge when to start yelling at me again about how I ruined her life by being born.
We got to our parents’ house forty-five minutes later. I could tell Matt was relieved to arrive. I couldn’t have cared less, and who cared what Daphne was thinking?
Usually, I loved coming home. My parents lived in the same farmhouse-ranch that we grew up in. It was just outside Portland in the rolling hills that are so popular for vineyards these days. This time of year was my favorite too—all the fruit trees loaded, you could walk out to the orchard and eat whatever you wanted. There wasn’t anything like it.
Today I got out of the car and silently walked into the cool darkness of the house, not checking out the bushes next to the driveway for blackberries or considering climbing a tree to grab an apple. I barely even paid attention to Matt and Daphne’s low voices behind me.
I set my purse and sweater down on the chair in the foyer.
“Daphne, is that you, sweetheart?” Mom called from the kitchen.
I made a face as I walked into the kitchen. “It’s me.”
“Where’s Barry? And Daphne’s with you, isn’t she?”
Sigh. It was going to be a long afternoon. I ignored the first question and answered the second. “She’s here.”
Mom craned her head to look behind me.
When Daphne walked in, I swear the room brightened. “Hi, Mom.”
Mom dried her hands on the apron she wore and gave Daphne a tight hug. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to see you.”
I needed a drink. Opening the fridge, I pulled out a couple of beers, uncapped one, and took a swig.
“Is that for me, Doc?” Matt gestured at the other beer in my hand.
Actually, I’d gotten them both for myself, but I handed him a bottle.
“Thanks.” He flipped the top off and pulled straight from the bottle too.
“Philomena, get Matt a glass,” my mom chided with a frown in that tone of voice that implied I had the manners of a barnyard animal.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Donovan.” Matt gave my mom a lazy smile. “I prefer it this way.”
Mom turned her frown on him. “Have you lost weight, Matt?”
He grinned. “I
am
a little hungry.”
“Come here and I’ll fix you a plate.”
He happily went over and put his arm around her shoulders while she dished him some food. He always could play her like a fiddle.
“What time are people due to arrive?” Daphne asked.
“At one.” Mom handed Matt a plate overflowing with food and did a double-take as she actually noticed me. “What are you wearing, Philomena?”
“A dress.” I looked down to see if it’d morphed into pants or something when I wasn’t paying attention.
“You look—” she frowned “—somber.”
I heard Matt chortle and shot him a dirty look before I turned to my mother. “I like this dress.”
“It’s rather formal for you, isn’t it?”
“I bet if Daphne had worn it, it would have been perfect,” I muttered, wondering if I should trade my beer for a couple of fingers of vodka, straight up.
“You should have worn something with color, like your sister. Doesn’t she look nice in her red dress?”
Instead of pointing out it was my red dress, I shrugged and picked up a platter of vegetables. “I’ll put these on the table.”
But Mom was already fawning over Daphne so I slipped out. I went to the dining room and set the plate down just like I said I would. I heard my dad’s voice greeting Daphne in the kitchen and knew I couldn’t go back there and watch them exclaim how great my sister was, so I went out back to our old treehouse.
BOOK: Project Date
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