She looked past me toward the dining room. “Maybe you should ask why he makes me want to.”
That stayed with me. When I brought it up to Ryan in the car later, he only shrugged lightly.
“Maybe your sister just doesn’t like me.”
He said it kindly, almost gently, like I was the one making too much of it. Maybe that was the first moment something shifted, though I didn’t recognize it then.
The closer the wedding came, the stranger Claire became.
One night, the four of us sat around my parents’ dining table eating pot roast when Claire suddenly set down her fork and looked directly at me.
“You should reconsider marrying him, Alice.”
My mother froze with her glass halfway to her mouth.
“What?” I laughed because I honestly thought she had to be joking.
Claire didn’t smile. “I mean it.”
Heat rushed into my face. “What is wrong with you?”
Mom snapped immediately, “Just because your sister found someone decent doesn’t mean you get to ruin it, Claire.”
Claire’s expression shifted into that old familiar wound — the one she’d carried after being labeled the “difficult one” so many times it practically became part of her identity.
“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” she shot back.
Dad pushed away from the table. “Then stop talking like this.”
Claire stood, walked out, and her bedroom door slammed down the hallway. No one followed her. I sat there while my parents turned her warning into bitterness, jealousy, and Claire simply being Claire.
The following night was my bachelorette party. Balloons. Sparkling cocktails. Far too much pink. I was trying to stay present in my own happiness when Claire arrived late, rain still clinging to her hair, wearing her work clothes.
She found me beside the bar. “Alice,” she said, looking like she had run out of time, “cancel the wedding.”
I stared at her. “What did you just say?”
“Please. Just cancel it.”
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