Page 22 of Holding On To Good

Rose patted her hand in mock sympathy. “I stand corrected. You’ve suffered greatly. I can’t even imagine what it’s like, being judged so unfairly for your lifestyle.”

Willow gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. “Sorry. I know being pitied for still being single is nothing compared to some of the ass-hatery you and Sarah have had to deal with.”

“It’s not a competition to see who can endure more misery,” Rose said primly. She paused, the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin. “Although, if it was one, I would win.”

Willow tipped her glass toward her sister in a silent toast. “True.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Rose said, “I had to suffer through the excruciating and so very detailed description of Abigail Horton’s episiotomy.”

“Well, she did push a ten-pound, gigantic-headed baby out of her vagina. She deserves to have her story told.”

Rose considered that. Nodded. “I see your point.”

Psychiatrists were trained to see everyone’s point. It was how they lulled their patients into a sense of trust and complacency. Agree, agree, agree then wham! They hit you with a diagnosis of unresolved sibling rivalry stemming from you being the middle daughter of a doctor and a lawyer and the only one in your immediate family who didn’t even attend college. Or, hey, it could be because both your sisters were gorgeous, brilliant, and reproducing, which ensured their legacy of beauty, brains and kindness lived on into the next generation, while you were recently dumped by your boyfriend of two years and would probably spend the rest of your life alone.

Yeah, that might lead to some rivalry.

And a whopping case of Middle Child Syndrome.

Willow gulped down the remainder of her champagne. Good thing she was so well adjusted or else she’d need her sister’s services for real.

“Rose! Woo hoo!”

Willow and Rose both looked over as Katherine Ashworth, a high school classmate of Rose’s, and daughter to their mother’s receptionist, headed toward them, arms outstretched, ample bosom jiggling. Her heavily sprayed, dyed red hair didn’t so much as flutter as she bore down on them.

Katherine embraced Rose then held her out at arm’s length, glittering gaze taking her in. “You look amazing! No one would know you just had a baby.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, “but I didn’t carry our son.” She nodded her head toward her pretty brunette wife, who was chatting with one of Lily’s bridesmaids. “Sarah, my wife, did.”

“Oh, you gays,” Katherine said with a tittering laugh. “So unconventional!”

“That’s them,” Willow said, as Rose’s smile got tighter and tighter. “Just a couple of whacky lesbians.”

“Willow,” Katherine cried as if just now noticing her standing right there. “You poor, poor, poor thing.”

“Wow. Really. Three poors?” Willow asked. “That seems excessive.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult this all is for you,” Katherine said, her expression sympathetic, but the glimmer in her beady eyes was pure malice, “watching your younger sister get married, especially with Caleb getting engaged and all.”

Rose inhaled sharply. Willow would have done the same except she didn’t seem to have any breath. For a few glorious moments, it was as if she’d fallen into a vacuum, silence surrounding her, her mind and lungs empty.

But then, little by little, sensation and sound returned—a prickling along the nape of her neck. A tingling in her fingers and toes. The silence was replaced by the murmur of music, as if being played in the distance, the notes slowly, steadily growing louder, joining with the light tinkling of silverware and the bright, joyful bursts of laughter.

Then a thought penetrated through the thick fog enveloping her brain.

Caleb was getting married.

Shutting her eyes for a moment, she inhaled deeply, seeking some sort of internal armor she could shore up, if only to get through the next few minutes.

Eyes open, she gathered every ounce of control she possessed and cocked her hip. Lifted her glass to take an oh-so-casual, couldn’t-care-less-that-her-ex-boyfriend-had-gotten-engaged-to-another-woman sip of champagne only to remember her glass was empty.

She slowly lowered her glass. Cleared her throat and would have attempted a smile, but that was asking a little too much from her frayed emotions. “I’m sure he and Jessa will be very happy together.”

There. That had come out clear and concise and totally, completely, one-hundred-percent sincere. As it should, since it was the truth. Caleb Lovejoy and Jessa Zucker were two of the nicest, kindest, most generous people she’d ever met.

Katherine tsked and Willow wanted to shove a few of those tiny delicious sandwiches up her pointy nose. “You are so brave,” Katherine said. “Hold on to that resilience and your hope. As my grandmother used to say, there’s a lid for every pot. I’m sure someone else will come along. Eventually. Oh! There’s Tanya. I’ve been dying to hear about her trip to Hawaii.”

“Was I the lid in that scenario?” Willow asked Rose as Katherine tottered off to share her fake smiles, condescending remarks and passive-aggressive insults with others. “Or the pot?”

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