Page 70 of I Can't Even

“No can do, little sister,” Soph said. “Because we lurve you.”

“If I promise to never ever drink tequila again, will you go away?” Em asked.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be drinking tequila again, whether we leave you right now or not,” I said. “After a night like yours, you won’t even be able to smell tequila without gagging for, like, five years.”

“Five years would be fine with me,” Em said. “Especially since I’m going to join a convent today. Clearly, I should not be allowed to run loose.”

“Our Catholic Dad would be very proud, but that’s a tad extreme. Maybe you could dial it back, just a little.” Soph’s voice was serious as she wrapped an arm around Em. “I know you’re hurting but we’ll get through it together.”

A couple of tears spilled from under Em’s closed eyes and she nodded. “It’s just so hard. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

I pulled out my phone and opened her social media page. “Really? Because the rest of the world knows who you are. I swear with this many followers, you’re trending, even with hurl shots of you and the biker chick. Oh, my god, was her name really Daisy?”

Em cracked one eye open. “Ugh.”

“Come on,” Soph said. “Your public awaits your latest post. Let’s get you showered so you don’t offend them.”

“Nope.” Em dug her own phone out of her hip pocket. “I’m trying to be one-hundred-percent authentic with everything I’m doing. So, here goes: hungover selfie with sisters.” She held up the camera, which was not kind to her ratted blue hair and smudged mascara. After my sexual gymnastics of the night before, I didn’t look much better. Only Soph managed to appear pretty and serene as Em ordered, “Say ‘tequila’ girls.”

Em snapped a pic and uploaded it to her account with the hashtags Emily, grief, and sisters. In moments, the responses were lighting up her phone. She sighed and tucked her phone away without reading the comments. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was her way of holding herself accountable while taking charge of her life for the very first time. With every decision she made, she allowed strangers to weigh in and support or shun her. Little sis was braver than me, that was for damn sure.

I knew I was channeling my grief into fixing my relationship with Liam. It occurred to me that Babs’s death had forced me to complete the unfinished business in my life, which had always been my relationship with him.

As Em conked out on the divan, Soph smoothed her wild hair back and tucked the blanket more snuggly about her. Soph seemed to be the only one of the three of us who was steady as she goes. Even though her husband was a big jerk, and her children were almost grown and gone, or maybe because of all that, she seemed centered and right on course. Then again, maybe it was just that her denial ran deeper than ours. Hard to say.

“I failed Em by not noticing what she was going through,” I said. “I don’t want to do the same with you. What’s going on in your life, Soph, because while you seem very together, I feel like something is wrong and it’s not just the twins going away. What is it?”

She looked at me in surprise as if no one ever really asked her how she was feeling about things. Two emotions slammed into me pretty hard. One was that her husband was an asshole if he wasn’t helping her through the grief of losing her mother and from what I’d seen of Stan since I’d arrived, it was a safe assumption that he was doing jack shit. Jerk. And two, was a blast of shame that I was the worst sister ever, because not only had I not clued in to Em’s struggle with her emotions, I hadn’t really been there for Soph either.

Yes, I’d been away for a long time, and I was out of practice with the day-to-day sister stuff but still, I was better than this or at least I should have been after weeks of living together.

“I’m okay,” Soph said. “I’m taking it day by day, trying not to dump too much of it on my family. Mostly, it still seems surreal, like I can’t believe that she’s actually gone.”

I glanced at Babs’s urn on the windowsill, where she’d spent the night watching over her baby with the hangover. Her snazzy urn sparkled in the morning light.

“Maybe it’s because she’s got us all living here for the next few months,” I said. “But I don’t really feel like she’s gone, every move I make feels like she’s right there with me, judging me.”

Soph followed my gaze to the windowsill. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Babs’s hold is strong, even from the grave. Honestly, I don’t really mind. It makes me feel less alone.”

She said it plainly without too much thought and no heavy emotion. It was just a fact, and it occurred to me then that despite the husband and the twins, Soph was lonely. Well, that was easily fixable and unlike Em’s frantic emotional swings, this I could manage.

“Liam and I are going to the art show this afternoon,” I said. “Wear something pretty because you’re coming with us.”

“On your date?” Soph asked in horror. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did it sound optional?” I asked. “It isn’t. We’re all going. You, Em, the twins, and Stan if he can manage to tear himself away from the golf course.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think—”

“Again, not optional,” I said. “We’re a family and we’re going to spend some time together and have fun, damn it.”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can a girl refuse?” Soph’s voice was grumbly, but I couldn’t help notice that a small smile played on her lips.

Chapter Twenty-two

“What are these supposed to be?” Liam leaned close and whispered in my ear.

“No idea,” I said.

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