Page 2 of The Last Lavender Sister

Then there was her, Aster Nicole Lavender. The youngest sibling. The doughnut traitor.

Quiet. Less exciting. Not often talked about. The also-ran of the Lavender family, who came late and made the smallest impression on, well, most everyone.

She was also the only Lavender without a job on the property, not that they hadn’t offered her about eight. Luckily, her family was fantastic and warm and treated her with the supportive kindness lots of folks longed for from their families. But she had never been as comfortable in her own skin as the rest of them seemed to be, and that left her feeling off to the side. So she stayed in the background by choice, cheering them on, reading as many books as she could get her hands on, riding her bike on nice days, and going home to her quiet house.

They’d sold out of doughnuts shortly after noon, which left her available for a late lunch. Chicken salad time. On nice days, she traded her car for her bike, preferring the feel of the fresh air on her cheeks as she pedaled through the main stretch of town to the east end of Homer’s Bluff. Her childhood home was located just a little ways down from The Lavender House, tucked behind a long and winding driveway, which she and Sage had used as their own personal racetrack growing up. He generally won every time regardless of whether they were on foot, skates, or bikes. Big brothers were like that. Not that she hadn’t given him a run for his money.

“You got close this time, Aster. You’re getting fast.” He’d been ten. She was seven.

“I almost caught you!” she said gleefully from her scooter, out of breath and carefree.

“Next time,” he said, throwing her a high five.

Nowadays, the driveway had a few large cracks. Bits of grass grew through the open patches, reminding Aster that she was all grown up and time marched on. Twenty-eight and counting, which madebaby of the familyfeel like such a misnomer.

“Aster Lavender. There you are,” her mother said, beaming. She had her dark hair pulled up into a pile on top of her head. Her eyes were big and expressive, accentuated by mascara that she always seemed to apply expertly, a skill Aster didn’t have. Her mother was pretty. Everyone thought so. Aster had been told a million times how much she resembled her mom, Marilyn Lavender, and she held on to the words like a guarded treasure, the best compliment she could imagine. Proud to carry a little piece of the woman she long admired.

“I heard there was free lunch?” She looked up and down the kitchen.

Her mother, always up for fun, slid a plate down the counter to Aster like a barkeep, with an already made chicken salad sandwich. “For you. My baby child. Try it.” She held up a victorious finger. “Grapes.”

Aster caught the fast-tracked plate and nodded her gratitude. The sandwich was hearty and tall. “You don’t mess around.”

“Not when it comes to feeding my family.” Her mother hooked a thumb. “You just missed Violet. She’s all dolled up for a date with Tad Jourdan. He’s taking her mini-golfing, so I’ll be covering the store.” Violet, the firstborn, dazzled people with her ability to put any human at ease. She had beautiful curly brown hair that reminded Aster of one of those Italian paintings. “Oh!” Her mother’s face lit up. “We got in a new batch of the lavender shea butter you like so much. I set some aside for you. Two tubes.” It was a Lavender family perk. Free merchandise. Aster wasn’t about to complain. It did make her skin extra soft.

“I will find a way to repay you.”

Her mother placed a hand on her hip. “How about working that praline doughnut back into rotation? It’s been three weeks.”

“Deal,” Aster said. She hadn’t realized her mother had liked that one or she’d have brought it back much earlier. “I’ll whip some up tomorrow and set aside a dozen.”

Her mother squeezed her cheeks as she passed. “You are a good daughter. I’m keeping you forever and ever.”

Aster leaned against the counter. “Don’t tell the others I’m your favorite.” She was only half joking. In a town that didn’t often register her existence, her mother did. She looked after Aster, checked in on her, and truly listened to everything she had to say. In a world where it was hard to feel seen, where people forgot her name, instead referring to her asthat last sister, her mother truly didseeher, and she would never take it for granted.

“Hey, kid.” She glanced behind her. Sage. He wore a blue ball cap and flashed his dimples. In addition to turning up as one of the blonds in a family that was divided by hair color, he had inherited their father’s slight curl. He and Marigold repped their dad’s side of the family, while Aster and Violet, the brunettes, took after their mom’s.

Sage gave her head a soft knock, his custom, as he rounded the kitchen island, opened the refrigerator door, and stole a carton of their parents’ milk, chugging what was left of it.

Aster frowned. “Do you still let him do that? It’s barbaric.”

“I don’t. No,” their mother said, eying him. Sage got away with everything. Good thing he was generally a sweet person, if not a little cocky.

He flashed her puppy dog eyes, the same ones that got him out of most of life’s repercussions. “I’ll never do it again.”

“He lies to you blatantly,” Aster said. “Do not fall for his puppy dog looks, either. It’s criminal that he’s still trotting them out.”

Sage’s mouth fell open.

“On it. You remember your manners, sir,” her mom said, followed by a hip bump to Sage. “Or I’ll have to wallop you.” Aster grinned. A walloping generally meant covered in aggressive and embarrassing kisses where their mom was concerned, but the threat still worked.

“Yes, ma’am.” He trashed the carton. “Tad’s here. Picked Violet up in the shiny BMW, too. She’s beaming, probably hoping to Instagram the whole experience.”

Her mother’s cheeks colored with pride. “Good for Violet. Tad seems like quite the catch from what I hear.” Her eyes slid to Aster, who had no catch. Who rarely fished. The Homer’s Bluff pond was virtually free of lesbian and bisexual women of any kind. Disastrous. Well, except for Nicola and Mindy, who had married each other fiveyears ago in the park with half the town dressed in rainbow. Aster was a lesbian without a match or hope of finding one unless she expanded her search area. The internet had seemed like a viable option at first. But if Aster was awkward in person, her online persona was worse. She’d chatted with a few different women, but those dancing dots were a lot of pressure, and coming up with the perfect response ate up a lot of her free time. She wasn’t good at smooth and flirty and eventually had taken a step back.

“Good for Vi,” Aster said by way of support. Though her sister needed no help. She’d been the homecoming queen and voted most likely to marry a millionaire. “What about you?” she asked her brother. “Still dragging your heels with Tyler? I’d really like her to be my sister-in-law sooner rather than later. She’s the best, and you know it.” Tyler Lawson had been her brother’s best friend all the way back to childhood. They were a perfect match, which he refused to see. Oblivious to what was right in front of his damn face.

Sage grimaced, but it was overdone. “Stop that already. I told you. It’s not like that with me and Ty. She’s my pal.”

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