My Life in Shambles(3)

I do understand. Even though she’s got a supporting role on a crime TV show as one of the main character’s girlfriends, she’s becoming a bigger and bigger deal every day, which means she’s traveling all over the world for meetings. Most of the time those meetings are just networking in bars and restaurants, but I totally get that her awkward younger sister wouldn’t be allowed.

“Don’t take it personally,” Angie says to me. “She’s come to Chicago twice and didn’t see me either.”

“Which is why we’re going to Ireland,” Sandra says, pointing at her. “In, like, four days. You’ll be so sick of me, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Angie says, smiling as she sips her wine.

“Why aren’t you coming again?” Sandra asks as she elbows me in the side.

“Ow, Jesus, those are weapons, Sandra.” I swear she’s gotten even skinnier now but that’s what Hollywood does to you. That or my mother.

“Seriously, you should come,” she goes on, leaning forward to pluck the bottle of wine off the coffee table.

“I can’t,” I tell her.

“Actually, the reason you couldn’t before is because Cole didn’t want you to. Isn’t that right?” Angie asks.

I sigh and take the wine from Sandra and pour myself another glass before she has a chance to chug it straight from the bottle. “It doesn’t matter.”

The truth is, Cole had invited me to his parents’ estate on Martha’s Vineyard for Christmas and New Year’s, and I had been extremely excited to go. He comes from a big, massively wealthy family. Now, my parents are well-off but his are old money, the kind you only read about in like The Great Gatsby.

Cole also said if I went to Ireland instead, he’d miss me too much and that I’d fall in love with some Irishman. And he pointed out how badly his family wanted to meet me.

So naturally I had to turn my sisters down.

Which I’m now regretting.

Big time.

I mean, on one hand, there’s the magic of Ireland, or the other where I’m woken up by Brielle’s cat farting in my face every day.

“But you can work from anywhere, right?” Sandra says, snatching the wine bottle back. “Like, you don’t really have an office.”

I wince as she proceeds to drink from the bottle. That’s all hers now. I don’t know where she’s been.

“We do have an office,” I point out. “You just don’t have to go. You can work from home if you want. Of course, now I don’t really have a home so I’ll probably start going to the office after all. Maybe they’ll let me sleep under the desk.”

“Jeez, you youngins are so hip these days with your open concept, show up if you want to, offices,” Angie comments. “Is that the future of journalism?”

I wish I had some comeback to that but she’s kind of right. Though, at least she’s recognising what I do as journalism for once.

See, I went to school at Columbia for journalism, and after navigating the very stressful freelance waters for a few years and hunting ceaselessly for something full-time and dependable, I finally got a job as the arts and entertainment writer for the online news site, Upward, shortly after I met Cole.

It’s pretty much my dream job. The pay isn’t the greatest but I do get health benefits, and it’s fun and exciting and I feel like I’m finally doing something with my life. Like I’m someone important, someone who stands out, someone my parents can be proud of. Someone I can be proud of.

Of course, I’m still freelancing on the side because I’m always needing the extra cash but at least it’s something I love and I can pay the bills.

A sharp snoring sound cuts into my thoughts and I look over to see Angie with her head back in her chair, fast asleep. When she’s out, she’s out.

Sandra snickers. “Man, she can’t handle her wine anymore.”

“To be fair, we had at least a bottle each,” I point out. “And she’s been chasing Tabby around all day.”

She sighs and stares at me from under her heavy false lashes, looking both drunk and sincere. “I’m really sorry I didn’t call you last time I was in New York.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry that I don’t get to see you or Angie much anymore. Only when we’re here for Christmas or birthdays or whatever. That’s why I wanted you to come to Ireland. It should be a sisters’ trip. The Stephens sisters take on the Irish. I mean, it’s our grandmother’s homeland after all and you still look like you’d fit right in with the country.” She picks up a long strand of my hair, dyed dark red, and tugs at it. “Just come. I’ll pay for everything.”

I give her a steady look. “You are not paying for anything. I’ve saved up enough as it is, and anyway, I have to work. Right after New Year’s is when everything starts up again. In fact, I’m supposed to turn in an article tomorrow and the day after that.”

She squints as she studies me, leaning in close until I smell her booze breath, and pulls harder at my hair. “I can tell you want to come. Don’t lie about it.”

“I’m not lying,” I tell her, prying her fingers off my hair. “I want to come. I just can’t.”