Page 4 of Building What's Meant to Be

I drag myself out of the chasm of introspective thinking and back onto solid sibling-banter ground.

“Anything to eat around here?” I ask, interrupting John’s litany of reprimands and expressions of disappointment on behalf of our mother and father. “Doughnuts maybe?”

He ignores me and prattles on.

If my family isn’t going to change and welcome me in, I always have my friends. Although, the truth is, my phone has been unusually quiet for the last twenty-four hours. No calls, check-ins, or invitations to parties.

If I’m the one who has to change, after working so hard to have my name synonymous with being influential and relevant, what will my new life look like?

An itchy, humid summer feeling like a hot and sticky sunburn breaks out across my skin. I’m being silly, sucked into my brother’s games. Of course, my family loves me. My friends adore me, and everything is going to be fine.

I’ll spend the night then lie low for a little while until the whole thing with Puma blows over then I’ll return to business as usual.

Business being social events, shopping, and film spots.

“When Mother and Father find out about the latest scandal, they’re not going to approve,” John says as if keeping us on track during a boardroom meeting.

Talk about boring.

“Have they ever approved of me? Anyway, if they’re yachting, they won’t know.” I narrow my gaze. “Unless you tell them.”

Because of Father’s high-pressure job, if they’re on a boat, it likely means they’re unplugged from screens and devices.

“If you’d just try harder.”

“To what? Fit in? To be someone I’m not? Parade around like Mother’s little minion?”

John sweeps his hand from my head to my toes. “Oh, and this is who you are, Tinsley?”

I look down at the glittery high heels. Yes, those are definitely me. But the sequined mini dress that leaves little to the imagination isn’t Newport elite appropriate. Nor is it something I’d ordinarily opt to wear while flying, traveling, or going anywhere other than to a club.

It’s not made for a child, but it is child-sized. I adjust the hem, but if I pull too hard, it’ll reveal more skin than is optimal in front of my brother on top.

“Didn’t think so.” He speaks dismissively like our meeting is over.

Thank goodness.

However, I want to come up with a words-on-fire reply but something douses the flames inside. The problem is, he’s right. I love clothes, luxe fabrics, and sparkles, but this dress is something out of Barbie’s closet. Even though I resemble her, is that who I am? Plastic? Generic? A Hollywood cutout?

Perhaps deep thoughts like these are byproducts of the trauma of federal agents waking me from a dream, the nightmare of a crisis that followed, and the kind of fatigue that only comes with being awake for over twenty-four hours.

“Tinsley, just remember. This is all a result of the decisions you made. It’s like you’re allergic to taking personal responsibility for your life and choices. You’re always pointing the finger because it’s easier.”

“Pfft. The only thing I’m allergic to is tarragon.”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“That would be easier if you were nicer.”

He scoffs. “And when have you ever been nice? You nicknamed me Baldy when I was fourteen.”

“In my defense, I was only six and you had thinning hair.”

“You could say you’re sorry. Are you sorry?” John wears an expression I’ve never seen on his pale face. It almost looks like hurt.

I step back as memories rush toward me like a thick, cresting wave. My factory default with my family is to always be on the defensive. Easy because they often excluded me. I was the baby. A later-in-life child. Unexpected and at times I felt unwanted. They’re painfully judgmental, and I was a rascal to their uptight, buttoned-up order. But what would happen if I played nice?

The thing is, it takes two—or six in this case. Our parents plus my siblings and me. It’s like Mother and Father knew I’d be the outlier the moment I came into the world. They named meTinsleyfor goodness sake while the others are John, Victoria, and Andrew.

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