Page 101 of Someone Like You

Yay! I knew you’d get it. So happy for you. How’s the other thing?

I double check that I’m on the Freya/Gaby-only chat thread, and not the one we share with Raff. I never want to make that mistake again – especially not now.

Not great. Harder every day. Sharing a bed out of necessity because my sis is now here. Full house.

*horrified face emoji*

Am I a bad person if I hope it doesn’t work out with Julia?

Not a bad person! Just take care of your heart. *heart emoji*

We exchange a few more messages – mostly about how she’s been spending her time and her weird aunt, who insists on tucking her in each night. When I get back to London, she and I can compare oddball-aunt stories. She signs off with:

Hang in there. Love you. *kissing face emoji*

‘We’re home!’ Mom calls from the entry.

‘Coming!’ calls Issy.

Excited to share my news, I leap off the sofa and go greet the wedding planners, and Issy and Raff come in from the kitchen.

‘How’d it go?’ I ask as Mom, Dad, and Monica peel off their coats and scarves and hang them up.

Monica flashes me a look that warns, ‘Don’t ask.’

Mom heads straight for the kitchen, and we all follow. ‘Let’s just say it’s a miracle that I didn’t commit sororicide,’ she says tersely.

That doesn’t sound good. I guess my news can wait.

‘Does that mean Aunt Christine’s lucky to be alive?’ Issy asks.

‘Yep,’ says Monica, ‘and not only because your mom restrained herself. Grrrr.’ She bares her teeth, raising her hands as if she’s about to strangle someone.

‘Can I interest anyone in tea or coffee and some Christmas biscuits?’ asks Raff, obviously wanting to be helpful.

‘Oh, Raff, you absolute sweetheart,’ says Mom. ‘Yes to the cookies but I’m gonna need something stronger than coffee. Hun?’ She looks at Dad, a pleading look on her face. ‘How about you make some of your famous eggnog? Heavy on the brandy.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he replies with a wink.

Dad busies himself at the stove as Mom fills us in on the highlights (AKA lowlights) from the day, the most enthralling being that Aunt Christine’s custom-made, mother-of-the-bride dress is too tight –waytoo tight.

It’s her own doing, as she’s put on seven pounds in the lead up to the wedding from stress eating. So she’s having to wear something from her closetandpay the exorbitant cost of the customised dress.

‘Holy shit,’ says Issy, ‘I wouldloveto have been a fly on that wall.’

‘Uh, no, you wouldn’t. Mom’s tantrum would put the cast ofBridezilla vs Momzillato shame. I’m lucky we got out of there withmy dress and the bridesmaids’ dresses. If I were the dressmaker, I’d have told us to go to hell, then kicked us all out.’

‘Roland, just pour me a glass of brandy, will you?’ Mom asks as she climbs onto a stool. Dad takes a brandy snifter out of an overhead cupboard and serves her a generous pour, then goes back to making eggnog. Mom swigs some brandy, then shakes her head. ‘My sister…’

Aunt Christine isn’t the only one who’s stress eating – Monica’s about to eat her third cookie. At least she’s taking from the ‘Jackson Pollock’ pile, but at this rate, Raff may need to make another batch, maybe two.

‘Oh, I’ve just remembered,’ Mom tells us, her mood lifting slightly. ‘They said on the radio that it’s meant to snow tonight.’

‘Here?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she replies.

‘In Seattle?’ asks Issy. She and I exchange a look that says, ‘Are you sure, Mom?’

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