Page 97 of If My Wishes Came True
Christy shakes her head and sits up straight, regaining her composure. “No, I’m fine. It’s just that, we Andersen sisters deserve our own epic romances, don’t you think? And we’regoing to get them, dammit! First you, then me.”
“Yes, boss.” I giggle. “You definitely deserve a more exciting love story than Kyle.”
Christy laughs, but then the amused look in her eyes fades, replaced by alarm. She gasps.
“What?” I ask, concerned.
“Oh my gosh…is Kyle likeDad?” She grimaces. “Stern, unwavering, unadventurous…”
“Dull as dishwater?” I volunteer.
My sister’s palm meets her forehead. “Ugh. Talk about daddy issues.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I have mommy issues,” I tell her. “Every time Tati Marie gives me one of her big, warm, hugs, I feel like I’m going to cry. Mom never hugs us like that.”
“Do you ever wonder how we were even conceived?” Christy crinkles her nose.
“By the two least affectionate people on the planet? Um, yeah. But I don’t think Mom was always like that.”
“What do you mean?” My sister turns toward me, intrigued.
“I used to go snooping around in her closet sometimes,” I confess. “She was always so closed off, I felt like I barely knew her. So I would search for clues. One time, I found these old photographs from when she was younger. Late teens, or early twenties, maybe. She was with this guy—her boyfriend, I’m assuming. He had his arm around her, and she looked happier than I’ve ever seen her.”
“He must be the one who got away. Poor Mom,” Christy says with a deep sigh. “Oh! Speaking of which…this is the time I typically call her.”
“You call Mom? Like, every week?”
Christy nods. “I call her every Saturday, and I call you every Sunday. That’s my routine.”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. My sister’s always been good about checking in regularly. She’s the glue that keeps the Andersens together. I think she still holds out hope for the kind of close-knit family I gave up on.
My forehead creases. “What do you even talk to her about?”
I get a wry smile in return. “Literally nothing. She tells me about the weather in Beachwood…I tell her about the weather in Manhattan… Sometimes she’ll tell me about a recipe she found that turned out well. That’s about it. And she’s never mentioned any old boyfriends she used to be happy with.”
“Do you talk to Dad?”
Christy smirks. “Of course not. He’s always at the country club. And why would he want to talk to me, anyway? I’m pretty sure he felt relieved of his obligation to parent me once I got into an Ivy League.”
“What a jerk,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So…does Mom know you’re moving to Chicago?”
My sister shakes her head. “Mom doesn’t even know I broke up with Kyle.”
“She has no idea I’m painting again either. You know…that was the only time I ever really saw her smile? When I was little, and she watched me paint.”
“She always said you had natural talent,” Christy remembers.
I’m getting teary again. “I wish we had the type of mom whocared about what was going on in our lives.”
My sister frowns. “I think she cares.”
But her questioning tone tells me she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince me.
“Let’s call her together,” she goes on to suggest.
I wince. “Wouldn’t you rather just watch another romantic comedy and ignore reality a little longer?”
“We can do that after. You should tell her you’re painting again, it’ll make her happy.”
