Page 5 of Raise The Bar
“I’d like you to read one of the novels on this list.” Her eyes twinkle as she peers at me over her tortoiseshell frames. “Only happily ever afters allowed.”
Chapter 2
Maggie
“Is there such a thing as too much sex?”
The question comes out of nowhere and it takes me a second for my brain to catch up. One minute my sister is talking about seasonal flower arrangements and the next she’s asking me this. The topic itself doesn’t surprise me. June and I have always spoken openly about our sex lives. It’s more the timing, as we’re standing in a flower shop waiting for April who is once again late.
“I want to say ‘no’. Why?” I pick up an arrangement and breathe in its sweet scent. The florist shop is warm and I’m sweating in my t-shirt and denim cutoffs. “Do you think you’re having too much sex?”
“Maybe not too much.” She wrinkles her nose at a rather ugly bouquet that appears to be mostly baby’s breath. “But I’m certainly having more than I ever have before. It’s Colin. He is so turned on at the idea of being married that anytime the wedding gets mentioned, I end up pressed up against a wall or bent over the nearest piece of furniture.”
I snort at her description of her fiancé. “Given that the wedding is only two months away, I’m guessing it’s being mentioned a lot.”
“Several times a day!” She laughs, flushing a little at her confession. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but at the same time, I’ve got a schedule to stick to. I don’t have time for all these interruptions!”
If there is one thing the woman knows, it’s how to stay on schedule. She has always loved being busy and was involved in a crazy number of extra-curricular activities when we were kids. By the time she was in high school, she was working three jobs while keeping a perfect GPA. After being accepted to great schools, including three ivy-league colleges, she stunned us all by deciding to take a year off to travel. One year turned into three. She traveled all over the Eastern Hemisphere working odd jobs to support herself. Along the way, she discovered a passion and natural talent for photography. The pictures she took were more than images on glossy paper. They were portals to another land, ones a person could step through and feel like they were there. Before long, her work had won several international photography awards and was featured in Time, National Geographic, and even Vogue.
“I’m not sure what to tell you, Junebug. But I feel if the thought of marrying you is making him that horny, it’s probably a pretty good sign.”
Eventually, June tired of her travels and moved home to Massachusetts where she continued to build her photography brand. She was shooting a wedding in Cape Cod the previous summer and met Colin, who was a groomsman. He was smitten with her right away and followed her around like a moth to a flame for the entire day. He’d actually ruined several of her shots with his constant hovering. But she’d been charmed by his quiet nature and found his eagerness cute. Just before the bride and groom were about to cut the cake, she approached him and told him if he stayed out of the way of her camera lens, she would meet him for coffee the next morning. They’ve been together ever since.
“Right?” She sighs deeply. “I get it though, I am awesome.”
“And so very humble.”
“Epically humble. No one does humble better than me.”
“You are undeniably the best at it.”
I hear the snicker behind me letting me know we’re not alone.
“Junie is the best at something? Since when?” We turn to see April posed next to a large vase filled with cream-colored roses. Her long jet-black hair falls in loose waves over her toned shoulders. She’s wearing boyfriend-fit jeans and a white crop top that makes her light brown skin glow. In truth, her looks mirror June’s much more than my own. Both are average height, with the same round brown eyes and light sepia skin. I bear a much closer resemblance to my mother’s side of the family.
There is something about the nasal quality of April’s voice that never fails to transport me back to my childhood. Just a few syllables from her and I’m back in Aunt Maria’s kitchen listening to her spin her way out of whatever trouble she’d caused. I’ve never seen anyone produce crocodile tears quite like her. She could turn on the waterworks like it was an actual tap and every adult in the room would forget why they were mad at her. She’s only five weeks younger than June, but she has the emotional maturity of an eggplant emoji. She has never missed an opportunity to put my sister down and after more than two decades of it, I’m beyond fed up. June, on the other hand, laughs her off.
“Nothing, April. Thanks for coming.” She has always been built of rubber as far as our cousin is concerned. Every insult April launches just bounces right off June, but then it ricochets and hits me. If you haven’t guessed yet, I’m very much the glue in this analogy.
“Oh, you’re so welcome, Junie,” she croons sweetly. “I wouldn’t miss it. I mean, obviously, I have a lot of other things to do, but I’ll always make room in my schedule to help with your big day.” She rolls her eyes when she says “big day” as if she doesn’t really think my sister’s wedding qualifies as a big deal. But I know April almost as well as I know June, and I can say with absolute certainty that she is so jealous she can barely contain it. Because that’s the way she’s always been. If June has something, April wants it and if she can’t have it, brace yourselves. “Hiiiiii, Magpie. Your skin looks a bit dry. Don’t you make a cream for that or something?”
Deep. Breaths.
“Hi, April.” I channel my inner Michelle Obama and say, “It’s nice to see you.”
When they go low, we go high.
We spend the next half hour or so looking at different arrangements with the sales clerk. She says that lilies are very popular for August weddings, but they remind June and I of funerals. Of one funeral in particular, in fact. Eventually she decides to go with an assortment of dahlias and April doesn’t attempt to hide her disdain.
“Gross, Junie. Those are downright hideous. Why would you pick something so tacky?”
June smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “They’re cheerful and they photograph beautifully. Plus, they make me smile.” I’ve always admired the way she handles all things April. She neither engages with her nor does she back down. She reminds me so much of my mother at times like these. She has her quiet strength, whereas I tend to be more reactive. I only ever remember my mother shedding her calm demeanor once when one of her clients made an off-color comment about June and I having a Black American mother and a White Puerto Rican father. Mom told her in no uncertain terms that being of mixed heritage was not a disadvantage, but a strength before promptly inviting her to leave our home and not return.
“Junie, how many plus-ones can I take to the wedding?” April asks out of the blue without looking up from her phone.
“One. As in ‘plus-one’.”
“Seriously? That hardly seems fair considering I’m in the wedding party.” She pouts but then turns to me brightening. “Maybe you could give me your plus-one? I figure you won’t be needing it, you know, now that Mark’s moved on.”
