Family Ties

“Joanne? Joanne, pick up, it’s Mom. Joanne? Hello? …Listen, we’re all at the hospital right now. Your sister just gave birth. A perfectly healthy boy. Joshua Tyler Warrington; 7 pounds, 5 ounces. Where are you? Joanne? Call me when you get this. We’ll be at the hospital all night. Please come by. Your sister really wants to see you.” Beep.

Your sister really wants to see you. Now there was a laugh. My sister, Joyce, never wanted to see me. Ever since I was born three years after her glorious arrival, it’s been a constant tug-of-war between the two of us. And when I say tug-of-war, I mean I’m left with my face in the mud while Joyce twirls the rope in her hands before tying a Girl Scout knot and rescuing a kitty from a tree. True story. Family reunion of ’93. I was 7.

Things got worse when she off to college. She’d call home every week to tell Mom and Dad how great her classes were going and how exciting Boston was. I swear they would wait by the phone for those calls. I guess I should thank Joyce for occupying our parents’ time so that they didn’t seem to notice when my grades starting slipping, when I got my first hickey, or when that boy ran past them in the kitchen that one time from upstairs. Especially that last one. He was a babe.

It came as no surprise to me when Joyce graduated in three years instead of four and was instantly snatched up by some prestigious law firm on the East Coast. She was always so damn perfect. That’s where she met Jonathon Warrington III. He was some rising star in the firm who “just swept Joyce off her feet in one glance.” A few years later, they were married. The whole idea made me gag.

When Joyce got married, I wasn’t the maid of honor—not that I wanted to be. No, that was her roommate from college, Chrissy, the beauty queen. If you ask me, the title seems a little crazy for a 28-year-old. But don’t tell her that or she’ll freak. Believe me. I wasn’t a bridesmaid either. Jonathon had four sisters: Layce, Chasity, Bambi, and Barbie. Or as I liked to call them: Legs, Chest, Blonde, and—well, Barbie actually worked for that one. Apparently, Joyce thought I was “gallivanting about the country with my rock star boyfriend” that weekend. I didn’t bother telling her I only dated Tommy, the bass player of a local band, for about a month and a half before I found him in my apartment with the lead singer, Amy. And we never traveled anywhere together in that time. He was always rehearsing. With Amy. I really should have seen that one coming.

I figured my parents wanted just one weekend where they didn’t have to explain to everyone why I didn’t have a decent job because I didn’t graduate from college since I completed high school at an alternative school due to that mix-up at that gas station with Rick and his buddies. Joyce was quick to remind me accessory was just as bad as a robbery itself—something she learned in her law class. Of course, my parents jumped on her side before I could plead my case. If I had to hear about how much trouble I could have been in if the owner of the gas station had gotten hurt one more time, I was going to scream.

And now they were procreating. Joy. I sighed, staring down at the stack of bills piled high on the kitchen counter.

“You’re really not going, are you?”

“Hm?”

I had almost forgotten Davis was sleeping on my couch this week. I was too busy avoiding my family. There were twelve messages on the machine. “Joyce is going into labor, Joanne!” “Joanne? Visiting hours are about to be over. Are you coming?” “Joanne, answer me! I know you’re home…”

“Your sister’s kid,” he said, making his way towards the fridge. “You’re really not going to see it, are you? Wow, you’re cold.”

“You don’t know my sister.”

“You’re right,” he pulled a beer from the bottom shelf and opened it. “But I do know she is your sister. And like it or not, she’s still the only one you’ve got.” He took a big sip, waiting for me to thank him for his bit of wisdom. I hated when he did that.

“Right. And now you’re going to tell me how she was the only one to write me when we were in that alternate school together. How my parents refused to come and see me on visitation days because they always said the commute was too much for them and Joyce’s letters were the only thing from home I had…”

He raised his eyebrows and twisted his mouth into that sly smile.

“Shut up and get your keys.”

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.