The Wrong Sister

The next couple of days were exactly as Lisa suggested—we didn’t do much except let me rest and get adjusted. She worked odd hours and was in and out at random, but I didn’t mind. I was quiet and withdrawn, barely eating, and she tried to engage me in friendly chatter, though I didn’t have much to say. On my third evening there, I was sitting on the couch reading a book on my phone when she sat down next to me. “Sweetie, I’m a little worried about you.” “I’m not worth worrying about.” “Oh, but you are,” she said, slipping her arms around me. “You haven’t eaten much.” “Not hungry. You’re a fabulous cook… so no offense… just not hungry. It’s not like I’m starving, though.” “No, but I’d like you to eat a little more. You’re getting too thin. We also need to get you moving a bit more.” “No place to go. Besides, I’ve been walking on the beach with you.” “Yes, you have, but now we’ve got to be a little more aggressive about our goals.” “I don’t have any goals these days, Lisa.” “Well, wouldn’t you like to get better and get that arm out of the sling?” “I can get it out of the sling anytime I want. I do that to shower, sleep, and exercise.” “Yes, but you’re still in pain.” “Things take time,” I yawned. “Life hurts, Lisa. What can I say?” She smiled. “I think the sooner we tie the knot, the sooner I can get you to my doctor. Your thyroid medication needs renewal anyway. That is, if you’re still okay with our plan. I know it’s a very strange way to get married, and definitely not what I expected to do, but I’m happy to do it in this case.” “Life isn’t what we plan it.” I looked at her. “Did you plan me?” “No, I didn’t, but you know what?” “What?” “Some of life’s best things aren’t planned.” She playfully swatted my nose, and I felt myself blush, which seemed to amuse her. I wondered if she could let me go so easily if, for some reason, I wanted a divorce in a year. “I know you miss Henry, even though I don’t know much about your life with him. And I know you miss Stacey. I’m sure she made you feel safe, and she would gladly pick you up, throw you on the bed, and happily tickle you if she could, letting you know everything would be alright in the end.” “Only that last part was correct.” She looked confused. “She would tell me everything would be alright if she could, but she could only make me feel safe emotionally and economically. As small as she was, she sure couldn’t pick me up and throw me anywhere, though I’m sure she had moments where she wished she could.” Lisa chuckled. “Yeah, I get your point. Regardless, no one could ever replace her or Henry, but I’m sure God would…” “Don’t give me that shit about God.” She pulled back slightly, startled by my sudden outburst. “I’m too old for imaginary friends and fantasies. I really hope there’s no God, because if there is… look how much it cares.” “You’re very angry.” “Damn right I am.” “I don’t blame you. Life is often cruel. Just a week on my job—that’s beyond obvious.” I began to cry for the first time in days. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” She wrapped her arms around me again. “You have a right to your own beliefs. I’m sorry if I assumed anything about you that I shouldn’t have.” “It’s okay.” She held me tighter, and I felt the sudden urge to hug her back but restrained myself. “It’s Thursday,” she said. “All day,” I replied. She laughed, a tender expression on her face. “What day would you like to marry?” “Same deal? Divorce in a year or sooner if one of us wants to?” She nodded, though I could tell she wasn’t keen on that possibility. “The day doesn’t matter, but the date does.” “Oh?” she said curiously, with a playful smile. “Four is the unluckiest number in the world, so it can’t be the 4th, 14th, or 24th.” “Okay,” she said, laughing. “Where would we go? To the courthouse?” She nodded. “Quick and simple for now. The day after tomorrow is the 25th. Is that okay?” I nodded. “Unless you change your mind.” “I won’t, but we need to work out a few particulars first.” “Like put it in writing that we get divorced in a year if we want to?” “Well, I don’t feel we need that, but we can if you want to.” “No, we can skip it.” She took a deep breath. “Would you prefer to keep your name, or take mine?” Amazingly, I liked the idea of taking her name. I looked at her, hesitated, then got up from the couch. Her eyes followed me as I grabbed a Post-it pad from the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. I wrote my answer on a Post-it and handed her a blank Post-it with a pen. “I’ve written my answer, but I don’t want it to influence yours any more than your answer should influence mine. Write down the name you want me to have, then we’ll swap Post-its at the same time.” She laughed. “Okay, but what if they’re different names? Then what?” “We flip a coin.” She laughed even harder, and I managed a smile. She scribbled on the Post-it and extended it toward me while offering her other hand to receive mine. She had written the same name I had written, as I suspected she would. In less than forty-eight hours, I would be Mrs. Shaylin Winters.