April 2015

The months leading up to the wedding were everything I expected.  Ava was every bride-to-be stereotype from day one. 

Her wedding was in June at the Cruz Mansion.  I swore she chose the place because I once mentioned it was where I’d marry one day. 

Something she took from me that actually mattered.

Through it all, I gritted my teeth.  How I stopped myself from murdering my little sister, I honestly don’t know.  She asked for it every time I was near her. 

Unless my mother called me personally for something we needed to accomplish as a family, I avoided Ava like a flaming case of crabs. 

Her friends were skinny girls from the suburbs who acted just like her.  As lead Mean Girl, they fell over themselves to impress my sister.  It was all so weird.

The expense of everything blew my fucking mind.  Wasting so much money on one day was pure jack-assery, in my opinion. 

Especially when it wasn’t her money.

Mom paid the bills, pushing back when she felt things were over the top even for her youngest child, and generally conducted herself with more class than I thought was warranted.

Ava was lucky Mom was loaded. 

As the oldest of her siblings, Leda Katerina Andreadis inherited the operation of several businesses when my pappoús died. 

Though her father groomed her from age ten to take over for him, the rest of the family was shocked he didn’t choose one of the male relations. 

The reason was simple.  She was smarter than all of them.

She never let him down.  Her management of scrap metal facilities, real estate, restaurants, and shipping paid for our lives, our educations, and kept Mom sharp as a tack. 

Since my little sister never balked at begging for money she didn’t earn, I made sure I never did. 

Anything I wanted or needed, I bought myself.

When I graduated college at twenty-two, Mom was my first web design and internet marketing client.  She handed out my cards like personalized invites to a swank gala and before long, I had more work than I could handle. 

My mother was my biggest fan and a steady source of encouragement and thinking outside the box. 

The day after the bridal party’s first dress fitting, Mom arrived at my condo.  She wore a stunning cream silk blouse and dove gray pants, heels, and had her black hair twisted into an elegant chignon.

“I’m taking you to lunch.”  I started to reply and she shook her head.  “I know you’re working but it’s Sunday.  Have lunch with your mother.” 

I grinned.  “You’ve really got that guilt thing down.” 

“I do.”  She picked imaginary lint from her sleeve.  “I’ll wait for you in the car.” 

Half an hour later, we sat across from each other at one of her favorite restaurants and I waited to hear what she wanted to talk about. 

“I’m sorry, Petra.” 

I sipped my glass of wine.  “Hmm.  The dress fitting, you mean?  As if we didn’t know she had something shitty planned.”  I shrugged.  “Soon enough, all this will be over and I’ll have plenty of reasons to laugh at her.” 

“I love her…but I don’t like her at all.”  Hearing the admission from my mother sent me into a fit of the giggles.  “Stop laughing.  It isn’t funny.  It’s a terrible thing for a parent to say.” 

“It’s honest.  Don’t beat yourself up.  I haven’t liked her since she turned eleven.” 

“I’m proud of you for taking the high road.” 

The snort I issued made her smile.  “Not sure about the high road, Mom.  I get my digs in every chance I get.” 

“Do you know why I insisted you be her maid of honor?”  I shook my head.  “She can stand next to you and own it.” 

Eyes wide, I murmured, “Mom…payback?” 

“Everyone in our family knows what she did, Petra.  Why make it easy for her?”  Her expression contorted into one of disgust.  “That she’s insisting on marrying that idiot is another dig.” 

With complete respect, I said, “You’re diabolical.” 

“Naturally, darling.  Where do you think you get it?” 

We clinked our glasses and spent two hours talking foolishness and eating way too much. 

Her driver parked in front of my building and I grinned at him from the backseat.  “Thanks for delivering the lush safely.” 

Demetrius chuckled.  “Always a pleasure to see you, Petra.” 

The year my mom finally secured her divorce from my deadbeat father, she built a charming pool house behind the Spanish-style mini-mansion where we grew up.  The house was built in 1920 and she designed the new addition to match. 

When it was finished, she hired Demetrius as her driver and assistant.  He was several years older, handsome, and Greek. 

Mom moved him in and immediately attained a calm that escaped her for more than a decade. 

They shared a grownup friends with benefits arrangement I envied.  His presence was the only thing that kept her sane while living with my sister. 

I leaned over and kissed my mother’s cheek.  “Thank you for lunch.  I’ll be useless the rest of the day.” 

She smoothed my wild hair over my shoulder.  “Exactly why I like to spring our little dates on you occasionally.  You work too hard, darling.” 

Arching a brow, I teased, “Says the woman who never puts in less than sixty hours a week.” 

“Touché.  However, I have extracurricular activities that relieve the stress of being a workaholic.” 

“Mom!”  I feigned shock.  “Stop advising me to get laid.” 

Her laughter was one of the best things in the world.  “Go on.  I love you.” 

“I love you, too.  Bye, Demetrius.” 

“Goodbye, Petra.” 

I waved at them when I opened the door to the lobby. 

Once I was ensconced in my peaceful domain, I stripped away the clothes appropriate for public and tugged on yoga pants and a tank top.  Stretching out on my couch, I took a quick nap, courtesy of my wine-filled luncheon. 

Hours later, fresh coffee in hand, I walked barefoot through the home I loved to my office and got back to work.

The break did me good. 

It went a long way to soothing how shitty I felt the day before when my sister shoved me into a dress she knew wouldn’t fit properly and wasn’t in the least flattering to my shape.

I might be Ava’s maid of honor but neither of us were under the illusion it was voluntary.  I didn’t help with a fucking thing and no one dared to suggest I should. 

They knew better.

I showed up at the countless fittings and events because I loved and respected my mother. 

I spent the time with resting bitch face, waiting to capture the most humiliating photos of Ava and her friends. 

It was relaxing to mentally outline the mocking post that would hit Facebook – courtesy of moi – when I was released from the hell the entire ordeal put me through.

Ava and the people she surrounded herself with were obnoxious shits.  I snapped photos on the sly and recorded her ranting at the seamstress, baker, caterer, and photographer on countless occasions. 

I disliked ninety percent of the people on the guest list for the bullshit circus, including several members of my family. 

Being older than my sister by three years, only my aunts had the courage to ask when I planned to walk down the aisle. 

I think my blank, borderline psychotic stare and total lack of response scared them a little. 

Mission accomplished.  Don’t ask stupid questions.

The one saving grace of Ava’s shit show was going to be the open bar with top shelf booze.  I planned to drink myself through the entire thing without an ounce of guilt.

My kind of wedding.