Chapter One
Payton
It’s a Summer sister tradition that on the first Saturday of each month, the six of us get together. We take turns picking the location or activity, anything from margaritas and a movie to wine and painting classes at the small gallery uptown. One thing, though, is as certain as the sun rising over the Chesapeake Bay every morning; there will be alcohol involved.
Always.
Tonight, it’s another stupid painting class. Create and Paint, that’s what this class is called. I prefer to call it “Painting sucks, let’s get drunk!” while I chug my fruity Moscato because that’s the only wine worth drinking. Abby whips out red every once in a while and I swear to God Almighty that I’m going to shrivel up and die like those nasty, sour grapes used to create red wine.
I’m the oldest of six Summer girls. Of course, I’m the boss, the leader, and the best at everything (except painting, obviously). As I approach my thirty-third birthday in a couple of weeks at the end of January, I also realize that spending time with my sisters as much as I do is going to become more of a challenge.
Jaime is three years younger than me. She’s the sister who ran away to college and never came back. Well, at least until her fiancé left her the week before the wedding. She moved home, had to move in with our dad and grandparents, and worked for me at Blossoms and Blooms for a short period of time.
Then she met Ryan. Watching those two discover their love for each other was like watching soft porn. Sparks and hormones flew like fireworks every time those two were within a fifty-foot radius of each other.
AJ is the third sister at twenty-eight, or Alison Jane as her birth certificate states. Though, we’ve called her by her nickname for as long as I can remember. She’s the eighth grade math teacher at Jupiter Bay Junior High, home of the Hawks, where she’s taught ever since receiving her teaching degree. She has also enrolled in online classes for her Master’s degree. As of January twentieth, AJ will be a night student.
After AJ comes Meghan. She’s twenty-six and a hygienist at the local dental office. How someone can work inside another’s mouth all day and not get grossed out is beyond me. But she does it. Daily. Meg is also engaged to Josh, a man who treats her like the princess she is. Meg and Josh became engaged in December during a romantic trip to New York City for their anniversary. He went all out: Empire State Building, fancy dinner, down on one knee. It was perfect, just like they are.
Rounding out the Summer sisters are the twins, Lexi and Abby. Lexi, short for Alexis, gives me a run for my money in the boss department and is a hairdresser uptown. She’s married to her high school sweetheart, Chris, who rarely attends any of our family functions. He’s busy trying to take over the financial world, and believes that the only way to achieve that is to work nonstop. I don’t think it’s all roses and fairytales at the Jacobson house.
Abby, or Abigail, was born mere minutes before Lexi, but is as different as can be. She’s reserved, quiet, and shy in ways that the rest of us aren’t. Abby is an English Literature major and works as an editor for a major publishing house out of California. She’s on her computer all day, and rarely ventures out of her little apartment. It’s my goal in this new year to get her out and into the dating world, especially in light of the fact that her love for her best friend is unrequited. Levi is a great friend, but doesn’t see the wonderful woman before him. He’s too busy sticking his penis inside of every woman in the state of Virginia. (I say that lovingly.)
Let’s not forget our father, Brian, and our grandparents, Orval and Emma. Inappropriate doesn’t quite adequately describe the older couple who helped raise all six of us after our mom died. I was seventeen when she succumbed to ovarian cancer, leaving my father behind to get six girls through the teenage years. Enter the grandparents. I’ve got stories for miles, but we’ll get to those later.
Born and raised in Jupiter Bay, a small town of about eight thousand along the Chesapeake Bay, I’ve become accustomed to the small town lifestyle. I own the local flower shop, where I devote every ounce of my soul to making it a success. I’m not gonna lie, I had my doubts there at the beginning. I didn’t know anything about running a business, but was determined to make it work. It’s a lot of work, especially with a small staff of one other employee to keep overhead down, but I’m successful. And proud of it!
And that brings us to tonight. It’s the first Saturday of the New Year and we’re busy celebrating with sandcastles and wine. Hops and Grapes, a local retailer for microbrews and wines made on the east coast, is the place for tonight’s Paint and Create class. Right now, my beach scene resembles something a kindergartener would draw with finger paints.
“Mix together a little white with the brown until you get the light sandy color you’re looking for. Dab your brush in the water and then in the paint, and make long strokes across the canvas.”
Giggles erupt beside me. “She said long strokes,” Lexi whispers not so quietly.
“I get to make long strokes. Ryan is impressively large in the man-junk area,” Jaime says, gulping the last of her wine.
“Yes, we know. You tell us every chance you get.” This from Abby.
“Yeah, it’s starting to get annoying. If I had an impressive man-sword waiting for me at home every night, I’d never leave the house,” AJ adds.
“Not worth it. I’ll take my rabbit over a man any day. That baby has seven speeds and a rotating head,” I grumble, making a mess out of my sandy beach.
“Stop being so grumpy. Maybe if you actually had the real deal for a while, you wouldn’t be so damn cynical all the time,” Jaime says from across the table. She never takes her eyes off her canvas as she makes smooth, straight brushstrokes.
My face burns and I pray the vultures I share genes with don’t notice. Of course I don’t get so lucky. I’ve always said if it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all. Trying to concentrate on my masterpiece, I keep my eyes down and focused on the sandcastle in the corner of the scene.
“I think there’s more to the story! Do you see her blushing?” Meghan’s laughter flits from the opposite end of the table. How in the hell she can see my face is beyond me. It’s probably that sister-radar all of us possess. It’s so damn annoying.
“I am not.” It’s a weak defense, I know, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Deny it all you want, big sister, but your face is definitely blushing,” Lexi adds.
“Ladies, when you get your sandcastle the way you want it, we’ll add a few details and highlights before moving on to the water.” The woman instructing our class has worn a constant smile the entire hour we’ve been here, and frankly, I’m starting to think she hit the sauce way before our arrival tonight.
“Why does my sand look like cellulite?” AJ asks. “I give up. I’m just drinking from here on out.”
Jaime glances over at our sister’s painting. “My God, that’s horrible. Thank God you’re not the art teacher!”
“Cheers,” AJ replies, raising her glass and tapping it against Jaime’s.
“Any wedding plans yet, Meg?” Abby asks, wetting her brush before swiping it through the paint. Always the perfect student, that one.
“Not yet. We’re thinking fall, though.” Meghan’s face lights up at the mere thought of her pending nuptials to Josh.
“That’ll be the perfect time.” Abby’s able to keep her smile happy when she’s in discussion, but I’ve seen the desolation in it too. Even tonight, I see something in her eyes that makes me sad. I’m sure her best friend is the root of her anguish, but I won’t call her out on it tonight. That’s a conversation to have at another time (with less alcohol).
By the time our three-hour torture session is up, each of us has painted waves rolling onto the beach, with a shovel, pail, and sandcastle. We pose as a group for pictures, each of us proudly displaying the fruits of our labor. My sisters each discuss where they’re going to hang their newest creation, while I contemplate which closet I’ll throw it in.
“Yours is great,” Abby says with a big smile.
“Helen Keller could have done a better job,” I retort with a snort of laughter.
As we say good night and thank the instructor, we all walk out together into the crisp early-January night. Not surprisingly, Josh and Ryan are waiting. Jaime and Meg practically run towards their men, each one jumping into their arms as if it’s been days since they’ve seen each other instead of a few hours. Longing rips through my chest and settles into my stomach, heavy and unrelenting. I try to push those pesky feelings aside, but sometimes, it’s just no use. They plant in my chest and brain and dig in deep.
“Good night,” Abby says, pulling me into a hug.
“You going out tonight?” I ask, recalling her mention of Levi’s gig earlier in the evening.
“No, I’m going to take my new painting home and hang it on the wall.”
“Wow, don’t overdo it now on a Saturday night, Abs. Too much excitement will cause wrinkles.”
“I just, I don’t really go to his gigs anymore.”
“Why?” I ask, though already knowing the answer.
She shrugs her shoulders and gives me a small smile. “Just not feeling up to it.”
I let it go. I already know she doesn’t go anymore is because it’s too painful to watch him leave with some skanky bimbo with a dress size bigger than her IQ. Levi may very well never know what he’s missing with Abby, but the romantic in me is still hopeful of him getting his shit together and realizing he loves her.
Hey, I may be cynical as hell in the love department, but I’m still a woman. And this woman wants only the best and a happily ever after for every one of her sisters.
As for me? Well, I’ve decided that my happily ever after will be in the form of cats. I’ll be the little old lady wearing hair curlers and her bathrobe around town, picking up every stray feline she can find.
And you know what? That’s okay. Not everyone is cut out for the spouse, house, and perfect postcard life. Despite what they tell you in the romance novels or in Disney movies, there isn’t someone out there for everyone. Sometimes, a person is just supposed to be alone.
That’s my destiny.