When I overheard my grandmother, aka Momma Joe, informing my father that he best pay some attention to his eldest child, he asked her what the hell was wrong with Amias, my brother.
It hurt a bit since I was actually the oldest. It felt like they may have forgotten all about me.
Amias was born ten months to the day as I was. My Irish twin, which is why we were in the same grade all throughout school and just graduated together. Tris was born eleven months after him, so they were considered Irish twins, as well. It should be noted that not one of us were planned, but we were certainly wanted. Except, after hearing that, I was sure that was all a lie.
I must have ran up the stairs too loudly because, within seconds and mid-scream into my trusty pillow, Dad bounded into my room and told me he was sorry. He informed me that he never had to worry about his Brisa, that I was always the one of us three that he could count on to always do what was right. Then he looked me over and asked me how long I’d had an eating disorder, basically all in one breath. I told him I didn’t. He was pissed, didn’t believe me, grounded me, and threw me into therapy.
Diagnosis? Secondhand anxiety. I simply wasn’t hungry. So, now, even if I’m not hungry, I have to force myself to drink a damn shake that tastes like chalk. The plus side is my tits are back, which is obvious in this dress. And bonus? I’m finally getting an ass.
Our therapist, Marley, also asked me if I knew what an empath was. As she explained it to me, I romanticized it in my head. I mean, who wouldn’t want to truly care so deeply for others that they felt what they felt? I repeat, felt what they felt.
I now have to make a conscious effort to not be that girl, and right now, it’s really fucking difficult.
Stepping into the clearing, I look at my family sitting on the wooden benches and facing the arbor, and I make myself smile … as genuinely as I can.
Being a hater of fake smiles, I think about the one truly miraculous thing that’s happening, something that brings me joy … my ass.
Grinning, I make my way toward my brother and Max, who are also standing up for Tris.
Once next to Amias, I choose to look over everyone’s head in lieu of making eye contact, because everyone sitting before us, I love with all my heart, and I just can’t afford to absorb their energies right now. I need to focus on being happy for Tris which, in this atmosphere, I liken to swimming in shit and coming out smelling like roses.
“This feels more like a funeral than a wedding.” Amias tugs at his tie while grumbling under his breath as the pianist begins to play “Bridal Chorus.”
He’s not wrong, but for the first time since Tris was in fourth grade, she’s smiling genuinely again, Mom isn’t crying—well, not as much—and fingers crossed that Dad will be able to smile again for the first time in about two years. Then, when this is over and done with, we can all go back to the good stuff in life.
Trying to find an anchor, a focal point, anything to hone into my romantic side, I glance at the sun that is setting just beyond the water fountain where two cherub statues stand facing each other. It’s stunning.
“She looked happy before we came out. Let’s be happy for her.”
He sighs heavily. “She’s fucking seventeen, Brisa.”
“That’s what you’re tripping over?” our cousin, Max, whispers. “Not the fact that her soon-to-be husband is eight years older than her and doesn’t even speak fucking English?”
“Or that Tris doesn’t speak Spanish,” Amias adds.
I want it to be okay, but it’s not.
My sister is seventeen years old.
Seventeen.
“Bridal Chorus” stops, and we collectively sigh.
Longest rehearsal ever, I think.
Then again, the only other two weddings I’ve been involved in were my cousins’, Bella, which was a surprise wedding that took place at the tattoo shop, and Kiki. Both were very small and intimate, family only, much like most of our parents’ weddings.
“Love is its own language,” I whisper, trying to convince them, as well as myself, that this is going to be okay.
She told me she’s in love with him. She told me she never felt this way. And I see