"No way,” I said defiantly, as if I had a choice. My older sister always says that she still can—and will—kick my ass even though we’re well into our 30’s. I’m not going to test it, and we all know that. Still, I like to act like I’m going to assert myself, even though we all also know that I’ll do whatever she tells me. “It’s going to be hot as balls outside.”
“Sorry, Shay,” she said, and she actually sounded like she meant it. “But The Golden Child is in town, and we have to take advantage of that. We never know when he’s going to be able to make it back.”
She was talking about our younger brother, who is in the Air Force and has been stationed out of country for the past few years.
“Like I give a shit,” I said. “GC is the douchiest one of all of us. Who cares if he’s in the family pictures or not?”
My older sister sighed on the other end of the line.
“Alright,” I conceded. “We’ll be there. But the pictures are going to suck. I’ll be all wilty and soggy, and I know you guys are going to post these on Facebook and tag me, and then all kinds of my ex-boyfriends—several for whom I’m still carrying torches—will see them.”
I saw my husband, at the kitchen counter making a sandwich, roll his eyes.
“Like I said, I’m sorry, Shay,” my older sister replied. “But be here at 3.”
"Fine. But you know how I sweat. Be prepared for pit stains and the eff word coming out of my face in all of the pictures. In fact, when the photographer tells us to say cheese, I’m just going to say ‘fuck’ and call it a candid photo.”
"We wouldn’t expect anything less, Shay. Love you,” my sister said before hanging up.