Romy was kissing my husband.
In front of everybody. In front of my mother and father.
He pulled back only when he saw me.
“It was a dare,” he said.
And Romy stepped away, smiling. “Sorry, sis. He’s a better kisser than Tobin. I might keep him.” And then she laughed. “Joking.”
And I was two steps into that garden when Tobin, behind me, laughed.
One short laugh, with nothing in it.
And my sister’s face emptied out, and my husband went white, and both of them were looking past me at him as though something had come up through the patio.
“Actually,” Tobin said, “I’ve got you a present. I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”
What was in the box.
It was a gift box. Cream, ribboned, about the size of a shoebox, and it had been on the side in the kitchen all afternoon with everybody’s cards, and I had put a dish down next to it twice.
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