P.S.—Not necessarily a grateful thing, but the fact that he said he would have traveled to the Regency period to meet me and dance with me at a ball? It’s the most romantic thing any man has ever said to me. I can’t get that sentence out of my head.
I put my pen down and pick up my fork, twirling a strand of noodles around it as I sit at my little kitchen table. I’m home for lunch, and Willy and Petey are having their run-free hour and dooking excitedly, and I can’t help but think I’d like to dook right with them, as I still feel nothing but unadulterated joy from my evening with Brady last night.
A dreamy sigh escapes my lips. My brain has been stuck on infatuated mode ever since yesterday. Of course, this morning at work, it didn’t help that I got to see a ton of pictures of him holding Willy and Petey, looking oh-so-hot while doing it. I couldn’t help it. Whenever his picture came up on my computer, since I had to pick some to put on our website and in the monthly newsletter, I’d find myself pausing and staring at him, thinking I kissed this man last night.
And I’ll kiss him again, too.
I put my fork down. My stomach is so full of excitement that I can barely eat. But at least I can get this journal entry down and perhaps hope for a bit more focus and productivity for the rest of the day at work.
My phone rings. I know the ringtone. “Mother Knows Best” for my mom. I sigh. Calls with my mom can either be entertaining or difficult, depending on what her agenda is for calling. And usually, I know within the first five minutes what type of call it will be.
I answer it. “Hi, Mom,” I say.
“Addison, I have the most amazing news,” Mom says.
I decide to try eating again as long as I have to listen to her. I make a point to get a better balance of cilantro and peanuts in this particular bite than I did on the last one. I hate when things are out of balance, down to what is on my fork.
“Oh? What is that?” I ask.
“Ari has signed a recording contract with a major label!” Mom declares excitedly. “She’s going to record Tchaikovsky. I could weep, I’m so proud of her. We always knew Ari was special, and she continues to prove it over and over.”
A knot forms in my stomach as Mom goes on about Ari’s contract. Of course, I’m proud of Ari. She’s played the piano since she was four. Spent hours and hours practicing and performing. Prodigy and Ari became synonymous by the time she was seven. Now she’s meeting all the high expectations that were set for her.
My cheeks begin to burn, but this time in shame. Shame because I should be elated for Ari, but there’s a part of me that holds on to the fact that once again, I’m the daughter who hasn’t achieved anything meaningful in my parents’ eyes. Ari is on the way to worldwide fame as a classical pianist, while my parents wonder when I’ll be the head of a communications department.
If they only knew I’d rather work with animals instead of what I do now.
They’d claim they didn’t know me. I’d be disowned.
Once they got Mom out of the ER, that is. Because she would have a stroke if she knew I wanted to work with those “disgusting weasels,” as she calls Willy and Petey.
“Addison?”
I blink. Shit. I have no clue what she asked me.
“I’m so proud of Ari,” I spit out.
“I know you are,” Mom says, oblivious to the fact that I haven’t said anything for minutes now. “But you should call her. Ari says you never call her.”
Okay, now the heat in my cheeks is irritation instead of shame.
“Mom. I do text Ari. She never texts me back. If she wanted to talk, don’t you think she would be the one to tell me she was at least negotiating a recording contract, rather than you calling me after it was signed?”
Silence.
Mom doesn’t like it when anyone criticizes Ari.
I absently push my noodles around in my bowl as I wait for my reprimand. One … two …
“Addison. That’s not fair. She’s at Princeton, with a very demanding schedule. Then, she has hours and hours of practice and performances, and her life is completely different than yours. I would hope you would understand that.”
“And I do nothing?” I snap, my irritation surging up another notch.
“Writing about animals is not the same as being a world-class pianist.”
I drop my fork. “You’re right. Who cares about animal rights?”
There’s a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “You aren’t putting this into perspective. I can tell you’re irritated, so I’m going to go, but please don’t let that come across when you congratulate Ari. She deserves nothing but the sincerest congratulations from you. I’ll talk to you later.”
And then she hangs up.
I put my phone down. My chest is tight, and I force myself to take a breath. Not one question about me.
It has always been, and always will be, about Ari.
I know how I should handle this. I should accept it will never change, that while they love me, Ari is the favorite. I, on the other hand, am the daughter who isn’t living up to her full potential. Oh, sure, they are keeping it in check for now, but as Ari’s star continues to shine brighter and brighter, they’ll look to me to rise to what they want me to be. A high-level executive.
It seems that no matter what I do, I’m going to fail. When I turned down admission to the University of Pennsylvania to follow my idiot high school boyfriend to Virginia, that was the first warning sign to them that I was not going to reach my potential. Majoring in communications was another disappointment. Working for a nonprofit? Another blow to the Blakelys of Philadelphia.
My phone buzzes. I glance down and see it’s Ari. Ah. Mom must have told her I was in a jealous snit, and now she’s going to revel in it.
I tap the message:
Mom beat me to it, but I was going to tell you I signed a three-year deal with Classico Records. Can you believe it? I’m already making my career dreams happen while in college! A tour will be in the works for next summer. We’ll see what my agent can land. But please, don’t be jealous. It’s an ugly color on you.
Ooh! I want to throw my phone across the room in anger, but then that would break it, and that would be worse for me.
I grit my teeth and type back:
Ari, I’m not jealous. I’m proud of you. This is a fantastic achievement, and you have earned it. The world should hear your gift.
Ari is typing …
Oh, please. Mom said you had to insert yourself into the conversation instead of being happy for me. But that’s so you. It always has to be about you and your weird obsession with animals. Do you want to end up as the crazy lady with fifty animals in her apartment?
My fingers fly furiously across my phone as I respond:
Ari, I am genuinely happy for you. You deserve this.
And I don’t deserve to deal with this bullshit anymore, I think angrily.
I push the phone aside. I look at my lunch, my appetite completely gone. Petey puts his paws on my leg as if he knows I’m upset. I bend down and scoop him up, and he happily settles in my lap while I stroke his cheek.
“I know I should be a grown-ass woman and not care, but I do,” I admit to Petey. “It hurts that I can’t live up to their expectations. It hurts that Ari is the only one who counts. And I wish that Ari and I could have a sibling relationship like Hayley does with her brother and like Katie has with her sister, but we don’t. We have always fought. We’re so different. And I feel guilty, because I feel like I should do something to create that relationship, but I don’t meet her expectations, either.”