"Oh, Quinn, dear, Daddy said you were hom
e. He told me you've been skipping classes lately," my mother said.
I poured a hefty shot of vodka into a tall glass and mixed my own Bloody Mary. My mother stabbed radishes onto toothpicks and affixed them to a celery stalk, a makeshift rose garnish. She hesitated as she handed me one, forgetting for the moment that I was of drinking age.
"It’s your sister that doesn't like these," my mother said.
"She's not, I mean, she was not a big drinker," I observed. I held the glass to my lips, unable to drink for the lump in my throat.
"And yet she's forever going to parties. How does she manage it?" my mother asked. "I still don't understand how that girl can balance her surgical studies, a busy social life, and that boyfriend of hers."
"Maybe she couldn’t handle it," I said, my voice wavering. "Maybe it was too much for her and someone should have told her to slow down, take it easy, and not put so much pressure on herself."
"Please, I know you don't spend a lot of time with your sister, but you know what Sienna's like. She can handle anything." My mother brushed back her blonde hair and took a long, satisfied sip.
"Daddy said you weren't feeling well," I said.
Her eyes went dim, deflecting the question. "Oh, you know, I just felt a little out of sorts, but now I'm fine."
I eyed the drink in her hand. "Did you take something?"
"Quinn, please, what kind of question is that? I didn't need to take anything. I just feel better. Now, enough talk about me. When are you going to find yourself a boyfriend? I'm sure your sister's boyfriend knows lots of eligible guys," my mother said.
"It’s not like we can go on double dates," I said. The drink was suddenly too heavy. I set it down on the counter and slumped into one of the swiveling bar stools next to the kitchen island.
"Why not? I know Sienna's busy, but she can make time to set you up. You need someone. I'll give her a call," my mother said.
As she reached for her phone, the realization crashed over me: my father had not yet told her. I was so frozen with dread that I sat dumbfounded as she called Sienna's number.
"Hello, dear, I know you're busy, but take just a minute to listen to a message from your mommy. I've got Quinn here and she is moping around. Honestly, she looks as if someone's died. I'm hoping you have time for one of your wonderful sister make-overs. Maybe Owen could find her a date for this weekend? You could double for dinner and then split up? Think about it, darling. You know how she depends on you. Love! Kisses!"
I still could not move when my father walked into the kitchen. He was just as shocked as I was when my mother bounced over and kissed him on the cheek. "Barbara, I thought you were still upstairs. You're feeling better? Did you take something?"
"Why does everyone ask me that? So I slept in a little this morning and wasn't a ray of sunshine. I'm fine."
"Daddy?" I asked. The rest of the words stuck in my throat.
My father turned to me with a hard look. "Your mother's right, she's fine. Let her enjoy her drink."
"You can't, you can't make me be the one that does it," I said. "You have to tell her now."
"Tell me what?" my mother asked with a bright smile.
"You just want everyone to be as miserable as you, don't you, Quinn?" my father asked. "Ever since you were young, you did just as you pleased. Your sister was the one that knew how to take responsibility. She knew how to live up to expectations and be grateful for every opportunity she got."
"Tell her or I will!"
"Now, Barbara, why don't you sit down?" my father said in his best soothing voice. "There's some bad news about Sienna. I can hardly believe it myself. I didn't know how to tell you and I wanted to wait until you felt better."
"Sienna? Is she alright?" my mother shoved her empty glass onto the counter and hung on to the edge with both hands.
My father struggled to get his voice to work. "Sienna…Sienna committed suicide last night."
My mother sank to the floor as a keening wail rose from her lips. I jumped down from my stool and ran around the counter to sit with her on the floor. She bumped her head back against the cupboard, her eyes screwed shut tightly.
"I didn't believe it at first," my father said. "I still don't believe it. How could she do that? How could she throw away all her accomplishments, all her goals?"
"Oh, my sweet girl, oh, my sweet, sweet girl. I know. I know how it feels," my mother whispered to herself.