Oops, I've Fallen

Of course, she’s completely oblivious to my current state of anxiety and emotional unease and pops a stupid chip in her mouth and starts crunching.

“God, Carly, I can’t believe we’re flying to Florida because our mother is getting married,” she comments, and all I can do is nod, and even though I’m really straddling the line of nausea and indigestion, I rip off another bite of Twizzler with my teeth, chewing it with a fresh wave of apprehension.

I knew this conversation was coming.

Besides phone calls and text messages, Willow and I haven’t really had the chance to chat about everything that went down in Florida.

I knew all of this, and still, I decided that being stuck on a plane with her for two-plus hours was a good idea. It’s times like these that I wish I weren’t so damn impulsive with my emotions. If I would’ve looked at this like a rational human being, I would’ve realized all the damn flaws in my plan.

For one, arriving the night before the wedding probably wasn’t the best idea. I should’ve given myself more than twelve hours to adjust to the emotional consequences of seeing Ryan again.

And two, I should’ve prepared myself a little more for this conversation with Willow.

She doesn’t know jack shit about Sal, much less his son Ryan. She’s still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that not only is our mother engaged to a man my elder sister has never met, but she’s getting married—tomorrow.

It’s a lot, and she doesn’t even know the half of it.

“So…I’m going to like Sal, right?” she questions. “I mean, I met him on FaceTime, but it’s pretty hard to get to know someone through video chat, you know?”

“Yeah. You will. He’s a bit of a schmoozer, but it works for him.”

“And what about this son?” she questions, and my heart falls into my shoes. “Ryan, right? What’s he like?”

“He’s uh…” I pause, my brain and heart at war over who is going to tell her about Ryan Miller. I mean, there are so many things I could say, and the fact that he’s got the world’s most beautiful big penis is one of them kind of explains why I’m having trouble putting words together.

And when the silence extends for too long, Willow turns in her seat to face me. “Oh no, is he awful?”

I shake my head. He’s the opposite of awful. He’s fucking perfect.

All of a sudden, tears start to prick my eyes, and my sister doesn’t miss it when one rogue fucker slips down my cheek.

“Carly?” she questions, her voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I lean my head back on the seat and sigh, silently wondering if it’s too late to book myself on a different flight. I know we’re in the air and everything, but maybe I can, like, fake an emergency and they can drop me off in Ohio.

“Car?” Willow continues to push. “Why do I get the sense that there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“Because there’s something I’m not telling you,” I blurt out, and her eyes narrow.

“What?” she retorts, trying very hard to keep her voice low. “Is it something with Mom?”

I shake my head.

“With Sal?”

I shake my head again.

“Carly, then what the—”

“I slept with our brother!” I blurt out, and Willow chokes out a cough. The words fly past my lips far too loud for the small confines of a plane, and I can feel the eyes of several passengers pointed in our direction.

“What?” Willow shouts, and chip crumbs come flying out of her mouth. Her blue eyes are so big, so wide, so insanely confused that it’s almost comical.

Only there’s nothing comical about this situation.

“Carly,” she continues once she manages to swallow the rest of the chip that was in her mouth. “What are you talking about right now? We don’t have a brother,” she says, and given the volume at which she says it, it’s very apparent she is also aware of the eyes I’ve gathered in our direction.

“Our soon-to-be stepbrother. Ryan. I slept with him. Like, a lot. Many, many times.”

Her brain is still having a hard time catching up. “Sal’s son?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“What? When in the hell did this happen?”

“When I was staying with Mom while she healed from her sex injury, he was staying with Sal, doing the same for his dad.”

“Sex injury? Huh?” she blurts out, and I’m certain now that everyone on the plane has probably latched on to this conversation. I mean, I know I sure as fuck would be listening if I were in their shoes.

Also, fuck. I forgot I pointedly kept that information from her when it was revealed right before I left Florida a few weeks ago.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about that.”

“Nothing?” she retorts on a shout. “You just said Mom had a sex injury when I thought she fell taking down decorations!”