Ella glares at me for five long seconds before slowing raising the phone to her ear. “Bree, tell ya what. Screw tonight, ’kay? I’ll just have to suffer in celibacy ’til some other time. Yeah, don’t worry about it; I’ll be fine here all by my lonesome. Sure. Yeah, well, you should feel a little bad. Anyways, call ya later.”
Ending the call with a decisive jab of her index finger, my sister continues to glare at me for an uncomfortably long spell before finally spinning around. “Fine... you friggin’ Neanderthal,” she grumbles. “Tell mom I’ll need a few minutes to get outta my ‘fuck me’ clothes.”
I grimace at her choice of words. True or not, I know she’s only putting it so bluntly in order to punish me further.
Casually tossing the cell phone on her bed, Ella promptly tugs off her red halter top – and I learn, in an entirely involuntary manner, that my sister isn’t wearing a bra. It’s a damn good thing she’s not looking in my direction, because I doubt I could’ve hidden the look of incredulous surprise that surely flashed across my face!
Even though I’m only getting a three-quarters profile view of her side... since when did my bratty little sister have such spectacular breasts? We’d both been pretty careful about not going naked around the other for the past four or five years, but it didn’t seem that long ago when her boobs were nothing more than a pair of jiggly half-oranges perched on a bony chest. Now? I can’t even think of an appropriate fruit comparison, because they look nothing like fruit! They’re... full. Womanly. Totally amazing. And somehow, I’d completely failed to notice that Ella had them, probably because she was someone I shouldn’t be taking notice of in the first place.
Which is a thought disturbing enough to prompt me to close Ella’s bedroom door, and make a hasty retreat to the relative safety of the kitchen.
* * *
Dinnertime with mom and dad is an awkward affair, but I think my parents attribute most of Ella’s grumpy, non-conversational behavior to disappointment that she isn’t able to be out celebrating with her girlfriends.
Just before our plates are empty, mom brings up the subject.
“Ella, I know you’re upset that you couldn’t make it to the concert... but are you at least going to spend some time with Bree or your other friends tonight? Your dad and I don’t mind having company over.”
Well, I certainly would! Ella’s girlfriends are kinda hot... and the last thing I need is further reminders of things I can’t have.
My sister sighs dramatically. “No, mom. Seems no one wants to be with little ol’ me on my most special of birthdays... it’s like I’m some kinda outcast. A social pariah.”
“Come now, sweetheart, you know that’s not true! I’m sure the only reason they’re not here is because of the horrid weather tonight. They said on the radio there could even be some flooding. But no matter what, you’ve always got your loving family to keep you company!”
Ella grunts and crosses her arms. “Yeah, well, thanks... but I’m still depressed as hell. Nothing ever seems to work out for me. A girl only turns eighteen once, you know, and I was really hoping today would turn out special.”
Ella’s eyes catch mine for a split second – and aware that she knows that I know what “special” means, my face turns a deep shade of red in front of everyone. Which is why it’s always been my policy to ignore my stupid sister’s social life!
Finished with his meal, dad sets his knife and fork down. “Tommy, you okay over there?”
Almost choking with embarrassment, I sputter, “Y-yeah, dad, uh... just a spicy... uh, m-mushroom, I guess.”
Mom clicks her tongue. “See, honey? I told you that you put way too much garlic in them.”
“What? Can’t ever have too much garlic,” counters my dad sternly, pushing his chair back and then circling the table to gather our empty plates.
Taking a slow sip of red wine, mom looks back and forth between Ella and me – attempting but clearly unable to conceal a look of excitement. “So... are we ready yet?”
“Um, ready for what...?” asks Ella.
Mom gestures to dad. “Honey, if you could do the honors...”
Dad disappears through the dining room archway and into the kitchen.
“Mom, what’s going on?” asks my sister in a highly suspicious tone.
“Well, sweetheart, like you said... my little girl only turns eighteen once! And, although we weren’t sure we would get to use it today...”