It takes me less than a second to spot her in a corner booth, balanced on a violent purple settee that clashes with the neon orange jeans and belly-baring crop-top she’s wearing. I wonder if she took her fashion advice tonight from a cheesy 1990s sci-fi movie.
“Kat,” I greet her once I manage to pick my way across the room.
She rises in an easy, fluid motion to plant a kiss on my cheek, then folds herself back into the chair with the practiced ease of the yoga teacher she is. “Jack. You’re late.”
“No, you’re early,” I point out. “You said seven thirty. What’s the occasion?” I wave a menu at her pointedly. This place is way out of her usual paycheck-to-paycheck budget.
“All in good time.” She flashes a grin at me. “Order whatever you like. On me.”
Now I’m worried. “Is everything okay? Did something happen at your job?” She gets like this during crises sometimes. A horrible thought occurs to me. “Is Mum alright?”
She snorts. “Mum’s fine. And so’s the job, thanks for asking. But me, I’m better than fine.” She wiggles her menu again, like it’s supposed to mean something.
No, not the menu. Her hand.
Her left hand.
“Oh god,” I say before I can stop myself.
Kat bursts out laughing even harder now. “See, I knew I’d have to tell you solo. That is not the appropriate reaction to your baby sister’s engagement, Jackie boy.”
“It is when you’ve only been dating the guy for six months!” I can’t help it. My voice shoots up an octave. The gooey couple oozing love eyes at one another at the table beside us (who smell like a garden full of patchouli, it must be noted) turn to glare daggers in my general direction. I lower my tone. “Kat, are you sure about this?”
“What do you have against Raul?” She quirks an eyebrow at me, totally unperturbed by how much I’m freaking out.
“Nothing. I mean, besides the fact that I think I’m supposed to be vaguely threatening toward any dude who looks at you twice, he seems like a nice guy. But, you’re only twenty-seven . . . ”
“Twenty-eight,” she corrects. “Mr. Wise Old Man of Thirty. Please, bestow the dating and relationship wisdom that those extra two years have imparted to you and you alone.”
She has a point, nags a voice at the back of my mind. You did just go down on an undergrad who’s probably, what, a maximum of 20 years old? I force myself to roll my eyes, keeping that thought suppressed. “It’s not that. It’s common sense. You’re supposed to try living with someone before you go off marrying them.”
She brushes that off with a roll of her own eyes. It’s the signature move in our family. “We’re apartment-hunting now. Look, just because you are a complete commitment-phobe, doesn’t mean I have to be.”
“I am not.” What is it about siblings that makes you instantly regress a couple dozen years?
“Oh really? Where should I start on the list, let’s see . . . Sara for two years in college, fair enough, you were young; Bethany for four years while you were at uni, had to dump her the minute you graduated, naturally. After that, was it Kim or Carly? I always get them confused. Anyway, two more years each, then jump overboard the second they mention rings. And now your latest.”
I brace myself, even though I know what’s coming.
“Hannah. Butler.”
“That’s not fair, Kat.”
“What’s not fair is you acting like the best thing that has ever happened to me is a complete and total mistake.” She shoves away from the table, and to my surprise, I notice genuine tears in her eyes.
I am such an idiot. “Kat, I’m sorry.” I make a grab for her hand, but only manage to catch her wrist as she rises, aimed for the restrooms. “Seriously, I’m happy for you. Raul is great.”
“Damn right he is.” She glares down at me. More people than just the patchouli duo are staring at us now. I ignore them.
“You just scared me, okay? Forgive your dumbass brother. I’ve had a really long day, and this . . . I just didn’t expect it.”
Slowly, she lowers herself back onto her seat. “I love him, Jack.”
That, at last, makes me smile. “I know, Kat.” Because I do. I can see it on her face every time she’s with him. The way she gazed at him at Mum’s birthday party this summer, three months ago now, I knew deep down they were going to wind up together. She’d found her match, and Raul’s stoic, steady personality perfectly balanced my sister’s zaniness.
I guess I just didn’t expect them to move so fast. She is my little sister, after all. Here I am, the bachelor black sheep of the family. And . . . Okay, maybe a tiny little part of me wants to know how she can possibly do it. How she can look at him and think rest of my life right here and not run screaming for the hills. If she can do it, what’s wrong with me that I’ve never been able to?