STEPHANIE STOOD BEFORE THE FULL-LENGTH MIRROR while Elise finished the last curl of hair.
"Thanks for lending me one of your dresses… again," Steph said, glancing over her shoulder. Elise shook her head and laughed softly.
"It looks better on you anyway."
The dress was simple and black, silk with spaghetti straps and a modest slit that flashed a sliver of thigh when she turned. It was understated and exactly the sort of thing that said, I'm doing fine — whether she was or not. She lined her eyes in charcoal, hardening her gaze into the look she planned to wear into the room: composed, untouchable.
"I guess I'm off." She sighed, fidgeting with the hem. Elise picked up a set of keys from the dresser and dropped them into her hand.
"You look gorgeous. Even if it's just for your stepsisters' sake."
She snorted, "Who would even—?" She stopped herself, realizing how insane it sounded but she knew her reasons. She then looked down at the keys in her hand, "Are you sure Pete will be okay with this? He just bought that Tesla. I don't want to make him hate me more than he already does if I crash it."
"Who cares." Elise pinched Steph's cheeks, laughing, "You're my best friend, besides even if he has a problem with it it's not like the man would say."
"That's right, poor guy's terribly afraid of you." She walked to the door, "Still can't believe you two have lived together for two years."
"What can I say? I've got a hold on him." Elise glanced at her watch. "Call me after?"
"If I still have my breath by then."
The air in the car smelled faintly of cut flowers — the scent folded into her chest full of memory. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and tried to breathe out what she felt. Her stomach tightened as if bound by chains. Nothing made sense. How did a place she once loved become a place she hated so quickly? The good memories had been smudged to gray by the bad. Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel until her hands cramped.
A white rose drifted down and landed on the windshield, caught under the wiper. Its petals trembled in the breeze, loosening and then floating away like small pale boats. Stephanie blinked back tears; with her eyes closed, the past rose up, vivid and unfair.
A past where she was in it. Sariah Anderson.
"Can I come here with you again, next year for my birthday? Just us, not sisters." Younger Stephanie begged her mother, grasping her palm tightly as if she never wanted to let her go. She skipped excitedly, chuckling at the feeling of the grass between her toes, "What is here, momma?"
"It's a park sweetheart. And of course we'll be back again but your sisters will be too. We can't leave them out."
"But they…I-I don't like them mummy. I only want to be here with you, not them."
"Samantha Anderson!" Sariah's voice, gentle but firm, had snapped her back. She lifted Steph's chin. "Don't say things like that. Promise me you'll always be kind, my little sunshine. There's enough hate in this world — give people your petals, like a rose." She pressed a white rose into Stephanie's small palm. "Be a rose, okay? Roses have pretty petals to give to everyone. I know it's hard right now but don't you ever say that."
Stephanie opened her eyes to escape the memory and lowered the rearview mirror, staring at her mascara stained eyes from crying in the glass. She sniffled and dried her tears with her wrist before lightly touching up on her under eyes with concealer and eyeliner with mechanical calm.
'It's in the past now. It's all in the past.'
She freed the rose from the wiper and stepped into the park where guests were gathering for the memorial. Familiar faces clustered in small groups, speaking in hushed tones, glasses held like shields. They regarded her like a stranger wandering into their play. Heads turned; polite smiles thinned to appraisal.
She was surrounded by familiar faces of family but yet people who she didn't know at all. She saw them before but knew nothing of them, only of their personalities. Their personalities which she hated. They all stared at her as if she was a new face in the crowd, lowering their glasses of champagne so that they could bitterly spectate her, head to toe.
Stephanie stood awkwardly, like a sore thumb, at the center of the gathering, smiling faintly as she waved at a few familiar faces. Her gaze drifted and landed on a man who had been watching her from a distance, laughing with a girl nearby.
That girl was her stepsister, Bethany.
He continued staring at her, a smile tugging at his lips. He set his drink down, tapped Bethany on the shoulder, and pointed behind her.
"No way, it's little Steph!" the man shouted, running toward her. He wasn't a boy anymore—he had grown into a tall, broad-shouldered man.
"John? John Derrick." Stephanie blinked. "You look…different. Muscles now, huh?"
"Yeah, and you…uhm…whoa. You look smashing. Totally not what I remember—you've got boobs now."
"Oh, shut up. I always had them," she shot back, heat rising in her cheeks.
Bethany stepped forward, a practiced smile on her face. "He's right. You look hot, Steph." Stephanie shrugged, keeping her expression polite but distant.
"That's you, Bethany. Always the same," Stephanie said softly, noticing how polished and poised her stepsister looked, long red hair in a sleek ponytail, freckles and almond-shaped eyes that had always been sharp and confident.
Bethany pulled her into a brief hug. "Nice to see you again, sis."
Stephanie's voice cracked slightly. "Nice to see you too," she said, forcing a steadying breath. Pretend. Be the nicer person.
"I love your dress," Bethany added, her tone light, almost teasing. Stephanie nodded, glancing down at her own outfit.
"Yours is better," she said honestly. Bethany's gown was impressive—a formal off-the-shoulder piece, embroidered with diamonds that caught the light.
"Beatrice did the layout," Bethany continued, her voice airy, but Stephanie caught a faint edge of dismissal beneath it. "She's over there… talking to someone. Boyfriend issue, I think. You know how she gets when she's annoyed."
"How can I forget?" Stephanie murmured, scanning the group. "I'll talk to her later."
John linked his arm through hers with a mischievous grin. "Great because I want to get you a drink."
You do?" Stephanie glanced at Bethany, who gave a slight, approving nod before turning back to her conversation. "Alright, but it better be good."
John led her to the refreshment table, wobbling slightly from earlier drinks. He grabbed a bottle she didn't recognize. "Try this. You'll love it." He mixed tequila, a squeeze of lime, and a splash of juice with theatrical care. "It isn't too strong. I remember you're a lightweight."
"You remember that?" she laughed, genuine this time.
"Of course I do." He knocked his glass into hers and took large gulps of the liquid, "You would get so wasted but at least it was never boring hearing rant on about stupid things and make a joke out of yourself."
Stephanie took a sip, surprised by the bitter-sweet taste. "You're such a dick," she said, laughing. Her snort drew a few curious glances, and she lowered her voice. "I don't remember most of these people. Was I really that unaware?"
She looked around, suddenly feeling eyes on herself and lowered her voice, "I don't remember all these people. Was I that unaware back then?"
"You always were you, Steph. Tell me—what's bothering you?" John's hand covered hers, grounding her.
"I don't know. They all seem…weird now. Maybe I'm the weird one. I haven't been home in ages. They must even more so think of me as horrible. That I don't belong." Her fingers tightened around his.
"Who cares? Just drink and forget they're here, that works for me. I don't belong here either, remember? I'm only a friend of the sisters. A bad influence as they'll say so come on let's forget this depressing talk and just drink."
She laughed but then frowned, "Why are you being like this?"
"Like what?"
"Nice John, why are you being nice?"
"I don't understand. How do you want me to be?"
"I just want to know if any of this is real, you keep smiling and all I think about is you finding me a joke instead of being genuine. After all that's how you always were, weren't you?"
He ran a hand through his hair, frowning. "I'm different now. I'm sorry for how I used to be. I was young back then. Let me show you I've changed."
"Alright." She nodded, "You're right I'm sorry."
He grabbed another bottle and began mixing again. "You'll like this one. Trust me." He poured vodka, a squeeze of lime, and some juice over ice before sliding it toward her.
"Cranberry juice?"
"You're going to love it." He added a scoop of ice and stirred it before handing it to her, "Go ahead."
"Here goes." She sipped, the mix tangy, sweet, and odd—but it worked. She tapped her tongue on the roof of her mouth,"This makes no sense…yet it's actually good. It's…all over the place, but it works—"
Suddenly a voice called from across the lawn. "Stephanie? Stephanie, is that you?"
She froze and looked up.