All That Jazz (Part III)

I walked into my house, the smell of meatballs hitting me like a wall. I sighed deeply and dropped my backpack at the bottom of the stairs. I kicked my shoes into the closet – trying to buy myself a few more moments of solitude before Natalie came in and demanded to know where I’d been.

“I think I heard the door. Is that Quinn?” I heard my mother’s voice from the kitchen.

“Yeah. Hey mom. Is Natalie in there?” I replied warily, dreading seeing my sister.

“Yes. Natalie is in here.” I heard my sister’s voice snap at me. I sighed again walking down into the kitchen. Natalie was standing at the stove wearing a veil with fifteen types of meatballs on platters on the kitchen table. My mother was trying to coax the veil off my sister’s head without her noticing.

“Where have you been Quinn? I need your shoe size and hair ideas and nail ideas.” Natalie snapped at me.

“I had auditions, darling sister of mine. They went really well, thank you for asking.” I said sarcastically, popping a meatball into my mouth.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Natalie said turning on me, sharply.

“Eating a meatball.” I said with my mouth full. Her eyes turned steely and squinty at me.

“Those are for taste testing.” She said through gritted teeth.

“Natalie. There’s a dozen meatballs.” My mother said.

                My sister was now just three months away from her wedding. A year and a half ago her college boyfriend, Kyle Jymzyski, had proposed to her right after graduation. She had spent the last four months coming to and from our house from their apartment with bridesmaid dress samples, measurements, recipes, catering samples, DJ recommendations and quite frankly annoying the shit out of me. My mother is 100% Italian. So she and my Aunt Celeste have been completely enabling my sister’s bridezilla attitude because they just dote all over her.

                So here I was in a midst of meatballs and tulle in some sort matrimonial hell getting yelled at for eating a meatball. I held my hands up in mock surrender.

                “Yes ugly step sister.” I said in a snotty exaggerated tone. Her eyes turned black for a moment. Then I heard the ringtone from her cell phone that signified Kyle calling. It was the Captain and Tenille song: Love Will Keep Us Together. Gag me.

                “Hi baby.” Her voice cooed. “We’re just making meatballs. We’re testing recipes for the rehearsal dinner. What? Oh I miss you too snuggle bunny.”  Oh my god. I was going to throw up right there and then.

                “Okay. Well this was fun but I have to go to work.” I said, working quickly to escape while my sister was on the phone. Her bridezilla radar went off.

“Hold on a second schnookums.” She said sweetly before turning on me. “If you leave before I get a chance to measure your feet I will absolutely murder you.” Her voice came out in a subtle little hiss. I rolled my eyes back in my head giving out an exasperated sigh. I then proceeded to stretch my foot up to her face. She swatted my foot causing me to lose my balance and trip. I jumped up to sit on the counter.

“Why doesn’t Aaron have to do any of this?” I whined to my mother. Aaron is my older brother and Natalie’s paternal twin brother who lived about a half an hour away with his girlfriend and worked as the mayor’s personal assistant.

“Because boys are easy to dress. And with his sarcasm, he’s not really suitable to be around your sister.” My mom said, twisting up her big Italian curls and clipping them off her neck. I pouted.

 “Okay baby cakes. I’ll see you tonight. I love you too. No, I love you more. No really baby, I love you more. Okay. Okay. No. Awe. I’ll miss you too. Bye.” She cooed.    She clicked off her phone and put it down with a wistful sigh.

“No, I love you more, pancake bottom.” I said with my voice in a high mocking falsetto, “Jesus Christ Natalie. Are you twenty four or twelve?”

“If you were truly in love, you’d understand.” She snapped, straightening her veil and grabbing a foot measure thing like they use at the shoe store out of her purse.

“Why do you have that in your purse?” I asked in complete disbelief that she had just Mary Poppins-ed that out of her bag.

“Don’t worry about it.” She snarled shoving my foot onto the cold metal. A few minutes later after a debate of whether I could go barefoot at the wedding which ended in my sister crying, I extracted myself to go to work.