Fifteen

Fifteen

17 days until the wedding

Beautiful is the first word that comes to mind. It's not like when you see a flower poking through the sidewalk cracks. That's a momentary collision with beauty. That's a brief appreciation of the beauty in the world. A beauty that is always momentarily remembered, but a majority of the time forgotten.

Flowers are always recognized for their beauty, but that specific flower, on that specific day, is never truly remembered because, most of the time, you can always find another flower that's equally beautiful on another equally random day.

Aubrey's dress is beautiful, but not because it's a flower bursting into life on a random day when you need something to hold onto. Instead, Aubrey's dress is a lifetime of beauty, a lifetime of flowers bursting through the sidewalk that have brought her to this very moment.

It's a champagne colored ballgown with a lace bodice that seeps its floral design in patches along the train. The billowy chiffon skirt is any princesses dream, and the open back reinforces the idea that everything is not always what is seems.

In this dress, Aubrey is the flower bursting through the sidewalk, catching the world off guard, and captivating everyone in her path.

It's the last fitting two weeks before the wedding.

Aubrey and I also haven't spoken in two weeks.

That seems like nothing compared to when she was in college, and would be away at months at a time, but at least then we'd acknowledge the other existed by sending each other funny pictures, or a random joke every now and then.

This is the first time we've ever been directly and consistently in each other's presence without saying a word.

It'd be so easy to break the silence. To text her about the cute toddler I stood behind in the grocery store the other day, or look up at the dinner table one night and mention how I was run down by yet another biker the other day at Starbucks. I've refrained from mentioning either though.

I suppose at this point I've shut everyone out. I've kept my words minimal, my facial expressions neutral, and even opt for a simple nod, or shake of my head when explicable.

That's why my mom knows something's up.

Every time we lock eyes, her lips part, and I await the inevitable question. But then her lips clamp shut seconds later, and she never asks.

At first, I couldn't help but think that if Aubrey was visibly upset, everyone would be banging down my door, and demanding to know what I did. And I can't help but think that because I'm the one wearing the frown no one cares.

But I know that's not true. I even cursed myself for thinking such a pitiful thought because the question has been burning in my mother's eyes these last two weeks, and shown in the way she keeps squeezing my shoulders every time she walks past me in the house, or momentarily twirling my hair as I sit next to her on the couch.

The only reason no one's busting down Aubrey and I's doors is because we aren't young kids punching each other's boobs, or teenagers screeching across the house. We are adults now, and we are expected to come to terms on our own.

However, the question that's been burning in Aubrey's eyes these last two weeks in the few fleeting times we've made eye contact, in the few fleeting times I've seen her, is what's prevented me from coming to terms with everything. It's what's kept me trapped in this bubble of self-pity and despising the general world.

I despise myself for letting days go by and letting my mind be consumed by the notion that the world sucks when I know my world is way better than most. When I know things could be so much worse.

But I can't help it.

Every once and awhile you read something, you watch something, or you even hear something that not only makes you question the way of the world, but also everything you've come to know about it, and yourself. Who you are and how you got here. Why you are here when you could be anywhere. Why you are you and not someone else. It's a serial spiral of tragic thoughts that take you around and around until you're still left with this feeling that you should be letting it all go, yet you can't, and you don't know why.

I'm pitying myself not only because my sister's words pierced through the person I thought I was, but also because I know I am better than the zombie of a person I've been acting like.

My anger is fleeting.

My anger is usually fleeting.

Yet this time, I can't let it go.

I'm not burning with it every second. It's become an afterthought.

I'll be sitting there on the couch, laughing at the actors on my television screen, but as soon as I realize I'm smiling, my sister's words echo within my mind, and everything stills again. Or I'll be sitting outside eating lunch with my grandma while Cluckie runs around the backyard. I'll relish in the sun as it beams down on my face, trying to enjoy its warmth before fall can take some of it away. But then fall reminds me of the essentially fall wedding I will be attending for my older sister who I'm still not talking to, and who still hasn't even tried talking to me.

"I still think a nice fur shall will complete the look."

"It's a fall wedding." My mom laughs away my grandma's comment.

"I think it's absolutely gorgeous and you look gorgeous and everything will be gorgeous," Sasha continues to gush as she flings her hands around, and the gold bangles on her arms jingle with the effort.

"You look like a model," Brenna adds. "You should be the one in all those damn magazine ads."

"Definitely." The tailor agrees as he loosely coils the measuring tape around his neck.

I watch as Aubrey glances over her shoulder in the mirror. She's now the one on the pedestal as she admires the lace details on the open back of her gown. Even though we haven't spoken, I'll admit that she's glowing. Her happiness is radiating throughout the entire room, and once again, I despise myself for allowing one single argument to ruin this once in a lifetime moment. But when Aubrey and I lock eyes in the mirror, I immediately duck my head down. At this point, it's almost a reflex.

I jump back a little when my mom initially goes to wrap her arm around my shoulders, but I send her a small smile in an apology before leaning against her as she squeezes me closer to her side. My mom's eyes remain on me for another second before they return to my sister, while my eyes remain on my flip flops. The dark pink nail polish on my toe nails is chipping slightly, and I can't even remember when I painted them that color.

"It totally suits you," my mom coos before she uses her other hand to wipe at her nose. When she gives my shoulders another squeeze, I know for sure that she's trying to hold back her tears. I also know that the dark red nail polish on her toes was painted at the salon a few days ago.

"You look stunning." Brenna clasps her hands together as she continues to admire my sister, and the mint color on her toe nails matches some of the jewels in her sandals.

"I can't believe this is happening. Little Aubrey and her chubby cheeks." Grandma Josephine's cheetah print penny loafers stand beside Aubrey on the pedestal now as she squeezes my older sister's face between her hand.

"You and your chubby cheeks are going to be glowing on you're wedding day for sure." Sasha, who always enjoys our grandmother's comments, goes to fluff out the back of Aubrey's dress. Her toe nails aren't painted, but she has a rainbow string bracelet around her ankle that stands out against the black flip flops she's adorning.

"Avery."

My head snaps up, and I come face to face with my sister's burning eyes. The question in them has nothing to do with the tension these last few weeks, or even the harsh words she threw that day.

Since we got to this fitting, praises have been thrown at her left and right. She deserves them all, and I thought they outweighed the fact that I've been completely silent. But now there's this apprehension in my sister's eyes that dims the light she's been beaming.

I'm reminded of the fact that she's my older sister. I'm reminded of the fact that in a little more than two weeks she will be getting married. I'm reminded of the fact that we are no longer kids clopping down the stairs in our mom's heels, or teenagers who have movie nights every Sunday because we are fortunate to only have school as a responsibility.

My eyes sting as I recognize that flower bursting through the sidewalk. As I recognize the strength of time, and the way it never surrenders. And as I stare back at my older sister as she stands up on that pedestal, wearing her not so white, but beautiful dress, I know that this is not a complete surrender, but I gladly accept the white flag.

"You look beautiful," I finally say, and the tears that flood into my eyes show just how much I mean the words.

My sister's eyes glaze over for a quick second, and she wrinkles her nose in response. She twists her nose from side to side before she repeats the motion with her head, and just like that she's smiling again as she gives us another twirl from the pedestal.

This is real life, and although it terrifies me, there is a beauty in the way it transforms us all.