Helping kin is one thing. Being treated like a fool is another. After my sister stuck me with her daughter’s $250 bill for a birthday cake, I got clever and served her a piece of payback… with sprinkles.
Some sisters borrow your shirt and return it with a juice stain. Mine borrows my bank card and returns it drained with a grin. But this time, my sister pushed me too far.
I was sorting clothes in my tiny apartment when my phone pinged. Tessa’s name flashed on the screen like a danger sign I should’ve noticed. “Liana!
Great timing!” Her voice sparkled through the speaker with that fake cheer she used when she wanted something huge. “I need your party-planning skills.”
My stomach sank. “What kind of skills?”
“Nia’s turning eight next weekend, and I want to throw her the bash of the decade.
You know… jump house, hired jester, the works! I already picked the perfect place at Sunnyfield Park.”
I pressed my forehead against the cold window. “Tessa, that sounds costly.”
“That’s where you come in, sis!
I need help with planning. Could you book the jester and handle the cake order? I’ll pay you back right after the bash.”
The word “right” should’ve been my first warning.
With Tessa, right usually meant somewhere between never and when cows soar. But then I thought of Nia, my sweet, toothy niece who still believed in birthday hopes and wonders. “What kind of cake are we talking about?”
“Oh, just something plain from Sugarbloom Bakery.”
Plain.
Sure. I should’ve known better. Three days later, I stood in Sugarbloom Bakery staring at a picture Tessa had messaged me.
The cake looked like something from a royal feast. Three layers of colorful sponge, shiny sparkles flowing down like pixie dust, and a custom dragon topper that probably cost more than my food budget. “This design will cost you $250,” said Felix, the baker, pushing his glasses down his nose.
“Plus the jester booking you mentioned… that’s another $300.”
$550? My rent was due in two weeks. I called Tessa from the bakery parking lot.
“Tessa, this cake costs $250. I cannot…”
“I know, I know! But Liana, you should see Nia’s face when I showed her the picture.
She practically screamed. This bash will be the highlight of her whole year.”
“Fine. But you’re paying me back by Friday.
No excuses.”
“Promise! You’re the best sister ever!”
The call ended, and I walked back inside to hand over my bank card with shaky hands. Friday came like an unwanted debt collector.
But Tessa did not. I called her three times. Texted twice.
Finally, she answered around supper time with a giggling emoji and four words: “Money’s tight, sis!”
My temper flared. I dialed her number right away. “Tessa, what do you mean money’s tight?”
“Tight, silly!” She laughed.
“Look, the party planning got crazy. My bank cards are drained. I’ll settle up with you sometime, okay?”
“Sometime?
I paid $550 for your daughter’s bash!”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like you have kids or a house payment or any real duties. You’ll manage.”
The words hit me like cold water.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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