Helping family is one thing. Not being taken seriously is another. When my sister left me with her daughter’s $250 birthday cake cost, I cleverly served her a sprinkled retribution.
Sisters return your shirt with juice stains. My bank card is borrowed and returned exhausted with a smile. But my sister pushed me too far this time.
My phone buzzed while I sorted clothing in my modest flat. I should have noticed Tessa’s name flashing on the screen as a warning. “Liana!
Great timing!” Her voice gleamed with her phony excitement when she wanted something big. I need your party-planning skills.”
My stomach dropped. “What skills?”
“Nia turns eight next weekend, and I want to throw her the party of the decade.
Remember the jump house, hired jester, and more! I chose the perfect Sunnyfield Park spot.”
I rubbed the cool window with my forehead. That sounds expensive, Teresa.”
“That’s where you enter, sis!” I need planning help.
Could you arrange the jester and cake? I’ll repay you after the party.”
My first caution should have been “right”. Right for Tessa was between never and cows flying.
But then I thought of Nia, my adorable, toothy niece who still believed in birthday miracles. What cake are we talking about? “Just something plain from Sugarbloom Bakery.”
Plain.
Sure. Shoulda known better. Three days later, I stared at Tessa’s messaged photo in Sugarbloom Bakery.
The dessert resembled royal food. Three layers of colorful sponge, pixie dust-like sparkles, and a custom dragon topper that probably cost more than my food budget. Felix the baker remarked, “This design will cost you $250,” pushing his glasses down his nose.
“Add $300 for the jester booking you mentioned.”
$550? My rent was due in 2 weeks. I called Tessa from the bakery parking lot.
“Tessa, this cake costs $250. “I cannot”
Yes, I know! Liana, look at Nia’s reaction when I showed her the picture.
She nearly yelled. This party will be her year’s highlight.”
“Fine. You’ll repay me by Friday.
Without excuses.”
“Promise! You’re the greatest sister!”
I returned inside and handed him my bank card with trembling hands after the call. Friday arrived like a debt collector.
But Tessa didn’t. I called her three times. Texted twice.
She replied at suppertime with a giggling emoji and four words: “Money’s tight, sis!”
A rage flared. I called her immediately. “What do you mean money’s tight?”
“Tight, silly!” She chuckled.
Look, party planning went nuts. Bank cards depleted. I’ll settle up with you later.
“Sometime? I spent $550 on your daughter’s party!”
“Be less dramatic. No kids, house payment, or real responsibilities.
You’ll manage.”
Words hit me like cold water. “Did you just…?”
I must leave. Make this house shine for Owen’s parents’ supper.
We’ll talk later!”
She hung up. I threw my phone into my couch with enough force to make the pillows bounce after staring at it until it turned dark. Another SMS message on Saturday morning made my coffee taste like dirt.
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