sisters

She sat across the table from me, and lamented about the stepsisters.
Only one of them lives nearby.

The mean one.

"She soooo wanted to come see you," she says, in her melted chocolate voice. It is the kind of sticky you can't wash off. "Jilly was so disappointed, but see, she has this back injury. . . " and she launches into a detailed description of the event, and the lawsuit, and whatever else she can say to turn her story into truth.

But it does not work.

The princess looks down at her napkin and lets out a big breath. The Jester's eyes lock with mine. He smirks slyly and shakes his head - imperceptible to anyone but me.

Her excuse revealed everything.

Because before we even left, they both asked me this: "Do you think we will get to see the stepsisters?"


I think for a moment. I know they won't be there, and am searching for an explanation. "They won't come," I say, "because even though they are grown-ups now, they are still ashamed of what they did when they were younger. They cannot accept responsibility - they make excuses."

"Even now? They were just kids."

"They were 13 and 15. They were old enough to know. Even if we DO meet Crazy, the sisters will not come. She will tell us they wanted to, but there will be an excuse - of some sort. Probably that they are sick, injured or having some magnificent life experience that mere mortals can only dream of. Trust me guys - they won't be there."

Both of them give me "whatever" looks - and I don't say another word.

Don't have to.

Because when we sit at the restaurant, and she tells us that story - they know. We all know.

The other two are in South America, at a private resort.

Imagine that.