Gavin raises his arms at his sides as he nears us. It’s a gesture that makes me feel part of this inclusive family, yet the action also makes Gavin, who is already massively built, larger. His frame so encompasses the small hallway that I draw my arms and legs into my body in order to give him more room. Each of us responds to Gavin in our own way, but I always withdraw because I am the youngest, the lowest and the weakest.
“This is important to Mom and Dad,” says Gavin. “And if you don’t get in there and say a few words, you’re going to disappoint both of them. Think of how upset you’ll be later tonight when the guilt eats at you.”
A lump forms in my throat and my lungs tighten. Gavin’s right. I hate disappointing Mom and Dad, and I don’t handle guilt well. But at least if I choose to bolt, I won’t run the risk of humiliating myself in public.
“Rach,” Gavin pleads. “This is important to them.”
“To us,” adds Jack.
I inhale deeply to keep from dry heaving. Mom and Dad have thrown this event during the week between Christmas and New Year’s for the past sixteen years. It means the world not only to them, but also to Gavin and Jack. My strongest allies, Ethan and West, both lower their heads. For the three of us, this night reminds us why we’re alive, why Mom had more kids. She longed for another girl.
West shuffles his feet. “Breathe through it, okay. Look at me or Ethan while you talk.”
Ethan shrugs one shoulder. “Or look at Gavin and pretend he’s grown antlers to match that obnoxiously large snout of his.”
Gavin flips Ethan off and soon my brothers toss insults like athletes toss balls. I don’t want to give a speech. My brothers see me as weak, and maybe I am, but how do I make them understand I have no control over the panic that consumes me? “Why me? Why not one of you?”
My questions stop the flurry of insults. The four of them exchange long glances. I know the answer, but if I have to do this, then someone has to admit it out loud.
“Because,” says Gavin. “You’re the one Mom wanted.”
No, I’m not, but I’m the best replacement Dad could give her. I close my eyes and try to find some sort of center. I’ll do it. I’ll give the speech. If I’m lucky, the worst thing that will happen is that I’ll stutter and shake my way through the performance. Why did Mom and Dad have to invite West and Ethan’s friends this year? Just why? “I’m never going to be kissed.”
I open my eyes to see my brothers gaping at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“You don’t kiss boys,” says West. “Boys shouldn’t be anywhere near you. Guys only want one thing, Rach, and it ain’t conversation. I should know.” He waves off the subject in frustration, then shakes his head as he speaks again. “Why are we even talking about this? You aren’t seeing anyone.”
“Ah, hell,” mumbles Jack. “We’re having the sex talk with my baby sister.”
“Is she dating?” Gavin demands of West and Ethan. “She can’t be dating. Now we have to beat the snot out of some horny teenager. You should have told me this was going on.”
“Make them stop,” I whisper to Ethan. Along with the dread of speeches and vomiting, I’m also dying of embarrassment.
“She’s not dating!” West shudders as if spiders cover him. “That’s just sick, Rach. Don’t talk like that. Ever. Again.”
Gavin sends me a glare clearly meant to warn me off from kissing and dating boys before he heads for the main ballroom. The look is lost on me as either of those things happening would require a guy first showing interest in my general direction.
Jack and West follow Gavin, both mumbling about having to beat up boys. Ethan locks an arm around my neck and pushes me forward. “Two sentences. Three tops.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not the one that has to stand in front of hundreds of people. Each of them hanging on my every said and unsaid word. The adults’ eyes judging my shaking hands and quavering voice. Anyone age eighteen or below will giggle as they remember my past failure involving a crowd.
With each step, my knees tremble as if they’re going to buckle and a cold sweat breaks out along the nape of my neck. My stomach lurches and I clap a hand over my mouth. As I fall back against the wall, Ethan’s eyes widen with concern. My gaze flickers to our brothers and he jumps in front of me, blocking their view.
“Give me a sec with her,” he calls out. “I promise she won’t run.”
“Ethan,” I warn, the moment I hear the doors to the ballroom click shut.
Ethan presses his hand into my back, edges me into the women’s bathroom and locks the door behind him. I drop my shoes and they clatter against the floor of the empty restroom. I stumble and trip over my big, fluffy dress and barely catch the toilet. Water runs in the sink behind me and Ethan approaches when I’m able to breathe for thirty seconds without retching.
He hands me a cold, wet paper towel. “Was there blood?”
I wipe my face gingerly. “No. Don’t tell Mom or Dad, okay? Or anyone else.”