“Relax, boss.” Diego smiles. “It would’ve been worse if you were a snorer.”

“Yeah, right. Sorry anyway.” And with that, I get up. “I’m heading down for breakfast. Join us whenever you want.”

Even the thought of having to face my sure-to-be-angry sister can’t keep me in this room right now.

Weird.

At breakfast, Julia at least waits until after my first cup of coffee to punish me for the pizza.

I’m reaching for my third slice of toast when she snaps, “Shouldn’t you be watching how many carbs you eat at your age?” I’m still debating if she’s calling me fat, old, or both, when she adds, “I mean, after all that pizza last night.”

I stop buttering the toast to look at her. “I’m not the one getting married, so, no, I don’t need to go on a neurotic diet.”

To make my point, I take another generous slab of butter and spread it on my slice.

“Well, even if you’re not the one getting married”—she says it in a nasty, as if tone—“you still need to fit in your bridesmaid dress.”

“Are you really being this petty over pizza?”

My mom is not at the table, leaving only the male population to witness this exchange. My dad doesn’t seem to care; he’s used to our bickering. He’s reading the paper, face hidden behind it, while Paul and Diego are doing their best to stare at their plates, pretending they don’t exist.

“If you didn’t like dinner, you should’ve just said so, instead of being dishonest and eating pizza behind my back.”

“Dishonest? I was hungry, and I ordered pizza. Big deal! You want honesty? Your vegan cuisine sucks, as do all your other eating habits.”

“What other eating habits?”

I start talking in a mock shrill-posh voice. “No sugar, no dairy, no meat, no gluten, no salt…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be my maid of honor after all.”

“Ask another one of your friends with an eating disorder; I’m sure she’ll look stunning in her dress.”

“Girls…” My dad intervenes without lowering his paper, using his “enough” tone.

“Dad, she started it,” I say, realizing I’ve successfully reverted to being a sulky teenager.

Dad lowers the paper just a few inches and arches an eyebrow at me from behind his reading glasses.

“Fine,” I snap. “Take her side. It’s what you always do.” And with that, in true adolescent fashion, I leave my breakfast unfinished and storm upstairs to my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

Fourteen

Frosty the Snowman

When Diego joins me in my room, I’m pacing around it in circles, fuming with suppressed rage.

“That was an interesting breakfast,” he says.

“See what I have to put up with?” I rant. “How spoiled she is, and how my parents always take her side?”

“Your dad didn’t take anyone’s side.”

“You only say that because you can’t recognize the subtleties. And then, what did I do, anyway? I ordered a pizza. Big deal. It’s not like I forced her to eat fried chicken, so why should I eat tofu?”