“I should be offended you don’t recognize me, but by the slur in your words, I’m assuming you’re drunk—or, more likely, hungover, given the time, so I forgive you. It’s your dear younger sister.”

“Kassandra,” I whisper.

“Yep, the one and only.”

“What do you want?”

“Where are you?”

“In Mexico.”

“Mexico, where?”

“In a honeymoon suite somewhere.”

“So it’s true, you crashed Amelia’s wedding?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“You two are the gossip of Chicago. How is she?”

“Blissfully sleeping and not talking to an annoying sister.”

“She doesn’t have a sister. Why do you sound so grumpy, anyway?”

“I’m suffering.”

“More like you’re wasted. Did you get drunk out of solidarity?”

“No, I have my own problems.”

“What problems?”

I’m still too drunk to have brain-to-mouth filters, so I just say it.

“Jake got married yesterday.”

Silence on the line. I relish the pause. By the time Kassie speaks, I’m almost asleep again.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I half-mumble, half-yawn something unintelligible.

“So you’re in Mexico. You went with Amelia on her honeymoon. You’re both sad, heartbroken, and drunk. I’m coming over before you two commit suicide. Give me the name of your hotel.”

“I’m not giving you anything.”

“Gemma Cecelia Dawson.” This sounds even more like our mom.

“You’re the younger sister; you don’t get to Gemma-Cecelia-Dawson me.”

“Yes, I do. Because the older sister’s acting worse than a pubescent teen. Out with the hotel name.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“What did we send you to Law School for? Use your brains, Gemma. Search for a towel, a pad, or something with the name of the hotel on it.”

“You didn’t send me to Law School. Hold on…”

I crawl back to the side of the bed, grope the nightstand for a notepad, and read the engraved name aloud,

“Las Ventanas al Paraiso, Cabo San Lucas…”

“Cabo, uh? Cool. How do you spell bentanas?”

“What did we send you to UCSD for if you can’t even spell windows in Spanish?”

“You didn’t send me anywhere. Okay, I’ve taken the name down. How long are you staying?”

“Two weeks.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there in two days, and I’ll bring a friend.”

“Wait, are you seriously coming over here? Don’t you have to study or something? Isn’t it too expensive?”

“I can take a break from studying. And it’s not Spring Break; flights from San Diego to Cabo are pretty cheap.”

“Is your friend a she?”

“Yeah, why?”

“We don’t want any testosterone around. This honeymoon is a testosterone-free zone.”

“See yah in two days, Gem.”

“Whatever.” I hang up, climb back into bed and pass out.

***