Sisters

As for Valentine celebrations, Brad was taking Annie to dinner that night. Tammy was amazed that John had asked her out for the evening. He had suggested they go to dinner and a movie, which sounded perfect to her, without seeming awkward or overly romantic to either of them, since they had just started dating. And Paul was planning to come down from Brown for the night to see Candy. Everyone had something to do except Sabrina, who was planning to stay home, and do some work. The others felt terrible when they left her. She was making herself a bowl of soup when Tammy went out, and felt guilty leaving her there alone.

“Don't be silly,” Sabrina reassured her. “I'll be fine.” She smiled encouragingly, and told Tammy how pretty she looked. And she had already told her how much she liked John. He was nice looking, but more than that, he seemed like an intelligent, kind man, with a lively mind. And he was as full of energy and bright ideas as Tammy, and worked in the same field. And she liked Paul Smith too. He was a breath of fresh air compared to the men she usually saw circling Candy, waiting to take advantage of her in some way. And she loved Brad. She told Annie how lovely she looked when she went out. Tammy had helped her dress, and Candy did her hair, and trimmed it a little again. She seemed absolutely elfin when Brad appeared. And he was bowled over by how beautiful she looked. He was obviously crazy about her, and Annie was visibly in love with him. Things seemed to be taking a serious turn.

By nine o'clock, Sabrina was alone, and she sat at the kitchen table, staring at her soup, thinking of Chris, and wondering how it had come to this. She had lost the man she had loved for nearly four years. She finally gave up and poured the soup down the sink. She couldn't eat, or work. All she could do was think of him, and all she missed about him. She hadn't heard a word from him since New Year's Eve. He had never called her again from the moment he left the house, with the engagement ring in his pocket that she had refused to accept.

She wandered around the living room for a while, tried sitting in the den and watching TV. She couldn't concentrate, and finally walked back up to her room and stared out the window as it began to snow, and then finally she couldn't stand it anymore. She needed to see him, if only just once more. She went back downstairs, put on her boots, grabbed a coat out of the closet, and walked toward his apartment in the snow. She buzzed the intercom downstairs and heard his voice for the first time in almost two months. Just hearing him was like the oxygen she had lacked for six weeks.

“Who is it?”

“It's me. Can I come up?”

There was a long pause, and then the buzzer sounded, which released the door. She pushed it and walked up the stairs to his apartment. He was standing in the doorway, frowning, in a sweater, jeans, and bare feet. Their eyes met for a long time as she looked at him and walked slowly toward him, and he stepped aside as she came through the door. As she walked in and looked around, nothing had changed, and neither had he. He was still the man she loved, but couldn't bring herself to marry.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her with a look of concern. She looked a mess, and didn't look well. “Are you okay?”

She turned to look at him sadly. “No, I'm not. Are you?” He shrugged in answer. It had been a miserable six weeks.

“Do you want something to drink?” he offered, and she shook her head. She was still cold, and sat down on the couch, wearing her coat. “Why are you here?” She didn't remind him that it was Valentine's Day. It was beside the point, for them at least, though not for her sisters, who were out with the men in their lives, even if newly arrived.

“I don't know why I'm here,” she said honestly. “I had to come. Everything's been so awful without you. I don't know what's wrong with me, Chris. I'm scared to death of marriage. It's not you, it's me. And here's my father marrying some bimbo, five minutes after my mother died. Why isn't he scared? He should be. Instead I am. I hate what marriage does to people after it goes wrong.”

“It doesn't always go wrong,” he said gently, as he sat down across from her, in a big leather chair he loved. He used to sit there for hours with the dog. “Sometimes it works.”

“Not often. And I guess those are the ones I never see. Do we have to get married? Isn't there something else we can do?”