Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [21]
Natalie was at Stanford during the time of Andrew, having finished up at Georgetown the year before. Since her near-death experience, she’d become only more precious to me, and my little sister continued to delight our family with her academic achievements. My own intellect was on the vague side, not counting American history… I was good at Trivial Pursuit and able to hold my own at cocktail parties, that sort of thing. Margaret, on the other hand, was razor sharp, scary intelligent. She’d graduated second from Harvard Law and headed up the criminal defense department at the firm where my dad was a partner, making him prouder than he could say.
Nat was a blend. Softly brilliant, quietly gifted, she chose architecture, a perfect mix of art, beauty and science. I talked to her at least a couple of times a week, e-mailed her daily and visited her when she opted to stay in California for the summer. How she loved hearing about Andrew! How delighted she was that her big sister had met The One!
“What does it feel like?” she asked one night during one of our phone calls.
“How does what feel?” I said.
“Being with the love of your life, silly.” I could hear the smile in her voice and grinned back.
“Oh, it’s great. It’s so… perfect. And easy, too, you know? We never fight, not like Mom and Dad.” Being different from my parents was a clear sign that Andrew and I were on the right track.
Nat laughed. “Easy, huh? But passionate, too, right? Does your heart beat faster when he comes into the room? Do you blush when you hear his voice on the phone? Does your skin tingle when he touches you?”
I paused. “Sure.” Did I feel those things? Sure, I did. Of course I did. Or I had, those dizzying new feelings having matured to something more… well, comfortable.
Seven months into the relationship, I moved into Andrew’s apartment in West Hartford. Three weeks later, we were watching Oz on HBO—okay, not the most romantic show, but still, we were cuddled together on the couch, and that was nice. Andrew turned to me and said, “I think we should probably get married, don’t you?”
He bought me a lovely ring. We told our families and chose Valentine’s Day, six months away, as our wedding day. My parents were pleased—Andrew seemed so solid and reliable, so trustworthy. He was a corporate lawyer, very steady work, very well paid, which put to ease my father’s worries that my teacher’s salary would render me eventually homeless. Andrew, an only child, was doted on by his parents, and while they weren’t quite as ecstatic as my parents, they were friendly enough. Margaret and he talked law, Stuart seemed to enjoy his company. Even Mémé liked him as much as she liked any human.
Only Natalie hadn’t met him, stranded out there at Stanford as she was. She spoke to Andrew on the phone when I called to tell her we were engaged, but that was it.
Finally, she came home. It was Thanksgiving, and when Andrew and I arrived at the family domicile, Mom greeted us at the door in her usual flurry of complaints about how early she’d had to get up to put the “damn bird” in the oven, how she’d dry-heaved stuffing it, how useless my father was. Dad was watching a football game and ignoring Mom, Stuart was playing the piano in the living room while Margaret read.
And then Natalie came flying down the stairs, arms outstretched, and grabbed me in a huge hug. “Gissy!” she cried.
“Hey, Nattie Bumppo!” I exclaimed, squeezing her hard.
“Don’t kiss me, I have a cold,” she said, pulling back. Her nose was red, her skin a little dry, she was clad in sweatpants and an old cardigan belonging to our father, and yet she still managed to look more beautiful than Cinderella at the ball, her silken blond hair tied up in a high ponytail, her clear blue eyes unaccented by makeup.
Andrew took one look at her and literally dropped the pie he was holding.
Of course, the pie plate was slippery. Pyrex, you know? And Nat’s face flushed that way because…well,