I’ve gotten what I wanted and it didn’t always work out for me. It took going to Europe, for free, to realize that I’m never going to be a memorable artist. And while I was there, my big sister Beth, who I’ve shared a room with since I was born, died. I skyped her two days before it happened; she told me that it was better if I finished my trip, because she still believed in who I told her I might become someday. She didn’t tell me if she would be there when I got home.

When I found out Beth had passed away, I didn’t know what to think. Who would believe in my dreams now? At least Beth’s favorite sister, our big sister Jo, got to be there. Marmee told me: Jo was holding Beth’s hand when she died. She felt the last heartbeats in that tiny wrist, and it was her lip gloss the mortician left on the back of her hand. The first night I was alone in our room (it’s nobody’s room now) I drew what I thought their hands must have looked like. When I gave the picture to Jo, she cried against me like she’s never, ever done before. I held her for the first time.

It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it? But I married Jo’s best friend. I married him in a tiny chapel in France, the day before we flew in for Beth’s funeral. I’m here in New York because he had an important meeting with his grandfather’s firm. And while we’re here, we’re going to track down the guy that Jo’s in love with, the one who constantly “likes” her poetry posts, and I’m going to put those people skills to good use. I’m not afraid to do a little shipping.