Page 63 of Most Likely to Deny Love (Yearbook #2)

MIA

I settled deeper into the couch cushions, my laptop balanced on my knees as I scrolled through the job listings I’d bookmarked.

The cursor hovered over the submit button on an application for a marketing director position at a boutique firm in Raleigh.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I read through my cover letter one final time.

This was it. The moment I stopped planning to leave Catalyst Digital and started doing something about it. All for love.

I let my gaze drift to the third bunch of flowers Jack had sent, my lips curving into a soft smile. There was no note with this one, but honestly, I didn’t need one. It was enough to know that he was thinking of me while he was off doing whatever it was he was doing.

The doorbell rang, shockingly loud in the quiet. I frowned. Who on earth could that be? Jack? Surely he would have phoned or texted first? Butterflies rioted in my stomach as I hastily saved my work and shoved to my feet, hurrying to the door and peering through the peephole.

I froze in shock at the sight that greeted me.

Not Jack, of course. But someone even more surprising.

Megan stood on my doorstep, shifting her weight from foot to foot with an enormous bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands.

A gift bag dangled from her wrist, and her face wore an expression I’d never seen before. Anxious. Almost vulnerable.

I stared through the peephole for another moment, my brain struggling to process this development. Megan didn’t just show up places. Megan scheduled. Megan planned. Megan certainly didn’t look nervous.

Taking a steadying breath, I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Hi.” Her voice came out small and strained.

“Hi.” I kept my tone polite but guarded, one hand still gripping the door handle. When she didn’t say anything, I added, “Well, this is unexpected.”

She held up the flowers, a massive arrangement of white roses and baby’s breath that probably cost her a pretty penny. “These are for you.”

I looked at the flowers, then back at her face. “Can I ask why?”

“Can I... can I come in?” Her fingers tightened on the stems. “Please?”

For a moment, I considered saying no. Considered making her have this conversation on my doorstep, if she wanted to have it at all. But despite everything that had happened between us, she was still my sister.

I stepped back, holding the door open wordlessly.

She murmured a quiet thank you as she followed me inside.

I closed the door and turned to face her, crossing my arms over my chest. “I suppose you want coffee.”

“If you don’t mind.”

I led her through to the kitchen, busying myself with the coffee maker, grateful for something to do with my hands. “You can put those in water if you want. There’s a vase in the cabinet above the fridge.”

Megan moved around the kitchen with careful steps, like she was afraid of breaking something. Or maybe like she was afraid I might ask her to leave. She found the vase and filled it with water, arranging the flowers with more attention than the task required.

The silence was becoming oppressive, so I had to think of something to say. “They’re beautiful.”

With her back still turned to me, she said, “They’re an apology.” Then a pause. “Or the beginning of one, anyway.”

I leaned against the counter, watching her continue to fuss with the flower arrangement. “Okay.”

She turned around, the gift bag still clutched in her hands. “I wanted to... I need to apologize. For how I’ve been. For what I said at the dress fitting. For...” She gestured helplessly. “For everything, really.”

I studied her face, looking for signs of manipulation or performance. But all I saw was genuine distress, the kind of raw emotion Megan usually worked very hard to hide.

“Go on,” I said quietly.

She took a shaky breath. “I know you probably think this is too little, too late. And maybe it is. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you walked out of that boutique, and I realized some things about myself that I don’t like very much.”

The coffee maker gurgled to life behind me, filling the silence. I waited for her to continue.

“Mom has been putting so much pressure on me about having the perfect wedding. Every vendor, every detail, every photo has to be absolutely flawless. And I let myself get caught up in it. I let myself think that you were somehow incompatible with that vision.” Her voice cracked slightly.

I poured two mugs of coffee, adding cream to both and gestured to the table. Once we were both seated, I said, “It’s not an excuse.”

She wrapped her hands around the mug like she was trying to warm herself. “No, it’s not. There is no excuse for being so rude to you. There’s no excuse for making you feel like you needed to change yourself to be in my wedding. There’s no excuse for any of it.”

The words hung heavily between us, more honest than any conversation we’d had in years.

“So what brought on this sudden epiphany?”

A flush crept up her neck. “Charles said I was being a dick.”

Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch. “Charles said that?”

“Charles never says anything critical. Ever. He’s like a golden retriever in human form.” She managed a weak smile. “When he told me I was treating you terribly and that he was ashamed of my behavior, I knew I’d really fucked up.”

I took a sip of my coffee, processing this. Charles had always seemed nice enough, but I’d never thought of him as someone who would stand up to Megan. Maybe I’d misjudged him.

Megan’s fingers traced the rim of her mug.

“I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since that day.

About how it all got so out of hand. About how I’ve treated you for, God, probably years.

And I realized that I want the perfect wedding, yes, but it can’t be perfect without my big sister standing beside me. ”

My throat tightened unexpectedly. When was the last time she’d called me her big sister?

“I talked to Mom too.” Her voice gained strength. “I told her that if she so much as side-eyes you at any wedding event, she’ll be banned from the whole thing.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “You threatened to ban Mom from your wedding?”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “I did. I meant it too. This is my wedding, and I want you there.”

“Holy shit, Megan.” The words escaped before I could stop them. “You actually stood up to Mom? About me?”

“I should have done it years ago.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, which irritated me. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to stay angry, stay protected behind the walls I’d built. But hearing Megan defend me, even belatedly, cracked something open in my chest.

Her own eyes grew bright. “I know I hurt you. I know saying sorry doesn’t fix it. But I’m hoping... I’m hoping you might consider giving me another chance. As your sister. As your friend.” Her voice broke completely. “Please, Mia. I can’t get married without you.”

I set my mug down carefully, my hands trembling slightly. Part of me wanted to say yes immediately, to close the distance between us and pretend that none of this had happened. But I couldn’t do that. Not yet.

“I’ll think about it,” I said finally.

Her face fell slightly, but she nodded. “That’s fair. More than fair, actually.”

“You need to understand how much it hurt.” My voice came out stronger now. “Not just the wedding stuff. Everything. The comparisons, the comments about my weight, making me feel like I was somehow less than you. I can’t just get over that easily.”

Tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks. “I know. I’m so sorry, Mia. And honestly, I’m sick of the way Mom sets us against each other. I’m sick of having to work so hard to be perfect so that Mom doesn’t pick on me like she picks on you.”

I stared at her. “That’s, uh, that’s quite the revelation.”

“Like I said, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

My anger began to soften around the edges, making room for something that felt dangerously close to understanding. How long had we been seeing each other all wrong?

“I really will think about it,” I said, and meant it. “But things have to be different.”

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “They will be. I promise. I brought you something else too.” She held out the gift bag, her hands shaking slightly.

I accepted the bag and peered inside, pulling out a small framed photo.

It was one I’d forgotten existed, from when we were kids.

Maybe I was eight and she was five. We were in the backyard, both covered in mud, grinning at the camera with our arms thrown around each other.

We looked genuinely happy. Like sisters who actually liked each other.

Megan’s voice was barely a whisper. “I found it in Mom’s old photo albums. I remembered that day. We’d been digging for buried treasure in the garden and we found an old bottle cap. We were so excited, we thought we’d struck gold.”

I traced the glass with my finger, remembering. “You insisted we split the treasure fifty-fifty.”

“I was very concerned with fairness back then.”

“You were.” I looked up at her, seeing echoes of that five-year-old in her adult face. “What happened to us, Megan?”

“I don’t know.” Fresh tears spilled over. “I think Mom had a lot to do with it. It wasn’t until all this wedding stuff happened that I realized how bad she really is. But I want to find our way back. If you’ll let me.”

I set the photo on the counter, my chest tight with emotions “I said I’ll think about it. I mean that.”

She nodded, gathering her purse with trembling hands. “That’s all I can ask for.”