Names My Sisters Call Me Read online

  The events and characters in this book are fictitious. Certain real locations and public figures are mentioned, but all other characters and events described in the book are totally imaginary.

  Copyright © 2008 by Megan Crane

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  5 Spot

  Hachette Book Group USA

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.5-spot.com.

  First eBook Edition: April 2008

  ISBN: 978-0-446-53647-9

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About the Author

  5 Names Your Sister Calls You When She Thinks You Can’t Hear Her

  PRAISE FOR

  MEGAN CRANE’S NOVELS

  Names My Sisters Call Me

  “Funny, charming, and ultimately touching . . . An honest look at the way family, both fiercely loyal and deeply flawed, affects how we see ourselves and who we choose to love. Using humor, warmth, and a great eye for the intricacies of life, Crane draws you into this story of being lost in the midst of family confusions, then finding oneself.”

  —Heather Swain, author of Luscious Lemon

  “Crane’s newest book is just plain fun . . . a funny, smart rendering of the exquisite tenderness that sets in once the engagement is announced . . . For all of us looking back and for the legions of young women who’ve not yet had the pleasure of full-throttle wedding jitters.”

  —Sheila Curran, author of Diana Lively Is Falling Down

  Frenemies

  “Brilliant . . . hugely enjoyable . . . It’s romantic, funny, intelligent, believable, and gripping.”

  —Marian Keyes, bestselling author of Angels

  “Megan Crane perfectly captures an underlying truth about the complexities of female relationships.”

  —Diana Peterfreund, author of Secret Society Girl

  “Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and Frenemies right on your nightstand.”

  —Cara Lockwood, national bestselling author of I Do, But I Don’t

  “Addictive, compelling . . . I simply couldn’t put Frenemies down.”

  —Johanna Edwards, bestselling author of The Next Big Thing

  “Four Stars! Jam-packed with hilarious one-liners and amusing scenarios . . . very satisfying.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine

  “With a gift for creating characters with enough ‘everywoman’ qualities to make them realistic and enough quirkiness to keep them interesting, Crane reveals the sometimes tenuous, but more often ironclad, bonds of friendship through sharp dialogue.”

  —Today’s Diet & Nutrition magazine

  “Enjoyable and insightful.”

  —NightsAndWeekends.com

  “RATING 5 out of 5! I loved Frenemies . . . Even minor characters are brilliantly realized and entertaining. And I haven’t even mentioned the gorgeous Henry (swoon).”

  —Trashionista.com

  “A great beach read, or a great book to tuck into your briefcase.”

  —AllThingsGirl.com

  “A fresh, upbeat read . . . with tart, snappy dialogue, a keen eye for detail, and mordant wit.”

  —Martha O’Connor, author of The Bitch Posse

  “An illuminating and extremely entertaining portrait of a woman who makes the leap from drama queen to mature adult.”

  —Karin Gillespie, author of Bet Your Bottom Dollar

  “[A] smooth, skillfully crafted tale . . . the ultimate girlfriend book.”

  —Berta Platas, author of Cinderella Lopez

  “A witty and engaging tale . . . will have you laughing out loud.”

  —Stacey Ballis, author of Room for Improvement and Inappropriate Men

  “A fun and frothy look at friendship, love, and growing up . . . insightful and often hilarious.”

  —Jen Coburn, author of The Queen Gene and The Wife of Reilly

  Everyone Else’s Girl

  “Amusing, heartfelt, and emotionally sophisticated.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Megan Crane rules! You won’t want to stop reading until you’ve devoured every delicious word.”

  —Meg Cabot, author of the Princess Diary series

  “A poignant, funny read that I just could not put down.”

  —Rendezvous

  “Excellent . . . an entertaining read you will thoroughly enjoy.”

  —BestsellersWorld.com

  “Laugh-out-loud . . . honest, romantic, and witty.”

  —RoundtableReviews.com

  “Shines with reality and drama, all developed through detailed characters and situations . . . Provides both food for thought and head-nodding-agreement humor.”

  —BookLoons.com

  “A snappy read . . . a funny, engaging novel.”

  —FreshFiction.com

  English as a Second Language

  “[A] very funny, from-the-heart debut.”

  —Melissa Senate, author of The Solomon Sisters Wise Up

  “An engrossing, intelligent read never lacking in drama or humor, with a well-paced plot and enjoyable characters.”

  —Library Journal

  “A rollicking good time . . . Cheers to Megan Crane.”

  —Jennifer O’Connell, author of Bachelorette #1

  “Breezy . . . an accurate take on twenty-somethings who thought adult life began after college.”

  —Booklist

  “Entertaining.”

  —ExclusiveMagazine.com

  “Uproarious, fast-paced fun . . . While the plots and subplots are fantastic, the cast of characters is magnificent . . . Grab a pint, get comfortable, and prepare yourself for the time of your life! Crane is definitely an author to keep an eye on.”

  —MyShelf.com

  “A tale that will ring true for anyone who’s ever faced that scary task of deciding what on earth you want to do with your life.”

  —King Features Weekly Service

  “A lighthearted look at growing up and finding your place in the world . . . an enjoyable summer read!”

  —BookLoons.com

  “Will keep readers busily turning the pages . . . Anyone who’s ever been through grad school, or their twenties, should recognize themselves here.”

  —TheRomanceReadersConnection.com

  “A breathless, gossipy read that you’ll giggle your way through. When it comes to love we’re not so different, whichever side of the pond is your natural home!”

  —Carole Matthews, author of Bare Necessity

  ALSO BY MEGAN CRANE

  English as a Second Language

  Everyone Else’s Girl

  Frenemies

  This book is for
your sister.

  And for you.

  Acknowledgments

  I am running out of superlatives for my wonderful agent, Julie Barer, who took an unwieldy draft of this novel and worked all kinds of magic on it. Which is just in a day’s work for the greatest agent in the world!

  I feel constantly and increasingly lucky to be part of such a fantastic team at Grand Central Publishing. I don’t know what I’d do without Karen Kosztolnyik, who continues to edit my books into such terrific shape—and is so much fun to work with! Or Elly Weisenberg, who continues to promote them so beautifully. Thanks also to Caryn Karmatz-Rudy, Gina Di Meglio, Miriam Parker, Mari Okuda, the amazing art department, and Celia Johnson, not to mention everyone else at GCP, for working so hard to make the books so good. And even more thanks to Kim Dower of Kim-from-LA for working wonders with me!

  Thanks especially to Liza Palmer for everything in general and a certain critique in particular. And to Jane Porter for being one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.

  Thanks to all my readers, for your e-mails and blog comments, or just for reading my books. I love you all!

  Thanks again to Kim McCreight, Josie Torielli, and Louise Austin. And to my family, for their staunch support, sometimes involving the distribution of postcards.

  And to Jeff Johnson, as ever. No story is worth telling unless I tell it to you first.

  If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.

  —George Bernard Shaw

  Chapter One

  When Lucas went down, right there on the sidewalk outside my sister’s place in Chestnut Hill, my first thought was: ice.

  It was February in Philadelphia. Ice was everywhere, along with slush, gray skies, the threat of more snow, and my personal and only slightly hysterical worry that this would be the year that winter refused to give way to spring, leaving us stuck in some Narnia-ish winter forevermore.

  Lucas and I had skidded along down Germantown Avenue, from the train toward my sister’s place, using our boot heels as impromptu ice skates. We’d attempted to avoid careening into the cute little shop windows, and I’d shared my fears of Narnia with Lucas, complete with my suspicion that the White Witch could be played to perfection by my sister Norah.

  My boyfriend had just hit the concrete right in front of me, and this was what I thought about? Narnia and a mixture of frustration with my sister combined with guilt about my frustration? What if he required medical attention? I felt ashamed of myself.

  “Oh my God,” I said, throwing both hands out as if to catch him, though it was already too late. “Are you okay?”

  Which was when I noticed that he was grinning up at me, which was a good indicator that hospitalization wasn’t required after all.

  And that he was actually on one knee.

  “Oh my God,” was my brilliant response.

  “I love you, Courtney,” Lucas said, as if I’d said something brilliant. Or even coherent. “I’ve loved you since the day you sat next to me in that café and made up better headlines for the Sunday New York Times.”

  “That was three months after we started dating,” I pointed out, as I had many times before when he brought up that morning in Center City near my old apartment. And I continued with the usual script, despite the clearly unusual circumstances. It was habit. “What was I before that? Just a fling?”

  It felt strange to stand there towering over him, when it was normally the other way around, so I knelt down to face him, expecting the cold and wet to seep through my jeans in seconds. The funny thing was, I didn’t much care when it did.

  “I suspected I loved you before,” Lucas continued, only the slightest hint of longsufferingness in his voice—for effect. “But that was when I knew. Kind of like right now, when you’re interrupting me in the middle of my romantic proposal. Moments like this one make me realize not just that I love you but that we must be perfect for each other, because first of all, I think it’s cute, and more importantly, I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Yes,” I whispered, reaching over to hold his face between my mittened hands. I thought about the years we’d been together, and how bright they seemed when compared to the years that came before. How bright everything seemed when he was near. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  “I haven’t asked you to marry me,” Lucas retorted. His gray eyes were calm and gleaming, all at once, and I wanted to look at nothing else, ever again.

  “Well, hurry up then,” I said. “Any minute now Norah’s going to look out the window and assume we’ve finally gone crazy. Because most people don’t propose on the street five seconds before an annoying family dinner, you know.”

  Lucas laughed and took my hands between his. He kissed each one and then let them go.

  “I wanted to do this right smack in the middle of our life, because I love our life,” he said. “I want our marriage to be a celebration of our life together, not something outside it.”

  He reached into his pocket and drew out a small box.

  And that was when everything got real in a hurry. I was aware of a hundred things, all at once.

  I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. As in, to me, right then and there. I felt my heart thump against my ribs as I stared at the box in his hand, small and black and shaped to contain only one possible item.

  I wasn’t sure I was breathing.

  In my fantasies, and I’d had a lot of them, this moment was usually accompanied by cinematic landscapes, orchestras, and possibly choirs of angels.

  I’d seen so many films, and read so many books, that I felt sort of flung out of my own body as I stared at the velvet box Lucas held out to me. As if I were sitting in a theater somewhere watching this version of The Proposal. Except the role normally played by the wispy Hollywood actress du jour was now being played by me. Instead of the romantic, gauzy sort of dress I’d imagined wearing while being knelt in front of, I was dressed to battle the Philly elements in jeans, boots, and a warm peacoat. To say nothing of my hat, scarf, and mittens. I’d imagined a rolling summer meadow with an orchestra of songbirds. Instead, there were minivans swishing along the suburban street, an obviously mentally challenged jogger in far too few clothes, and the general grim winter cacophony of the East Coast all around us. A cold street below and the threat of freezing rain from above. It was the last place in the world I would have expected a marriage proposal.

  It was perfect.

  “Courtney,” Lucas said, never looking away from me. “Marry me.”

  I reached past the velvet box and the glorious, gleaming ring nestled inside it, and kissed him on his delicious, perfect mouth.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I know you do,” Lucas replied in the same whisper. “But now is the time to say ‘yes.’ There’s a whole set routine to these things, Court. You’re messing up my flow.”

  I loved his teasing tone, and that tilt of his head. As if he was proud and serious and thrilled, all at once.

  “How would you know?” I teased him right back. “You’ve never proposed to anyone else.”

  “I might have. I’m very mysterious. You don’t know everything.” He tugged my left hand mitten off. Then he slipped the ring from the jeweler’s box and very carefully slid it onto my hand, where it fit perfectly and sparkled, brightening the dim afternoon all around us.

  “It’s perfect,” I breathed, and then we were beaming at each other and kissing.

  I eased back from a kiss and held him close in a hug that felt like it should go on forever. Like it could somehow encapsulate everything that had happened since that fateful night at a party I hadn’t really wanted to go to in the outskirts of Philadelphia, and found him there, almost as if he’d been waiting for me. Like it could embrace all of our past and the future we’d already started knitting together between us.

  It was a really good hug.

  Which only ended when the door at the top of the steps opened and we both turned, still gr
inning foolishly at each other.

  “Why are you causing a scene outside my house?” my sister Norah demanded, in the same slightly scandalized, authoritative tone I’d heard her use on her university students when they asked stupid questions. “Do you want someone to call the cops?”

  “Oh,” I said, gazing up at her, and then back down at the ring, cold and resplendent on my hand. “Um.” It was like I looked at the ring and became hypnotized. I knew the appropriate words to use but couldn’t seem to form them on my tongue. I looked at Lucas for help.

  He seemed to glow as he helped me to my feet.

  “Courtney and I are getting married,” he told Norah, his voice sounding almost formal. I felt myself flush. Married was such an adult word. It carried so much weight.

  “Well,” Norah said, her voice much smoother. Maybe even pleased. “That’s wonderful news.” She smiled, and then looked at me. “And about time, if you ask me.”

  “No one did,” I muttered, immediately reduced to behaving like a child. It took exactly one sentence from my bossy big sister. But Lucas squeezed my hand to keep me quiet, and we walked inside.

  Norah led the way into her house, calling out the news like the town crier. And suddenly there was commotion, as my family crowded around us in the living room. I was still tugging my arms out of my coat sleeves as my mother rushed up to embrace me.

  “I’m so happy!” she cried, and I breathed in deeply as her familiar scent enveloped me, a combination of shampoo and cold cream, and, sometimes, the faintest hint of perfume. “My baby’s getting married!”

  Across the room, I heard Lucas talking about his secret ring-buying excursions with Norah’s husband, Phil.

  “I actually cut the piece of string, and measured her rings,” Lucas said, demonstrating with his hands and catching my eye as he said it. “Just like they tell you to do it in the magazines.”

  “So it’s a surprise?” Phil asked, smiling in his affable way. “Norah and I picked hers out together.”

  “It’s a complete surprise,” I said, fanning out the fingers of my left hand.

  Which wasn’t entirely true. I would have had to have been asleep in my own relationship not to know how serious it had been for some time, and I hadn’t been asleep. But I hadn’t known Lucas was involved in clandestine ring measurements of my costume jewelry, either.