Free The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) by Jerrica Knight-Catania

block out the sound of their flirting and giggling. Please don’t kiss her, please don’t kiss her.
    It would appear that by virtue of me praying for them not to kiss, they’ve decided to kiss. Damn it.
    “23 Fern,” the cab driver calls out as we pull up in front of my parent’s house. Thank God.
    “Well, goodnight,” I say to Colin. “We’ll see you…soon, I guess.”
    “Um, actually, Candy,” Holly says, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t take someone of Madame Antoinette’s advanced psychic skill to realize what she’s about to say. “Colin and I are going to go grab coffee at Denny’s.”
    I can’t help but feel a little left out. I mean, I don’t want to go with them, but I’m a little hurt that they didn’t even ask me. Still, I don’t want to seem childish, so I try to play it off.
    “Oh, right. Sure! Well, have fun you two!” I give them a wink and then slam the door.
    To say I have mixed emotions is the understatement of the century. And I’m pretty sure the alcohol is making them that much worse. Maybe tomorrow, in the light of day, I’ll feel better about all of this.
    Probably not, though. Am I really going to give up my entire life—my career I’ve worked so hard for—to watch my sister suck face with a guy that I have a crush on while I do a job I’m in no way qualified for?
    Screw this guilt! Screw the change and my parents and Madame Antoinette, whose words are still ringing in my head. I’m a grown-up, and they can’t tell me what to do. I’m going back to New York first thing in the morning.
     

 
    Five
     
    Note to self: Light of day is never, ever good after a night of binge drinking.
    My eyes are sealed shut, but I can see the sliver of sun peeking through the curtains of the living room on my eyelids, and it’s all I can do not to scream out in pain. I try to roll over in hopes of evading the sliver, and a coil spring from my parents’ ancient pull-out jabs me in the ribs. The motion from trying to roll has brought on a wave of nausea. Oh, God. What was I thinking?
    Worst of all, I realize that I’m alone on the pull-out. If Holly had come home last night, we would have been sharing the bed. Obviously, she shared Colin’s bed instead. If I could, I would shake my head with disappointment. This was not a good way for any of us to start off our working relationships.
    I vaguely remember saying something nasty to Colin. Great. The idea of having to apologize is making me sicker than the alcohol. At least I won’t have to do it today. Today I get to go home. That thought makes me happy and I allow myself to nestle back under the covers for a little more sleep before I have to make the commute.
    “Rise and shine, cupcake!” comes my mom’s cheery voice.
    No. No, no, no, no, no. Why is she doing this? It can only be like seven in the morning. Seven thirty tops. Doesn’t she know I was out drinking until three a.m.? I’m having flashbacks to high school when I had to pretend I’d gotten a full night’s sleep and that I wasn’t about to puke all over the breakfast table after drinking parties at my friends’ homes—the friends who had the cool parents who collected our keys and then left us to our own devices in the finished basement.  Those were the days.
    My mom throws open the curtains, letting the sunlight flood into the room. I recoil as if I’m a vampire. “Come on, honey! We have a lot of work to do.”
    Work? “Mom, it’s Sunday. Aren’t we supposed to rest today? You know, keep the Sabbath holy.” Never mind none of us has a religious bone in our bodies, but I’ll do anything to get another hour of sleep.
    Mom ignores me and says, “Cupcakes don’t bake themselves, Candy. I have a lot to teach you in a short amount of time. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”
    She has got to be kidding. “Mom, no,” I say, coming to my elbows. She’s flitting around the room, picking up my clothes and folding them into a neat little pile. I must have been