My sister kissed my husband in front of thirty people at her own anniversary party and called it a joke. kertati Her husband had a wrapped present in his hands and an envelope she had never opened.

My mother was complaining that nobody had brought enough bread.

Sasha was outside directing people around the garden as if she’d been born to host parties.

I helped Bram carry food from the kitchen.

He seemed distracted.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Just tired.”

“You barely slept.”

“Neither did you.”

I smiled weakly.

“I’m fine.”

He looked at me for a moment.

Then he said, “If you need anything, tell me.”

There was something strange in his voice.

I almost asked him what he meant.

But someone called his name from the garden.

He turned away.

I picked up the serving dish.

And walked outside.

Music was playing.

People were laughing.

My father was arguing with one of my cousins about football.

My mother was talking to an aunt near the patio.

Children were running between the tables.

Then I heard laughter.

Not normal laughter.

Nervous laughter.

The kind people make when something has happened that nobody knows how to respond to.

Then silence.

I stepped through the back door.

And stopped.

My sister was kissing my husband.

Not almost kissing.

Not accidentally kissing.

Kissing.

In her own garden.

In front of thirty people.

In front of our mother.