“He said what?”
Marie mumbled through the phone, a look of distaste grew upon her face.
“That’s what he said, Marie, he said your bride’s maids gowns were tacky.” An anxious Callie waited on the other side, growing giddier with each passing second of silence. This was going to rile her up, this was going to fuck up her morning.
“Oh you don’t say? Well that’s a shame, I guess our wedding won’t be perfect after all.” Marie pulled her gloves off of her fingers, the smell of dish-washing soap and lemon still fresh on her hands. She fingered the ring on her right hand and went back to pacing about the house, scanning every nook and cranny for dust and decay. She knew what Callie was trying to do and it wasn’t going to work on her.
Callie became insistent. Almost a little frantic.
“He talked to me about it. He talks to me, Marie. He’s not trustworthy. You don’t know him well enough. Sometimes he talks about you, sometimes—”
Marie hung up. There’s only so much older sister’s can deal with.