Aaron
"Aaron." My sister calls, her tone tired as she tilts her head to examine me. It's been four hours. Four hours of working side by side with my sister, comparing colour swatches, debating centrepieces, and pretending I know the difference between Prussian and Yale blue.
“What?” I mutter, not bothering to look up from the seating chart I’ve been halfheartedly adjusting for the past fifteen minutes.
Ava lets out a sigh, tapping her pen impatiently against her clipboard because yes, she has a clipboard.
My sister has always had a flair for getting things organised. When she was ten, she single-handedly planned her entire eleventh birthday. It was the one thing our 'father' let her have, and so she owned it with every bit of authority an almost eleven-year-old could muster.
“You’ve
