The Fall

Zoe- Present Day The invitation before me bears the names 'Ava & Thomas.' My initial reaction: How did she get my address? Then a second thought: Thomas? What happened to Kamden? Followed closely by the question: Why? After all, wolves don't typically partake in human traditions. Yet, here's the undeniable proof in my hand—a wedding invitation from my sister. The next thought surfaces, a forced one at that—You should be happy for your sister. I begrudgingly accept that my inner wolf is right, or maybe it's me trying to convince her. She snorts in response as if to say, "We can muster some happiness for her." I run my fingers over the wedding invitation, feeling its rose gold foil on acrylic. The RSVP card is equally exquisite, made of heavy cardstock with embossed print and a rose gold monogram. The tactile sensation of both pieces exudes luxury and expense. I take note of the address for the service and reception, then turn to Google for more information. Historic Sandara Manor—a countryside estate boasting a landmark building, garden, banquet hall, and mansion. Intriguing. It appears my sister has stumbled upon some good fortune. Good for her, I mutter sarcastically, rolling my eyes. It's a six-hour drive, a lot closer than the fourteen-hour trek to Tennessee. I’m not sure how to feel about that. If it makes me feel uneasy or not. You are safe here. I mean, I know that but how did she get my address? Next on my search list is the groom's name. I discover that he's a trust fund kid, the heir to a facility management empire specializing in cooking oil—recycling, cleaning, installation, and design, one of the country's largest. He holds the title of vice president of operations, though there's also a president and senior vice president with the same role. I can't help but chuckle at the redundancy. After a bit of research on the company, I conclude that they're not wolves. I scour their families' social media profiles, from f*******: to i********: and even a cousin's t****k—all indications point to them being human. Wolves tend to keep a much lower profile. It's been nearly seven years since I last saw my sister. The last I heard, she was with Kamden in Memphis. I'd like to believe I've let go of any lingering resentment, but there's a persistent voice in my head that can't help but label her as a b***h. My wolf snarls in agreement. Yeah, yeah, we share a complicated and messy past. I knew that distancing myself from her was the best decision. She thrived in dramatic chaos, much like our mother. In contrast, I took after my father—reserved, calculating, always striving to maintain peace. He was a fixer, dedicating his life to rectifying our mother's mistakes until his final breath. I recognized history repeating itself in my relationship with my sister—constantly covering for her, fixing her blunders, and bailing her out. Unlike my father, I refused to let that define my life. "So, are you considering going?" Jenna inquires, her fingers busy on the keyboard in front of her. "Probably not." Definitely not. "Aw, I was hoping to be your plus one, just to witness you breaking her nose on her wedding day. That would be hysterical," she says, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she accesses our schedule and pulls up the next patient's chart. "You find far too much amusement in the suffering of others." "And?" She retorts, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. I roll my eyes. "She's sent edible arrangements and flowers to the house. It doesn't really seem like her style." My thoughts have been occupied with how she got my address; she'd have to go through the trouble of tracking me down, and she's never been one for diligence. My theory is that someone else must have done the legwork and invited me on her behalf, perhaps someone connected to the groom or even the groom himself. I can imagine her painting herself as the victim in her narrative of our childhood. Maybe someone wanted her to have familial support on her big day. After all, I am her only remaining family. “Do they come with any cards?” Jenna asks. “Nope.” I pop the p for emphasis. "Does that pique your curiosity enough to RSVP?" Jenna questions. As I finish preparing the room and make my way to the hall, where the patient is being wheeled in, I shrug. Truthfully, it does. I don't like her having any information about me, and while I don't feel the need to uproot my life or hide from her, I certainly don't want to be anywhere near her drama. Her having my address makes me feel vulnerable to her potential unexpected appearances. "Mr. Walters, how are you doing today, sir?" I ask as Marissa pushes our patient into the imaging room. "I just need to verify your birthday real quick, sir." As I fall back into the rhythm of work, my mind drifts back to those final months in Aurora Falls.