Six Years Later

                                    

                                          
Roxanne
                          
I look at my younger sister, Isabella, now a 26-year-old police officer, beaming at me with open arms. She's wearing a black, short-sleeved leather jacket over a yellow tank top and black above-the-knee shorts and running shoes. 

                          
I, on the other hand, have on an emerald blouse with flutter sleeves, midnight blue skinny jeans, and open-toe sandals with brown ankle straps.
                          
We hug each other for the longest time. Our schedules are too hectic and different, so we rarely meet up, but when we do, it's like a reunion between two friends: Banshee shrieks and kangaroo jumps. 

                          
"You cut your hair," I state after pulling away.
                          
Bella runs her fingers through her black hair that reaches her chin. "Do you like it?"
                          
"I love it," I say, reaching over to touch a short strand.
                          
"Good. But I really wouldn't care if you didn't."
                          
"You haven't changed a bit," I say, laughing as we sit at our usual table inside the cafe next to the police station where Isabella works. 

                          
"Never will. I'm awesome the way I am," she says, her gray eyes scanning her menu. "How are things on your end?" she looks up at me for a moment.
                          
I rest my chin on top of my joined hands, meeting my sister's gaze. "I got the promotion I wanted!"
                          
"Congrats, sis!" More screams and hugs. "I knew you'd get it. I always liked your boss."
                          
"Really? If I remember correctly, the last time you spoke of my boss, it was when he demoted me, and you were already drunk when you tried to ply me with alcohol. What was it you called him? I think it was a d-"
                          
"Sorry I'm late," says the newcomer sitting down next to me. "Traffic was hell."

                          
Isabella and I glance at him simultaneously. 24 years old, short black hair, and gray eyes. He looks taller than the last time I saw him. I brush off a dust-ball clinging to the long sleeve of his red button-down shirt tucked into his pale blue denim pants.
                          
"Well?" Bella asks, her palms flattening her menu on the square table.
                          
"My treat," he says simply; Bella and I high-five each other, cheering, "YES!"
                          
I squeal. "I'm so happy for you, baby brother!"
                          
"Roxanne, I'm twenty-four."
                          
The 28-year-old doctor waves a dismissive hand. "You'll always be our baby brother."
                          
"HE PASSED!" Isabella exclaims loudly, her voice causing heads to turn. "MY BROTHER PASSED THE BOARD EXAM! CLAP OR ELSE!" Everyone starts clapping, obviously scared of our sister. She's well known in this city as the most intimidating police officer on the squad. 

                          
And there was that incident at the mall, just last week.
                          
While waiting for our orders, Allan and I stare at Isabella, who is resting her chin on her left hand. 

                          
Bella looks at us, her gray eyes wide. "What?" she says then gasps, glancing at the ring on her ring finger. "Oh. That's right. I'm engaged. Did I not mention that?"
                          
"Tell us everything! How did she propose? When? Where?"

                          
"Well.." Isabella smiles smugly, then excitedly narrates how Jacquelyn aka Jackie, her girlfriend of three years, proposed to her during their dinner date last night. Thirty minutes of glass-shattering shrieks later, we decide to order more food after finishing our first set of meals.
                          
"This is just amazing," I say, smiling and sighing happily as I dig into my bowl of banana split. "Allan's a certified accountant.. Bella's getting married.. I got my promotion.." I trail off when I notice my younger brother and sister grinning at me like lunatics. "What?"
                          
Isabella pokes my arm with her spoon. "Is there anything else you're not telling us?"
                          
"You realize, you're technically spooning her?" Allan chimes in, snickering.
                          
"Don't be gross. We're eating ice cream," says the female cop. To me she says, "Well?"
                          
"Sis, I really don't know what you're implying," I say, spearing a spoonful of chocolate into my mouth. 

                          
"What?" Bella darts a glance at Allan, who shrugs, equally clueless. 

                          
He asks me, "Nothing happened?"
                          
They're both staring at my face, disbelief evident in their expressions. Before I take the prank too far, I hold up my hands, as if being held up. "Okay. Okay. Joke's over. Max proposed to me two days ago!"
                          
Allan winces as Bella and I squeal, shriek, and giggle uncontrollably, attracting attention from other tables in the quaint cafe.
                          
"It was insane," I begin, stirring my spoon in a puddle of strawberry ice cream. "I had the morning shift, right? Not much is happening in the OR, so I'm checking my phone for messages when one of my senior colleagues, Miguel, urgently says I'm needed in the OR. 

                          
When I get there, Max, in his blue-green scrub uniform, is down on one knee, a ring in his hand. When I said yes, the heavy curtain blocking the operating table is pushed to one side and everyone in my department was there, with helium balloons and party poppers!"
                          
Bella leans forward. "Then what?" she asks eagerly.
                          
"And then," I say, sticking my spoon between my lips. "A patient was rushed in on a gurney. 42, male, gunshot wounds in the upper left leg and upper right arm."
                          
Next to me, Allan gives a low whistle. "That sucks."
                          
"No shit," says Isabella, examining a piece of red cherry. "So beach wedding?"
                          
"Beach wedding," says Roxanne, nodding. "You guys know it's always been my dream to have a beach wedding. How about you, sis? Garden wedding?"
                          
"Yes!" Bella claps a hand on the table. "Jackie wants the same thing. But we still haven't decided which one of us will wear the dress."
                          
Allan smiles at no one in particular. "I want my wedding to be on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean at sunset."
                          
Slowly, Bella and I turn to look at our brother, who shrugs, saying, "Just thought I'd join in."
                          
Bella pats him on his back while I lean in to kiss his cheek. "How are you, really?" I ask him. "And don't even try lying. I'm a doctor. My regular patients have a tell. I know yours the best."
                          
"I'm.." he starts, then hesitates. "I'm fine." 

                          
"Lie!" Bella declares, ruffling his black hair. "Talk, or I'll throw you in the interrogation room. My break ends in ten minutes. I have ways of making people talk. Waiter!" After ordering three slices of cheesecake, and three separate plates are placed in front of Bella, she pushes one toward me, only me.
                          
Allan is fidgeting in his chair. "Can I have that slice?"
                          
"Cake is for talkers," says Isabella, digging her fork into her piece.
                          
God, give me strength.