I remember when we got the news that Mom had died. I was almost thirteen and it was just three days before Christmas. My younger sister, Georgiana, who went by "Georgie", was just eleven at the time, and was already asleep for the night. Our father's mother, Rose, was staying with us while Mom and Dad were in New York on business.

We were used to the separation on the holidays, yet it didn't use to be this way. We used to have all of the holidays together—New Year's; Valentine's Day; St. Patrick's Day (which mainly consisted of dressing up in green and an all-out pinching fest); Easter (which consisted of hiding eggs and O.D.-ing on some form or other of chocolate); Mother's Day (serving Mom breakfast in bed); Father's Day (Georgie and me wishing that we were boys so we'd have more fun on the mandatory fishing trip); the Fourth of July (climbing up onto the roof and watching fireworks); Halloween; Thanksgiving; and, of course, Christmas. The "separation period", which was what Georgie and I called it, was from the end of Thanksgiving, and it lasted until just after the New Year.

My dad was a hot-shot lawyer for the Melinsky Bros. Agency. His partner-in-crime, Desmond Doss, or as we called him, "Uncle Dez", and his partner lived just across town from us. Uncle Dez and his partner, Martini Swanson, were made our guardians in case something ever happened to Mom and Dad. This had always been a touchy subject to Grandma Rose and Grandpa Stephen, who were Roman Catholics and wanted to raise us the "right way" and on par with "God's path and plan". I didn't want to hear any of it. They hated anyone who was gay, so I would secretly tear up their Christmas and birthday cards for me, yet would pocket the gift cards or cash, because I figured they owed me something.

Georgie was asleep that night of December 22, 2011, her thoughts carefree and looking forward to the family time we were used to during the school vacation. I was in my bedroom, attempting to solve an advanced Sudoku puzzle, and that was when all hell broke loose. Grandma Rose had gone in to check on Georgie, who was prone to having night terrors, when the telephone rang. I automatically checked the caller I.D. before answering it, and that is when my life changed forever.

"Is this the Melinsky residence?" asked the man on the other end of the phone.

Oh great, I thought to myself as I considered all the possibilities about who it could be, before ultimately allowing myself to settle on one, which was, of course, the obvious. A telemarketer selling something that we don't want or need—I mean, that's what it had to be, right? It was then that I considered what would be a perfect title for a book that nobody would want to read: The Worse Job Ever: The Life of a Telemarketer and How to Get Hung Up On.

"Yes," I replied, my tone positively clipped—the tone my father would use whenever one of those 1-800 people called, usually during dinner hour. "This is Jenny Melinsky speaking. How can I help you this evening?"

"Jenny, this is Detective Walsh," said the voice on the other end of the phone, and I felt my blood run cold. "Is your mother Mrs. Mary Melinsky?"

At once, I felt uncomfortable. Perhaps, I reasoned, this was some sort of perv or something, who liked striking during the holidays! "Yeah..." I replied, warily.

The cop sighed, almost as if he wasn't altogether sure about how he should continue the conversation with me. "Miss Melinsky, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Is anyone there at home with you?"

"My little sister and my grandmother are here. Why? What's going on?" I asked, fear creeping into my voice.

"We're just outside, Miss Melinsky. Perhaps we should come inside and have a word with you and your family."

It was over. Finally. Finally, finally, finally. I just had enough time to get Georgie home and start fixing our dinner before doing homework. Wait, backtrack it there, Melinsky, I think to myself as I attempted to make my way through the hallway, filled with other students looking forward to going home. Georgie has track practice, which means there's time to go to the grocery store before picking her up. What was it she wanted? Boneless, skinless chicken breasts? Or maybe it was that multigrain bread and some black forest ham?

"Melinsky!"

I turn and see my best friend, Darcy Doss, standing there. Darcy was adopted by Uncle Dez and Martini back in the sixth grade. She bounds up to me, tossing her shimmery blonde hair about, her gray eyes expressive as she takes in my haggard appearance.

I try and smile at her. "Hey, Darce. What's up?" I ask, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

She laughs, the sound of soprano wind chimes echoing in my ear. "As if you don't know!" She loops her arm through mine as I begin to noncommittally lead her to the parking lot. "Frank Ambrose's party is tonight! It's Friday and you know what that means!"

"No." I walk to the fourth row of cars to where my silver Bentley Flying Spur is parked and unlock it with my automatic lock. "I don't know what that means, Darcy. You know me."

"Yeah! And I also know that you never get out!"

I sigh. Darcy knows my situation better than anyone, of course. At sixteen, with Dad working so much, Grandma Rose and Grandpa Stephen traveling so much, and Grandma Ginger and Grandpa Henry (my mother's parents) completely out of the picture, it's all up to me. I have to make sure that Georgie and I have lunch money; I have to make sure there's things for breakfast and for dinner at the house; I have to do the shopping for food and for school supplies; I have to drive Georgie everywhere and make sure she's home by curfew... The list is endless, and now that Georgie has friends who can drive, I'm even more on my guard.

"Darcy, you know why that is. You have the benefit of having one parent that's home all the time and being an only child and having a housekeeper and stuff. I'm not jealous of your savvy lifestyle or anything. I wish mine was easier sometimes, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love Georgie and sometimes she'll slip and call me 'Mom'. I almost don't correct her anymore, because I don't want to remind her of what we lost. And then half the time I do correct her, because I don't want to insult Mom's memory..."

Darcy reaches out. "I know it's not easy for you—nobody should have to do parental things during high school."

I sigh. "You know about Georgie's night terrors?"

Darcy nods. "Of course."

I sigh a second time. "Remember I told you that Georgie stopped having them?" I ask her slowly. At her nod, I continue, "She shoves a pillow over her mouth in her sleep so that she doesn't wake me up at night..." I break off, not wanting to bombard the skippy Darcy with my troubles.

"Jen, I know," Darcy says softly. "If you would just let Georgie have a little more responsibility..."

"She's fourteen, Darce. Fourteen. That's barely older than I was when we first lost Mom. I can't just let her fend for herself. I've been doing this for two and a half years..."

"What about college? You're a junior now, Jen. What are you going to do a year from now when you're sending out applications?"

"Go in-state, I guess. I can't abandon Georgie."

"But what about when she can drive?"

I sigh. I'd been dreading that. "Then, I'll see how she feels and if she's cool with it, I'll go to Oxford like I planned."

"England?" Darcy demanded. "You haven't even been to Mexico or to Canada!"

"Canada, once," I protested. "Dad had something to do in Montreal and he took me for the day. We even went to Prince Edward Island because I was going through my Anne of Green Gables phase. Did you know I read the full volumes—and saw that wonderful 1985 T.V. serial of it—all in one week?" I asked, knowing that Darcy had always been more than a little jealous at my quick reading skills.

She rolled her eyes. "What about tonight?"

"Frank's party? I can't, Darce," I say, shaking my head at her as I open my door and throw my things across to the passenger seat. "I just have enough time to head home and start my homework before getting Georgie from track. Then I have to make dinner, get started on some laundry, and finish my homework so I can study for the midterm. Then I'm vacuuming all the carpets and Georgie is on bathroom duty—"

"Hey, cool it there, Cinderella," Darcy says with an understanding smile. "I know that Georgie is your main priority, but sometimes, I just wish you'd take time for yourself..."

I sigh. "I know. I just don't know when that'll be."

I remembered my first day of high school like it was yesterday. Dad had made sure that he was in town to take Georgie to her middle school, where she was in sixth grade, and me to the big high school. Our driver, Stanwood, who regrettably had to retire, dropped me off more than twenty minutes before the start time, because Dad had a plane to catch. I went inside the massive building and wondered what my next move would be. I was really annoyed with Darcy, because her and her dads were off in Miami for the Labor Day weekend and hadn't made it back in time.

Clutching my schedule and the map of the school in my hands, my mind officially drew a blank. I'd been to orientation the day before, but I hadn't remembered any of it. Keeping my eyes down, I found myself wandering aimlessly, trying to convince the sophomores, juniors, and seniors that I belonged here. I was no longer the BWOC I was during eighth grade year; I was now the shrimp of a freshman, and I had to be on my guard at all times. Who knew what the next corner would bring?

Surprisingly, after turning the seventh corner, I found myself at the school's library. Raising my eyebrows at this predicament—I only read Seventeen Magazine, People Magazine, US Weekly, Star Magazine, you name it—I walked through the double doors and looked around. I found a section which had FICTION AND LITERATURE tacked upon it, and I was immediately reminded of the section at Barnes and Noble that I steered clear of. Navigating my way towards it, I figured that high school could have a lot to offer. Thank god there was no shirtless god-like looking man on the cover...

An author by the name of Philippa Gregory stood out to me. There were three books by her on the shelves—The Other Boleyn Girl, The Constant Princess, and The Boleyn Inheritance. Picking up the first book, I saw a young woman wearing what appeared to be an old-fashioned dress, clutching a handkerchief, and looking painfully in one direction as she seemed to be escaping a tent-like building. Opening the novel, I saw that each chapter was titled by the season and by the year. Thinking nothing of it, I was propelled into the year 1521, where a thirteen-year-old girl named Mary Carey spoke of an execution of a duke.

Whoa, I thought to myself, biting my lip in anticipation. This chick is already married, yet she seems to have the hots for the king... I shut the book, knowing that I would have to read this piece of literature. Just as I was about to leave the section, I saw a young woman with curly brown hair scanning books in the next aisle over.

"Oh! Hello," she said, a smile coming to her face when she caught me staring at her. "Can I help you with anything?"

"This book," I said, holding it aloft like Rafiki had held Simba. Shaking that image from my mind—for it had been a favorite of my mother's—I tried and failed to come up with a better analogy. Straightening myself, I did my best to remain polite. "Could I check it out, please?"

She nodded. "Come over here. I'll scan it for you."

I crossed to the next aisle over and handed the book to her. "Thanks," I said when she'd finished scanning it and returned it to me.

"Freshman, huh?"

I blinked. "How could you tell?"

"Your bright, yet inexperienced face," she answered honestly.

"Thanks, I guess..."

She smiled. "Charlotte Derby," she said, putting out her hand. "What's your name?"

"Jenny Melinsky," I replied. "Nice to meet you, Miss Derby."

"Oh," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I'm sure you hear this a lot, but I read about your mom in the paper. I'm so sorry."

I sighed, shrugging. "It's okay. It's rougher on my sister."

"Georgiana Isabel Melinsky," Miss Derby said. "She seemed like such a sweet girl from what I read in the Times."

"Yeah," I replied, not wanting to discuss Mom any further with this woman, who was, by all accounts, a stranger. "I've actually got to get to class. Could you tell me where Advanced Literature is?"

I arrived home and smiled a little when Wolfgang, my prized Pomeranian, greeted me at the door. I picked him up in my arms and looked at my phone, the white numbers informing me that it was 2:46. Georgiana's track practice always ran until 4:30, so I had some time for myself...not really. I checked that Wolfgang had enough food in his bowl before taking him to my bedroom and placing him onto my bed.

I opened my laptop and checked to see if there were any last-minute homework assignments that I could have missed and found nothing. I did, however, find a letter from Georgiana's English teacher, Mrs. Blake, who asked me for a meeting. I was my younger sister's quote-unquote legal guardian, and, therefore, these meetings were up to me.

I checked my calendar for the following week and wrote back to Mrs. Blake that I was free the following Wednesday after school, around 2:30. After doing that, I finished my essay for my American Government class due Monday and printed it out. I then took a look at my calculus questions on the take-home exam, and was through with that by a little after 4:00. Then it was time to figure out what was for dinner while I said goodbye to Wolfgang and left to go get Georgiana.

I hopped into my car, throwing my purse onto the passenger seat as I buckled myself in. I pulled out of the four-car garage and went down the block at a leisurely pace, nibbling at my lip as I navigated myself through major after-school traffic and made my way to the freeway. I calculated that I'd be there at about 4:27, which would give me plenty of time to find a parking space and wait for Georgie.

The freeway was only slightly congested, thank goodness, and I was able to get off by 4:21. I made my way back to the high school and drove through the rain-slicked parking lot. Finding a space wasn't an issue, and, just as my overhead clock announced the time of 4:25, Georgiana revealed herself, walking with a friend of hers, Sawyer Field, a nice girl whom Georgie had known since the second grade. I knew that any normal sister would roll down the window and scream something like, "Hey, kid, get into this car right now!" but I was no normal sister. I was a sister and a mom meshed into one, and that was something which was unavoidable.

Georgie saw my car and said her goodbyes to Sawyer, quickly making her way through the sea of cars to get to mine. I unlocked the doors and moved my purse so that when she stepped in, so she could sit down and not have to stand in the cool, drizzly day a moment longer. I shot her a smile as I pulled out of the parking space, out of the parking lot, and down the block as we became a parade of cars leaving the school.

"Hey," I said. "How was track?"

Georgie nodded, checking her phone for any text messages or social media updates. "Fine," she replied. "Coach says that my start-off is improving. Now I just have to make sure I don't trip or anything when I finish."

I nodded as I pulled back onto the freeway. The city of Seattle greeted us, the drizzly skyline one for the books. It usually rained here, yet today, the rainstorm mingled with the sunlight; the clouds were its canvas, which created a truly beautiful picture. "Mrs. Blake emailed me this afternoon requesting a meeting with me about you. I told her that I'd be happy to see her on Wednesday."

"Did she?" asked Georgie, feigning disinterest. "That's nice."

I remained silent for a few minutes. I pulled us off at the proper exit and we drove into our neighborhood of Highland Drive, just south of the main Queen Anne area, an upscale, classic district. Driving down the street, I made my way to our impressive house, by all intents and purposes it was considered a mansion, and pulled into the garage. Seeing that Georgie was not going to cough up the information, I saw that I would have to initiate what I knew.

"Mrs. Blake wanted to discuss the midterm you handed in last week," I told her in a firm voice, my parent mode initiated. "Do you know anything about that?"

Georgie sighed, lowering her eyes and pulling at one of her thick curls. "Well, I discussed how life wasn't fair..."

I immediately backtracked, not wanting her to close off to me completely, thus ending the conversation for good. "She said it was excellent—she gave you a B+ on it—but she claimed that your thesis wasn't strong enough. Something about it not pertaining enough to government and how it was really personal..."

"I wrote about Mom," Georgie admitted.

I nodded. "I know. I knew the minute Mrs. Blake told me that your midterm was 'too personal'. I had an idea."

She shook her head. "I love you, Jenny, but you're not Mom and you won't ever be Mom..."

I smiled. "I know, Georgie. I'm not Mom. I don't want to be Mom, because nobody could ever replace her."

"No one," Georgie replied.

Dad would work at his firm on Monday from 9:00 a.m. until Friday at 3:00 p.m., although usually his days lasted from 9:00 to 5:00. He had given me the master bedroom suite for my fifteenth birthday, as he was flying to and from so much, it didn't really make sense to have the big bedroom at all, to him. He had a green leather chaise lounge put into his impressive study almost immediately, and would sleep there in case he had a clever idea in the night. On Friday nights, he would fly to New York, arriving there by 7:30 in the company jet, just in time to have dinner with whatever clients he was helping that week. He would then remain there for business meetings and such and fly on a red-eye on Sunday night, returning around 4:00 a.m., sleep until 8:00, and then be ready for the work week again in the next hour, and the cycle would begin again.

He'd considered having a nanny or a housekeeper of some kind brought in, but once I'd showed him how capable I was, he only got a housekeeper on a yearly basis. By then, I was in drivers' Ed, and had a car for my sixteenth birthday, and a license as well. The housekeeper was then given severance pay, and then was let go on amicable terms, and I was put in charge of everything in the house. A cleaning service came once a month, some of the shopping could be done online, and transportation and the bills were all taken care of.

Georgie and I only saw our dad briefly on the weekdays. I could see him any day after school, but Georgie had track three times a week now, so she only saw him on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9:00 to midnight, because he would always go to dinner with clients and then be awake until midnight reading depositions or things like that. It was miserable, but I could do virtually anything I wanted, every teenagers' dream, right?

Wrong. I'd give anything to have my mom back so that we could be a family again. But I kept my mouth shut and never complained, never told Dad to take a break from work, never told Georgie to help around the house more. Dad was providing for us, and Georgie was a teenager. Just because that world had been stolen from me didn't mean that I would ever willingly take it right out from under my sister.

In my free time—which wasn't much—I would study recipes and learn how to sew so as to keep up with certain things Georgie needed. I learned how to balance a checkbook at fourteen—teaching myself for fun—and filed our taxes when I was fifteen. I'd done both so well that Dad had gotten me my own credit card and put me in charge of all the finances. We owned the house outright, so mortgage wasn't a problem, so that only left heating and electric, which I always made sure to pay on time.

Georgie and I would pick a weekend every two months to drop everything and go to the Costco up in the Shoreline/Edmonds area, so we never ran out of food. Georgie would do track three times a week, and we had a gym in our basement, so she could practice there as well. I'd do yoga and swimming half an hour on weekdays and an hour on weekends to stay in shape. Sometimes, when Georgie was off with a friend and had a ride home, and I was finished with various tasks, I was just go into the sauna that we had, right next to our pool. I'd sit there, garbed only in my massive white towel, and put my head into my hands and just cry. Eventually, I couldn't cry anymore, so I would just sit there and meticulously consider what else needed to be done.

It was in those moments that I thought about the future. My plan was to work my ass off whilst in high school—so far, I'd gotten A's in everything, thank god—thus, get accepted anywhere. I would earn my associate's degree in-state, and then leave Seattle upon that graduation and then go to my dream place of education, Oxford University in England. More than anything, I wanted to help people, but I had no idea what I wanted to do or what I wanted to be. There were two things that I didn't want to be, however —a doctor and a lawyer. If I decided to have a family in the distant future, I would never spend more time than I had to away from them. I would put them first, no matter what.

And then my phone's alarm would go off and then it was time to change the laundry from the washer to the dryer or take dinner out of the oven. I had proved to be excellent at casseroles, and I was constantly devouring every kind of food recipe websites and discovering new kinds of casseroles to make and what kinds of Campbell's soup to buy. Since both Georgie and I despised mushrooms, cream of mushroom was out.

I found that I would do a good job in culinary school, if it ever came to that, but I firmly decided against it. I would be too controlling, and a kitchen is a community, just as life is. I did not want to be in a position of power; I just wanted to be happy.

"Jen, can I go to a party tomorrow night?" Georgie asked as we walked into the kitchen.

I bent down to retrieve Wolfgang, who was prone to fits of whining if he wasn't given attention right away. "Depends on where it is, who's going to be there, and if you remember the rules," I replied, knowing that the tone of annoyance was only so far away.

"Bobby James' place," Georgie replied, naming a sophomore who lived in our neighborhood. "I don't think his parents will be there. And the rules are home by 11:00, and no drinking or drugs, and no accepting rides from high or drunk people or strangers at all..."

I sighed. "Okay, you can go," I replied. "That's probably the party that Darcy wanted me to go to..."

"Do you want to go with me?" asked Georgie.

I shook my head at her. "No. I've got too much homework as it is, plus all the housework to take care of... But you should go."

She sighed. "Okay. Do you want to do something tonight?"

"Sure," I said with a smile. "You and I actually have plans at 7:00 anyhow. I know that it'll be fun."

"Where?" Georgie asked.

"I made us reservations at the Metropolitan Grill," I replied. "So let's go get dolled up and go."

Georgie squealed and headed off to get ready.

I walked into my bedroom and discovered Wolfgang asleep on my bed. I decided not to disturb his slumber and grabbed my towel and making my way to my en suite bathroom. It was all done up in cherry wood and it was Victorian themed, like the rest of the house. The massive bathtub was all done up in marble, and was a circular shape built in against the wall, with pillars on its outer side and, all along the back, was an enormous window. I went to the massive shower and turned on the full stream of water, finding a temperature that I liked, and threw off my towel before climbing in. Thankfully, due to them being on opposite ends of the house, Georgie's and my bathrooms had different pipes, so as we could each bathe at once without the other becoming finicky about hot water use.

I proceeded to shampoo, condition, and rub my special vanilla-scented soap for good measure before doing a final rinse-off and getting out. I ran a comb through my long, black hair and blow dried it as well, so that it became fluffy and smooth and hung around my shoulders and down my back. I proceeded with my sensible makeup and then stepped out of the bathroom, this time in my emerald green robe, and made my way over to my wardrobe where I kept all of my dresses for various occasions. I chose one of my black dresses, pretty much knowing that Georgie would choose white, pink, or purple, and then the stockings, and the heels. I picked up my black silk wrap and clasped my mother's black pearls around my throat. Putting a comb, studded with onyx, into my hair, I nodded to myself in approval and went to check on Georgie. My younger sister had just come out of her bedroom, her eyes lighting up upon seeing me.

"Ready?" I asked her.

Georgie nodded as we made our way to the garage. We got into my car and drove out of the driveway after shutting the garage door behind us. It was around 6:45 by this point, perfect timing. We drove down the hill and down a few more streets before we were in Downtown Seattle proper and navigated our way to the restaurant. We got out where the valet was waiting and I handed him my keys while he gave me the customary slip of paper and Georgie and I walked inside.

"Reservations for two under Melinsky," I informed the maître d.

The man nodded and brought us into the main dining area before seating us and informing the two of us that our server would be there shortly. We took up our menus with the words Metropolitan Grill stamped upon them and looked at the various things the establishment had to offer. My mouth watered at the thought of their chicken, while I knew that Georgie would more than likely go for some kind of steak. When our waiter, Paul, came around, Georgie asked for a Shirley Temple and I asked for a sparkling cider while we decided what we wanted for dinner.

Appetizers, salads, and our entrees came and went, and Paul asked us if we'd be having dessert. We consented to something with chocolate or something along those lines and then Georgie excused herself to go to the bathroom. I felt that I hadn't been here in a long time, so I looked around the restaurant and nodded approvingly. The architecture was just amazing, and I could really consider living in a place like this... But, upon looking at a neighboring table, my mind went blank. Seated together, in what appeared to look like a date, were Charlotte Derby and my father.

Georgie returned and, seeing my face, looked concerned. Her pale blue eyes took me in, and she attempted to figure out the cause of my discomfort on her own, but soon failed and decided to verbalize it. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Dad and Miss Derby are over there!" I hissed at her, half-hiding my face with one hand.

She went white as she turned and saw the pair of them, hand clasped this time, looking all lovey-dovey. "What should we do?"

"Eat our dessert," I muttered, thanking Paul as he brought it to us and headed away. I chewed my cake and kept stealing glances at them, pleased that they didn't see me. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. After paying for our bill, I marched right up to them. "Miss Derby!" I cried. "Oh my gosh, it's so nice to see you! Who's your friend?"

"Hello, Jenny. This is my boyfriend, Robert. Robert, this is..."

Dad's face constricted into what could only be described as a fearful expression. "Jenny, Georgie... What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question, Dad. I mean, call me crazy, but you're supposed to be in New York." I could feel Georgie tense behind me at the possible confrontation, and I grabbed her hand to keep her rooted behind me. She could not leave me alone in this.

"Well, girls, I uh..."

"Robert, I didn't know that these were your daughters," Miss Derby said very quietly.

"He didn't tell you he had children?" Georgie wanted to know.

"Oh, no, dear. He said he had children named Jennifer and Georgiana, but I always thought that 'Georgie' was a nickname for 'Georgia'," Miss Derby explained, clearly uncomfortable.

"Uh-huh," I said, crossing my arms, not convinced. "And just how did this all come into play?" I asked, yet quickly shook my head, and reminded myself to at least attempt to be polite to this unexpected situation. "I mean...how'd you two meet?"

Miss Derby flushed—not with embarrassment, but with excitement at the memory. "Well, I was sitting in Café Coffee one afternoon about seven and a half months ago, and your father walked in..."

"Yes, that's right. It was a Friday and I was due to fly to New York but one look at Charlotte here and I knew that I had to get into a conversation with her. I just walked right up to her and started talking like an idiot, but part of me knew that she was an educated woman who wouldn't mind just a bit of fumbling."

"You were adorable," Miss Derby confirmed with a smile. "I just couldn't believe that you would even talk to someone like me."

"Charlotte, I love you," our father said.

Miss Derby smiled. "I love you too, Robert."

It was then that Dad pulled back his chair from the table and got down on one knee in front of Miss Derby, holding her hand in his. "I wanted to wait until next weekend when you were going to formally meet the girls, but since they're already here, there's no time like the present," he said, grinning from ear to ear as he reached into his pocket and took out a black velvet box. Inside was a three-carat, square-cut diamond in a platinum setting, which made Miss Derby and Georgie gasp. "Charlotte, I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?"

Miss Derby gasped, almost as if she couldn't believe it, and I felt Georgie tense behind me all over again. I almost couldn't believe that all eyes were moved toward us, and beads of anxious sweat immediately appeared on every inch of my body. It was like a whole spectacle like The Ellen Show or something, and I just wanted it all to end. It soon did, as Miss Derby's eyes filled with tears as she uttered out two shaky yeses and one enthusiastic one; then the ring was on her finger and it was done.