My stepbrother Nolan has a condition. He is violently allergic to other people being the center of attention.
It started years ago. On the day of my high school graduation, as I was walking across the stage to accept my diploma, a siren wailed in the distance. It got closer and closer until an ambulance screeched into the parking lot. Nolan had “accidentally” fallen off a fence and broken his arm at that exact moment. My parents left before I even moved my tassel.
It got worse. On my 21st birthday, right as I was about to blow out the candles, he arrived in tears, announcing he had to put his dog down that morning. The party instantly turned into a wake.
But the worst was his wedding. He scheduled it on the anniversary of my mom’s death. When I told him I couldn’t come because I visit her grave that day, he told the family I was “jealous of his happiness.”
So, when I got engaged to Caleb, we made a pact: No Nolan.
We planned a small, intimate dinner at an upscale bistro. Just us and four close friends. We didn’t post about it on social media. We told my dad the wrong time. We wanted just one night of peace.
Everything was perfect. The appetizers were great, the mood was light, and Caleb was midway through a beautiful toast about our future.
Then, the restaurant door swung open.
Nolan and his wife, Tasha, marched in. They weren’t just passing by; they were dressed to the nines. “There they are!” Nolan boomed, pulling up two chairs from a nearby empty table and squeezing in between me and Caleb. “Sorry we’re late, traffic was a nightmare.”
I looked at Caleb. He looked ready to snap a fork. “Nolan,” I said through gritted teeth. “We didn’t invite you.”
“Nonsense! Dad said you were here. We wouldn’t miss this!” He waved a waiter over. “A bottle of your best champagne! And shots for the table!”
I tried to salvage it. “Nolan, please. Caleb was speaking.”
Nolan stood up, tapping his glass with a knife. The room went silent. I thought, for a split second, he was actually going to congratulate us.
“I know we’re here to celebrate love,” Nolan announced, beaming. “And what is love without the fruit it bears? Tasha and I have been holding onto a secret for weeks, and we couldn’t wait any longer to share it with family.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of blue confetti, throwing it into the air over our pasta.
“IT’S A BOY!”
The restaurant erupted. Strangers at other tables clapped. Our friends, awkward and cornered, managed weak smiles. Nolan ordered another round of drinks. “Keep them coming! My son needs a wet head!”
Our engagement party had instantly become his gender reveal. Caleb and I just sat there, stunned into silence, watching them high-five strangers and order appetizers we didn’t want.
Two hours later, the celebration wound down. Nolan patted his stomach, burped, and looked at me. “Great night, sis. Really special.”
The waiter approached the table and placed a black leather folder in front of Caleb. Nolan didn’t even reach for his wallet.
I opened the folder. The champagne, the shots, the extra appetizers, the entrees Nolan and Tasha ordered “for the road.”
The total was over $800.
Nolan smiled, tossing his keys in his hand. “Thanks for the treat. You guys are the best aunt and uncle already.”
I looked at the bill. I looked at Nolan’s smug face. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t let him hijack the ending.
I grabbed the waiter’s arm as Nolan stood up to leave.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice loud and clear. “This check is wrong. We need it split.”
Nolan froze. “Sis, come on. It’s a celebration.”
“It sure is,” I smiled. “Caleb and I are paying for the engagement dinner. You are paying for the gender reveal.”
I pointed to the itemized receipt. “That means you’re covering the three bottles of champagne, the shots, the steak you ordered, and the cleaning fee for the confetti you threw on the floor.”
“I… I didn’t bring my wallet,” Nolan stammered, his face turning red.
“That’s okay,” I said, leaning back and sipping my water. “Caleb and I are in no rush. We’ll wait here while you call Dad.”
