Sis: Shut up. I’m going to get rid of it, not ride it. Friggingautomobiles.

She must have given up, because that’s the last I hear from her or her out-of-control automobile . . . errr, autocorrect.

I chuckle my way back to my home screen, clicking away from the text messages as I lie down on my couch, reveling in my single, childless adulthood.

My sister Jenny started early in life; like me she was in a rush to leave home, anxious to leave the unhappy mess our father had created with his lies and unfaithfulness to our mother. Jenny had her first kid at twenty-two and finished with the third one by the time she was twenty-eight. Now, at thirty-two, she’s divorced and mostly insane, trying to play the role of both parents while holding down a full-time job, all while her ex pretends to be eighteen again with women way too young to be doing anything but going to college. It’s pitiful.

No way in a million years am I going down that path. I’ve seen the mess it leaves behind. Whoo-hoo, no thank you. Commitment’s great when it’s with the right guy; I’ve seen that with friends. Some people get lucky. But so far I’m not even sure there’s a guy out there for me. When I get a hint of a lie or even just a shaded truth, I’m outta there. Good-bye, so long, don’t let the door hit you on the butt on the way out. Liar, liar, I will set your pants on fire.

I’m single and loving it, twenty-nine, working as a freelance wedding and portrait photographer, and absolutely not in the market for a relationship. I just ended a long-term affair that should have been a short-term one and have sworn off dating for a while. As far as I’m concerned, it’s better to have not loved at all than to have loved and been lied to. I need a little me-time, and since my schedule is pretty much empty, it’s going to work out perfectly. My plan consists of being in the studio or on location whenever I can book some work, napping, gardening, going to the river in the evenings for glorious, relaxing walks, and drinking copious amounts of wine in between all those things. Nothing is going to get in the way of me enjoying the last year of my twenties. Nothing, not even the little butt strings and their crazy momma.

I’ve been planning this self-imposed get-back-to-the-real-May-Wexler program for a while. Ever since I graduated from NYU with a major in photography, I’ve been focusing on getting past the things that drove me away from my family and across the country to get my degree. But even though it’s been over five years, I’m still really no closer to reaching that elusive goal.

Heck, I knew I needed to exorcise my demons just a couple years after graduating, which is why I moved back South and took up residence a few miles from my older sister in New Orleans, the place she landed after college.

Jenny’s my rock. The shoulder I can always lean on. But making the move of coming here to be near her didn’t magically send the baggage I’ve been carrying around up to the attic. The specters of my family’s past still follow me, still haunt me, still influence the way I feel about myself, my life, and every single guy I come into contact with in a romantic way. It’s really pretty pitiful, actually.

Jenny’s doing much better than I am in the self-help department. After dealing with her own failed relationship, destroyed by a lack of faithfulness on her ex’s part, she’s come to a place where she can be honest with herself about what happened and take responsibility for her own happiness without making excuses when she fails. Me, I’m still working on that part of it. I blame my father for everything; I’m not ready to forgive and let go.

So, yeah. I’m going to figure me out. This is my grand plan. Forget the fact that I have absolutely no idea how to do this for myself. I’m hoping several bottles of wine will help kick-start the process.

I’m going to decide once and for all who I want to be when I grow up, and then I’m somehow going to become that person, even if it means I’m not going to be taking pictures of happily married couples and families wearing matching white shirts and denim pants anymore. It’s not like that was my life goal when I left college anyway; it’s just what I fell into when I couldn’t find a job doing anything else. I shouldn’t complain, though. Until the economy fell into the dump a couple years ago, I was doing really well.

Another text comes in and lights up my screen. I blink a few times to clear the sleep from my eyes. I must have dozed off, because my clock says it’s an hour later.

Unkno wn number: You’re going down.

Me: Oh really?

I smile to myself. My sister is going to blame me for something that happened while I was sleeping. Apparently she has her new phone and a temporary number until her old one switches over, and her first text is to bitch at me. Excellent.

Me: Says who?

I take a moment to save her number.

Jen: Says me, that’s who. You need to get out here.

Me: No. I’m sleeping. Can’t you hear me snoring? Zzzzzzzz

Jen: Screw that. Come here or I’m coming there and I won’t be alone. You’re my backup, remember?

I picture the little monsters running all over my freshly cleaned floors, putting sticky goo on everything, and smile at her empty threat. I’ll forgive those little beasts pretty much anything. They might be wild, but they sure are cute. I can say that because I only have them for a few hours at a time.

Me: Bring it. I can handle whatever your butt strings throw at me.

Jen: Are you serious? Butt strings? Get your ass out here! I mean it, dick!

Me: Did you just call me a penis? That’s harsh.

I’m laughing all over again.

Jen: I call it like I see it. Get here yesterday.

I sit up on the couch and sigh. She sounds like she really needs a break. It’s tempting to send her another text, but I decide against it. No more messing around. She’s about to blow a gasket, and the last time that happened, I was stuck with the kids for a whole week while she went to our family cabin to find herself again. I need to head this one off at the pass.

Me: Fine. Where are you exactly?

Jen: Frankie’s Pub. Downtown at Lexington.

I pull my phone in closer to see if I’m reading that right. Sure enough, it says Frankie’s.