My husband asked me to let my sister be his “wife” for one night. He said it like he was asking me to pass the salt.

“How did we meet,” Troy asked while Kelsey smiled and repeated the story of a birthday party in the suburbs that had actually belonged to me. They were stealing my memories to make their lie feel authentic to a room full of people.

I stepped into the room and Troy didn’t even have the grace to look startled as he asked if I wanted to help them refine the timeline. “You are using my life story,” I said while standing perfectly still in the doorway.

Kelsey examined her manicure and told me that I didn’t exactly own a meet-cute story as if it were a piece of communal property. They sat there and practiced the details of our rooftop proposal and our first trip to the coast while I watched from the armchair.

“It was a French restaurant, not an Italian one,” I corrected them and Troy rolled his eyes at my insistence on accuracy. He mocked my voice and told Kelsey that I was just being my usual intense self before suggesting I go upstairs to do some work.