It’s not until they make a right onto a little alley that I feel the change of air between them. He’s walking a little behind her now, hunched over his phone, which is new for him. She doesn’t notice at first, but when she turns around a moment later, the look on her face is not only one of annoyance at him lagging behind. Her jaw is tense, her eyes bulging. She stops andcrosses her arms against her chest.
Something is off. I hide in a doorway just a few feet away from them, holding my breath as the bronze door knocker digs into my back. A quick glance tells me it’s shaped like a snake.
“I want to do what I want to do, okay?” I hear her saying. Screaming. “It’s my life! MY LIFE! Andmymoney!”
The last part stuns me the most. Cassie doesn’t have any money. Against my better judgment, I risk a look in their direction. His chest rises and falls as he stands in front of her. She moves her arms up in the air with wild gestures, so much so that her Chanel bag almost hits him in the face. He flinches and steps back, but he seems oddly stoic in the face of her tantrum.
It takes all my willpower to peel my eyes away from them and lean back. At least I can still hear her. I don’t make out all the words, mostly the fact that she’s real mad and he’s still taking it in silence. When she stops grumbling, the distinct sound of steps coming from inside the building startles me. Someone is about to open the door, and I’m going to have to walk onto the street. I’m screwed. The only thing that might save me is a distraction. Without thinking too much, I grab my phone, flick through my contacts, and press Call on the all-too-familiar name.
Strangely, she picks up immediately. “Hey,” Cassie says.
“Hi!” I say as quietly as I can, without raising her suspicion.
Crossing my fingers that neither of them is looking this way, I leave my hiding spot and walk quickly in the other direction.
Seconds later, I reach the corner and turn down the next street, out of sight. “How’s the honeymoon going?”
My heart is beating a million miles a minute, but there’s no way she saw me. My sister has always complained about how I suffocate the air around her. It wouldn’t take her that long to ask what the fuck I’m doing here. Yes, okay. Cassie is not some random newlywed I discovered on Instagram. But she so often feels like a stranger that it’s kind of all the same.
“Paris is just the most amazing placeever.” She sounds light and upbeat,nothing like she did a moment ago. “You know.”
I do. Growing up, Cassie would always tease me about my belief that my parents—mybiologicalparents—had some sort of French connection. I only cared about having something that might bring me closer to them: my mother was in prison and I knew so little about my dad, just a few vague memories, like those of French lullabies whispered in the dark. All my hopes were cast onto him, this stranger. But Cassie thought this was my way of feeling superior to her, more sophisticated. We all knew what happened withherfather. He had every opportunity to see her if he wanted to. But mine… He could be anywhere, from any place. I could make all sorts of excuses for him, and I did.
One time—when she was nine and I was ten—Cassie stole my embroidered baby blanket, one of the only items I got to bring with me when her mother, Rae, took me in. I cried for hours, feeling like Cassie had ripped a lung straight out of my chest, while Rae and I looked for my beloved heirloom. We found it behind the toilet of one of the guest rooms on the top floor of the house. Cassie had doused it in bleach and hidden it in the tight spot. The smell never went away, the embroidery destroyed. It was ruined, forever.
“I love all of your pictures,” I say, cheerfully. I know what she wants and I give it to her, always.
“Well, yes,” Cassie says, like she’s so pleased with herself. “I saw your comments.”
Of course I left comments. I needed to pretend that everything was normal, that I hadn’t actually followed her and Olivier to Paris, right after dropping them off at the airport.
“It looks dreamy. I’m so happy for you.”
“Oh yeah?” Cassie sounds suspicious, but it won’t last long.
This is how it goes between us. I let her walk over me because, in her mind, I did the unforgivable: I stole her life, her childhood, her mother. I didn’t have my own anymore, so I took it all from her. She doesn’t care thatI would have done anything to stay with mine, that I didn’t want any of this. I was only seven; it wasn’t my choice. But it wasn’t hers either, to get a big sister practically overnight. Cassie felt the constant need to remind me that she was the real daughter. That it was her mother and her house and her toys and her clothes. How could I have forgotten? They were always too small for me.
“You got the perfect Paris honeymoon,” I say, infusing my voice with envy. It’s not hard.
It was about eight years ago, on my twenty-first birthday. My mother had been dead for years, but I’d never let go of the idea that I could find my father. My possibly French father. All I dreamed about was a trip to Paris. I’d been talking about it for so long and Rae surprised me, surprised all of us. She’d saved up some money and the three of us were going on a vacation to France! How amazing was that?
It was not. Cassie threw one of the biggest fits I’d ever witnessed. Why would I—the burden—get anything I wanted? Rae had already applied for our passports. She’d found a good deal on flights and a cheap little hotel. We were going. Except that the day before we were supposed to leave, Cassie disappeared. Rae and I canvassed the whole town, drove around for hours, worried sick. Cassie came back two days later. She took one look at our suitcases, still packed and ready in the entrance, and smiled a big wicked smile. Rae lost all the money she’d spent on the bookings, and we never discussed it again.
That summer I worked harder than ever—early mornings cleaning rooms at a local motel on top of the inn’s, afternoons at the local bakery—and bought myself a car. A piece of freedom. I jammed my brand-new passport deep inside the glove box, the only space that was truly mine. Of course, as soon as I got the car, Cassie demanded I drive her everywhere—to her friends’, to Darren’s. She could have used her mother’s car, of course, but she never liked driving. I should have used the money to go to Paris on my own, but by then I was much more focused on escaping her grasp,and not just for a few days.
“It’s so beautiful here. Much better in real life,” Cassie says.
I’m two streets away now. Suddenly, Olivier walks past me, looking dejected and furious at the same time, his hands deep inside his pockets, his gaze down. Does he know I stole the money he stashed away at home? Does he realize that I see him for who he is: a liar and a cheat? I lower my head, grateful I wore my hat again, that I had the wherewithal to change my appearance before going after them. He doesn’t even glance up anyway.
“So what are you two doing now?” I say.
Cassie doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re just about to head to this rooftop for lunch. Olivier managed to get us in at this superexclusive place. He knows everyone in Paris. It really makes the trip much more special.”
My mouth goes dry. “You’re on your way there now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The two of you?”
