Get fucking comfortable being uncomfortable.
I’m sorry, Meg. I was just served with divorce papers. I’m emotional—and honestly, I could use the company. It’s hard, and I’m tempted. Would you mind coming over instead?
Her reply is instant.
Megan
Already in the elevator.
Asshole ;-)
A breath escapes me—shaky, but laced with relief. A small smile tugs at my lips. She still loves me. She still gives a shit.
A minute later, there’s a knock on the door.
I haven’t seen Megan since I detoxed five months ago, and I’m not going to lie, our last encounters weren’t pretty. She was scary. Mean. A bitch.
We’ve been close our entire adult lives, and she and Alley were practically sisters. But things have been strained for over a year now.
I open the door, and there she is. Megan. My sister. Here to save me from myself.
She gives me a weak smile. “Hey Jackass.” Then, without hesitation, she pulls me into a hug—arms looped around my waist, ear pressed to my chest. I go still, letting the calm settle over me, then fold my arms around her. It’s the first real step toward something better since I got home.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice tight.
“Not really,” I admit. “But I will be… eventually.”
She pulls back, blinking fast. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. And I’m really sorry you’ve had to do it alone.” Her voice catches. “Dammit,” she mutters. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”
“You don’t owe me an apology. You were there for Alley when I wasn’t. I couldn’t be more grateful for that.” I step aside to let her in, then head for the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”
She follows me in but stops short when she sees the empty bottles lined up on the counter.
“Don’t worry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t drink them. Dumped everything down the sink.” I half-laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “So what I should be asking is, Want some water?”
She huffs out a laugh. “You could’ve at least saved the wine for me.” She makes her way to the Nespresso machine. “I’ll just make a coffee, if that’s cool.”
“Yeah, of course.”
She helps herself, opening the cupboard and grabbing a mug. “You want one?”
“Nah. I’m good. Had one this morning.” I take a seat at the counter, rubbing my palms on my pants. They’re damp. My hands won’t stop sweating.
I’ve just got to rip the damn Band-Aid off.
“Meg.” She looks up, mug in hand. “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “For everything. For what you had to see.” My eyes flick to the divorce papers still sitting on the counter. “For losing her.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to keep it together with each shaky breath. This isn’t about me. It’s about her—what I put her through. How my choices hurther.
When I open my eyes, Megan’s are red and misty, and a steady stream of tears is running down her cheeks.
“I know,” she says, voice trembling. “And I’m so fucking mad at you for it.”
I nod, letting it land. Letting her be mad. “You don’t have to forgive me. I don’t deserve it. I know that.” I pause, my voice low. “But I’d really like us to be friends again. If you can stand being around a fuckup little brother like me.”
She sniffs and wipes at her nose, collecting herself. “Stop. You know I love you. You’re my baby brother.” She takes a breath and blows it out slowly. “I guess there’s only up from here, right?” A laugh slips out. “Can’t really get much worse.”
I let a smile stretch across my lips. “Well, it could actually get a lot worse.”
We both laugh, and it lightens the air around us.
