“You look pretty,” I told Vivian as I sat in her room one late afternoon in December watching her put on sparkly lip gloss. “Are you going to a party?”
“No, just to Carter’s,” she said.
“Oh.”
“It’s his birthday tomorrow, so we’re starting the celebration tonight.”
“Fun.”
“Do you like him, Mags?”
She asked it in this pointed way that made me self-conscious.
“Carter?” I said. “Yeah, what do you mean? Of course I like Carter.”
“Okay, good.” Vivian took out the dangly earrings she had in, exchanged them for hoops. “You always seem kind of bummed when I mention him.”
I felt a hot blast of embarrassment. I hadn’t realized Vivian was picking up on that.
“I’m not—I mean—Well, yeah,” I said. “I just... miss you. These months with just me and Mom have kind of sucked.”
“Oh, Mags.” Vivian wrapped me up in a hug. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve gotten kind of swept up in it. And then with Dad living somewhere else... It’s tough. I know it is. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”
“It’s okay.”
Vivian pulled back from the hug and looked at me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her glittery mouth. She looked so grown-up. I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever get to be like that. “I love you so much, sis.”
“I love you too.”
Vivian nodded and tapped my nose, like she was putting a period at the end of that topic of discussion. “Do you want to hear something weird?”
“Sure.”
“I think I might say those words to Carter tonight.”
“What words?”
“Well, that sentence that has anL-word in the middle of it.”
It took me a long moment to decode what the hell she was saying. Once I did, I just kind of blankly nodded. I knew frommovies and TV that it was supposed to be a big deal for people to say that in a romantic way. But it didn’t seem that surprising to me—I’d kinda thought they werealreadysaying it.
“You think I shouldn’t say it?” Vivian asked, a rare and surprisingly satisfying moment of insecurity.
“No, I think you should totally say it.” I tried to take on a tone of expertise, as if all those episodes ofFuller Househad prepared me for exactly this moment. “If you feel it, you should say it.”
“I feel it,” Vivian said. “I’ve felt it for a while.”
Hours later, I was in my usual spot on the couch (for the sake of my own dignity, let’s pretend I was watching something this time that wasn’tFuller House, something British), when I heard Vivian come in and head straight upstairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. It was only a little after eight, earlier than she’d usually come home from a Carter hang. Mom looked up from her laptop at the kitchen table, and we shrugged at each other.
When my episode ended, my sister had yet to emerge.
“Vivvy?” I said, knocking on her door. “You okay?”
“Not now, Mags,” she said, her voice strained and wobbly in this scary way I’d never heard before.
“Ohmigod, are you hurt?”
“No,” Vivian said. “I mean, not physically.”
