“Is this the last of it?” Julia asks as she rounds the corner into my bedroom.
I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen her hair pulled into a ponytail like it is today, with her tattoo on display for everyone to see. Her cuffed t-shirt is tied into a knot at the front, which she’s tucked into itself to form a small peak above the button of white denim shorts that tightly hug her thighs.
As she reaches for the last remaining item next to me, she meets me in a kiss, her lips soft and warm against mine. I let a hand wander to slide into her back pocket as Tripp carts his haul out of the door, and as we part, we follow closely behind him.
A rusted and worn sedan slides to a stop in front of the house as I pull the trunk of the SUV closed, and out of it steps a head full of soft ginger hair. Joining my sister is her boyfriend. He’s a tall man with a trim build, though I guess most people I know look tall standing next to Irina. His hair is darker than mine, but it shares a similar undertone of red.
My sister smiles widely as she approaches, throwing the handle of a large tote bag over her shoulder.
“What are you two doing here?” I ask as her body slams into mine. It’s nearly impossible to wipe the surprise from my features, seemingly no matter how hard I try to.
“You told me you were moving,” she says with a pat to my back. “We had a couple of days off and thought we’d help get you settled. Is that not okay?”
Her brow arches, asking a question that she won’t ask me herself, and I answer with a shake of my head.
“Of course it’s okay,” I tell her, wearing a smile as I pull her against my body again and let my arms snake around her shoulders.
It’s okay, if you don’t ask any questions.
It’s okay, if you don’t tell me that I’m making a mistake.
It’s okay, if you promise you won’t judge me for this.
Our third and final ride to the Montgomery townhouse is fast, like the others have been, and quiet, like they haven’t.
Julia’s hand rests on my thigh as we roll to a stop on the driveway, offering a small comfort to calm my racing heart.
When she was just a little kid, Irina wanted to be like me. I think most younger siblings go through that at some point. She copied the way that I spoke – and a lot of words that she shouldn’t have been using. She was six years old and wearing all-black outfits because I was doing it. There was a small stretch of time in which she even tried to walk the same way that I did.
She wanted to be like her big brother; impress me and make me proud, but that shifted as soon as I became her guardian. It wasmewanting to makeherproud. Now, sitting in this car with my heart in my throat, it’s me wanting to make sure that I don’t let her down again.
The loud closing of Tripp’s door and the cool air seeping through the place on my jeans, no longer covered by Julia’s hand, pull me from my own mind as I climb out of the car.
“Where are you sleeping?” Irina asks as she slides past me and into the living room, toting a box in her arms marked with yellow duct tape to indicate that it’s filled with things from my bedroom.
My features fall. If this were a cartoon, my body would drop to the floor in a puddle as my insides disappear from within their skin suit.
“Uh—” I hesitate, trying to control the frantic flitting of my eyes across the room, focusing on anything and everything that is not my little sister.
“You look like I just asked you if Santa Claus is real,” she teases, her brow lifting in a challenging arch.
“It wasChristmas Eve,” I laugh.
“And I’d already known for two years,” she counters.
Dropping the box from her arms to the ground, she leans against the wall, pulling her hair over her shoulder before letting her arms cross over her chest. A hip pops to the side as she shifts her weight and twists her face into a thoughtful expression.
“It was the roommates, wasn’t it?” At the snap of my gaze in her direction, her head shakes. “Connie, you can’t keep—”
“I just didn’t want to renew the lease,” I blurt, waving my hands in an effort to shut her up. Trying to shift her attention, I point toward the small black toolbox near her feet. “Take that to the garage for me. Tripp has a place for it.”
With a skeptical purse of her lips, she pushes off of the wall, scooping the box by its handle before leaving for the garage, where her boyfriend and the partner that she doesn’t know I have are waiting.
Convincing her that I’d lied to her about Santa Claus and all of his holiday companions not being real might be easier than trying to convince her that nothing is happening in this house. I spent so many years of our lives telling her not to keep secrets from me, and now it’s me keeping them from her.
She may not be saying it out loud, but I think she knows it.
Tucking a pair of boxes underneath my arms, I cart them up the stairs and into the bedroom that I’ll share with Tripp and Julia once my sister leaves. For now, we’ll just tell her and Gradythat my things are in this room because it’s easier to keep them here.
