“Sorry,” I try, and when she doesn’t jump on me, I relax a little. I wait for her to say something. Anything. When she doesn’t, I clear my throat and ask the obvious. “So…why are you packing? You just got back.”
“A last-minute trip came up,” she mutters. She doesn’t look at me after she says it, but I know there’s more. Something big she’s not saying.
“Mel,” I say carefully. “What is going on? What trip?”
She blows out a short breath, eyes flicking up to me before moving back down. “I’m heading to LA to participate in a…leadership training program. I’ll be gone for a month.”
“A month?” I cry, alarmed. I step toward her, certain I’m misunderstanding. “What do you mean a month?”
“Just what I said, Violet. I will be gone on this trip for a month.”
I shake my head. “You’re not going to fly back and forth? Weekends, maybe?”
“It’s better if I just stay there. It’s too stressful coming back here every weekend. I need time to decompress.”
“But a month, Mel?” I ask, the selfish part of me taking her decision to leave as a personal affront. I’ve been here for weeks, and we haven’t spent any real time together. Does she not want to get to know me again? Does she not want to be sisters? The questions are on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back, reminding myself that she’s leaving for a work obligation. It’s out of her control and has nothing to do with me. She wouldn’t leave me if she didn’t have to…not now after we’ve found each other again.
“There’s nothing I can do about the timing,” she says. “The program is a month long.”
I bite my lip, considering my options. “I mean, that’s a long time. Should I leave? Find an apartment or something?”
“You can stay. It’s only a month.”
“I’m just not sure that Dr.—your boyfr—Landon will be all that comfortable with that.”
She looks at me, her eyes narrowing. “Did he say something like that to you?”
I don’t like strays.
Parker’s off limits.
Landon’s a bit informal, don’t you think?
“I—no, not really. I just—”
“You’re staying. And make yourself at home, too. Eat his food. Drink his bourbon. Watch his TV. He can deal with it.” As she shoves a pair of heels into her suitcase rather aggressively, a small part of me wonders if she’s using me as a way to get back at Landon. I push the thought out of my mind, disappointed with myself for even considering it, because the sister I know wouldn’t do that. Mel wouldn’t put me in the middle of her relationship problems…right?
“Does he know you’re leaving?”
Her head snaps up, brows pulled together in a frown. “Yes, Violet. I wouldn’t just take off.”
“Sorry, you’re right. I was only asking.”
She continues to remove clothes from hangers, folding them neatly before packing them away. I shift on my aching feet and take in the room for the first time. Expensive furniture, nondescript wall art, sparkling clean surfaces. There’s a tall, green plant in the corner and a jewelry box on the dresser, but other than that, there are no family photos or unnecessary knick-knacks or electronic distractions. It reminds me of Mel’s room as a teenager, but in a different color scheme, and I wonder for a moment about Landon’s tastes. Does he have any? Are they the same as Mel’s? There’s no trace of his existence in this room, as far as I can tell.
“Well, do you need help with anything?” I try. “I’m not a super competent packer, but I can fold a shirt, at least. I’m great at pairing socks.”
“I’ve got it,” she says, adding “thanks” almost as an afterthought.
I wait for her to bring up my job at Golden Palm, to finish the conversation she started earlier, but she doesn’t, and I’m definitely not going to bring it up on my own. So instead, I just sort of stand there, watching her move swiftly between the bedroom, the closet, and the bathroom. She emerges momentarily to toss a bag of toiletries on the bed and then disappears back behind the double doors.
I’m not snooping, I swear I’m not, but a bright blue wrapper catches my eye, the corner sticking out of the partially unzipped makeup bag. I inch forward to get a better look and see if that wrapper is what I think it is. Sure enough, I’m right.
Condoms. A bunch of them.
I jump back, doing my best to appear nonchalant as she re-enters the room, and wonder why in the world she needs condoms when her boyfriend’s staying home? Maybe they’re leftover from a trip they took. Maybe she doesn’t know they’re in there. There’s a reasonable explanation, I’m sure.
“Well, I can barely stand up,” I say a little shakily, as she heads back into the closet. “I think I’m going to go to bed before I faceplant on your carpet.”
