Her eyes flick up over Landon’s shoulder and widen to twice their normal size as she takes me in. I step free of the doorway, unable to hide my enormous grin, one that Mel doesn’t return. I don’t linger on that, though. Nor do I linger on her pale complexion and the fact that she looks like she’s seen a ghost.
“Violet?” she chokes out. “What…what are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” I say, waiting for the heartfelt reunion I’ve pictured in my head for so long. Any second now, she’ll rush forward and hug me and jump up and down with excitement. Any second now, she’ll tell me how much she’s missed me and how she was just waiting for the right time to reach out.
Any second now.
“Well, this is…” She clears her throat. Shifts her weight. Blinks. “This is a big surprise.”
I beam at her. “I know!”
My sister looks incredible. Mel’s always been pretty, but her beauty seems to have elevated with age. The dark blonde hair that used to hang wild down her back is now tamed, sleek, and straight. Her face has slimmed. So have her hips, and she’s traded in her cheap cutoff shorts for an incredibly chic outfit I may never be able to afford. A high-end suitcase sits on the floor beside her, a far cry from the old, faded duffel in my trunk, and I wonder what sort of trip she’s just returned from. Something important, I bet. She looks like someone who has places to be, people to see.
She sets her designer purse on the table and takes a hesitant step toward me. But I’ll have none of that, so I rush the distance between us and throw my arms around her, squeezing tight, tight, tight. She smells like lavender and vanilla and something familiar and beautiful and comforting, and I realize I’ve had the memory of her scent locked away in my mind all these years.
“I’ve missed you so much, Mel,” I say, my voice muffled by her shoulder. She’s always been just a little taller than my five-foot-five.
When we pull apart, she regards me with a strange expression, like she’s unsure of whether she’s in a dream. Her eyes flicker to the left, looking toward Mr. Nonbeliever, so I follow suit. I’d forgotten he was even standing there, watching our little reunion unfold from the sidelines. I expect him to appear at least a little humbled that he was wrong about me, but his face is dispassionate at best.
“I see you’ve met Landon,” Mel says slowly.
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks for the welcome wagon, by the way,” I joke.
No one laughs. I frown, picking up on the tension in the air, and glance between the two uncertainly.
Mel takes a deep breath. “Landon, this is my sister. Violet.”
Landon doesn’t say anything. Just stares at Mel. I would think he was indifferent if it weren’t for the way his jaw ticks. Then, without a word, he turns and stalks out of the room. I flinch as a door slams, thebangrattling the house, and my eyes shift back to Mel. Her mouth tightens at his heated display, and I try to figure out what I’m missing.
“Is he, um, okay?” I ask, certain my confusion’s written all over my face.
“He’ll be fine,” she says, dismissive. “Come on, let’s go sit in the kitchen.”
“I can’t believe this is your house," I say in complete disbelief as I follow her through the impressive interior. It’s straight out of a catalog, all shades of white and tan and olive green. Every piece of furniture is curated to match the color scheme, and if you asked me what my sister’s tastes were after I toured her home, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything exceptmuted.
To be fair, we’ve always had opposite tastes in décor. With the psychedelic tapestries hanging from my walls, twinkle lights strung up across the ceiling, and loud, colorful rugs scattered about the floor, Dad always said my room gave him a migraine. Every surface was covered and cluttered, and it was rare for things to be put away.
Mel’s room, on the other hand, was always very minimal, though admittedly neverthissparse. She was a neat freak. Every article of clothing was hung or folded, every piece of jewelry was set back in the box, and nothing was ever out of place. I used to admire it, I remember. Her room felt like a different world, and I was forbidden from entering, sitting, or touching unless specifically granted permission to do so.
Even now, I’m afraid to touch anything, so I keep my hands tucked under my armpits as she walks me through the house.
The kitchen opens onto the screened-in patio area, and I nearly gasp when I see the infinity pool overlooking the glistening water of the canal beyond. It’s paradise, and I’m in awe that this place exists.
I shake my head, staring in wonder at my surroundings. She did it. Mel truly did it. She escaped the small-town hell hole. She made something of herself. I want to follow in her footsteps and do the same, but Mel was always smarter than me. More ambitious and eager to learn. I’m not sure I have the attention span for success. That natural born drive. I can be a bit flighty.
“Mel, what did youdo, win the lottery?” I ask, gaping around at this magnificent palace. She doesn’t answer. “What do you do for, like, a job?”
“Consulting,” she says vaguely.
Consulting. I don’t know much about that field, or anything, really, but I know they don’t makethiskind of money. I wait for her to elaborate more, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a seat at the kitchen table. I sit opposite her, tucking my legs up under me, and point to the bowl of fruit centered in the middle, straight out ofHomes & Gardensmagazine.
“Can I have one of these?” I ask, forgoing all attempts at politeness. I didn’t realize it before, but I’mstarving, and my stomach gives a growl so loud I’m certain she can hear it.
She nods. “Go ahead.”
I hastily grab an apple, wiping it on my t-shirt before biting into it. Thecrunchis deafening in the quiet room, but I’m too starved to care.
Mel regards me seriously, folding her hands on the table in front of her. She’s got a perfect manicure and a mix-match of jewelry, but there’s no diamond ring on her finger. “What’s going on, Violet?” she asks.
