I stand abruptly, taking another bite from the apple, and walk around the cavernous kitchen. “Ilovethis kitchen. This oven is insane. Martha Stewart level insane. Gordan Ramsey would have a fit. I would die for this oven. You must do a ton of cooking in here.” I glance at her, but she doesn’t say anything. “Mom would have loved this kitchen.”
Mel clears her throat and shifts in her seat, uncomfortable at the mention of our mother. “Why are you here, Violet?” she asks, and my attention snaps back to her.
“To see you, of course,” I say, leaning my elbows on the kitchen island. “Why else would I be here?”
She sighs. “You shouldn’t have shown up here out of nowhere. It’s not a good time.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
“Why isn’t it a good time?” I ask, then take another bite of the apple.
She shakes her head. “Because. It’s not.” I stare at her as I chew, raising my eyebrows. “It’s personal.”
I shrug, not seeing the problem. “We’re family. How much more personal can you get?”
She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then closes it, shaking her head. I want so desperately to know what she doesn’t have the nerve to say, but I’m too afraid to ask. I came all this way. I can’t handle any letdowns.
“Why are you really here?” she asks instead.
“What do you mean? I just told you. To see you.”
“Is it really to see me? Or do you just need a place to stay?”
I smile at her. “It can’t be both?”
She sighs, exasperated. “Violet, please tell me you left home…left Dad with some kind of plan.” Her voice has an edge to it that I’ve never heard before, a note of irritation that makes my skin itch. “Please tell meIwasn’t your plan. I’ve kept my life separate for a reason. I’ve left my past behind for a reason.”
I try not to feel offended. She’s just caught off guard. She loves that I’m here. “My plan was always to leave that town as soon as I could and come find you. I didn’t think it would be an issue. I thought you’d be happy.”
Her frown deepens. “What about college?”
I shrug. “What about it? Dad wasn’t going to be able to pay for it.” The words come out a little harsher than intended, and I take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. I’m just tired. Tired from the journey. Tired from the excitement. Tired from the anticipation of it all. “Did you go to college?”
She shifts, almost uncomfortable. “I did.”
“You did?” I squint at her because this is news to me. It’s not like either of us had college funds. “How did you afford it?”
“Loans.”
“Seriously? Have you paid them off yet?”
“You shouldn’t ask so many questions about money,” she says, instead of giving me an actual answer. “It’s bad form.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised, because we never cared about things likebad formgrowing up. Our family never had a lot of money, even less once our mom stopped working, but Dad was always transparent about what we could and couldn’t afford. Like college. “Sorry.”
I study her. She’s more beautiful than the last time I saw her, sure, but she seems a lot pricklier now. I’m trying to figure out the best way to soften her up, the way I always do with people, but I envision sharp, spikey resistance at every attempt. I don’t remember her being like this. In my memory, she’s warm and loving, always looking out for me. My rock, my protector, my big sister.
“Remember when we caught that bucket of frogs from the pond behind the house,” I say, studying her reaction, “and tried to race them across the lawn? Mine took like two steps and just sat there, but yours hopped all the way to the finish line like a champ.”
Her nose wrinkles, just slightly. “That was a long time ago.”
I shrug because I guess it was. Who cares, though? It’s still one of my favorite memories.
“I’m guessing you don’t do much frog racing here,” I say, eyeing her manicure.
“No. Thank God.”
