“Cal won’t be there, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she says, like she’s reading my mind.
“Why not?” I ask, a little too quickly—my urgency giving me away.
She tilts her head. “You two are so stubborn.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, not bothering to hide my curiosity.
“Trust me. He doesn’t want to see you either.”
Her words land harder than I expect, and she knows it.
“If that stung,” she continues, “imagine how much it hurts him to know that after all this time, you’re still holding a grudge.”
“It’s not a grudge, Beth,” I say, my voice tight.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s hard to explain,” I say.
“You always say that,” she points out. “I wish you’d at least try, so I can understand where you’re coming from.”
“I’ve been seeing my therapist for a month,” I remind her. “And all I can say is... I need more time.”
The fact that those are the same words Meghan used as an excuse to keep me from seeing my sister is not lost on me.
“Okay, if you say so,” she says, then shifts back. “So, are you coming to my party or not?”
“I’m watching Hannah the week before your birthday,” I begin. “Why don’t we do something together then? Tina will be here. We can order Chinese, and I’ll bake you a cake. We’ll have a private birthday party. Just us girls.”
“Okay,” she says, but I catch the flicker of disappointment on her face. “I would’ve preferred to have all my family together on my special day, but… if it would be too hard for you, then we can do something here.”
“That’s great, then,” I say, trying to sound more cheerful than I feel. “Let’s plan on that. I’ll get everything ready.”
“If you and Cal aren’t talking,” she asks, “how is it that you're going to babysit Hannah when he’s gone?”
“It’s something I agreed to months ago.”
“So… Meghan said no.”
“Meghan said no,” I confirm. “It’s her loss. Hannah is so sweet. She reminds me of you at that age.”
“Really?” she says, curiosity lighting her face.
“You were such a precocious little kid,” I say, smiling at the memory. “Right before we got separated, you were just starting to come out of the toddler stage—becoming this little girl with her own thoughts and ideas. Always curious. Always talking.”
“What about our parents?” she asks, her voice soft as she shifts the subject. “Tell me about them.”
“They loved us,” I say gently. “They met in college. I remember hearing them talk sometimes about how excited they were to have another baby. Neither of them had any siblings, and their parents—our grandparents—had all passed away except for Grandpa. So when they had us, we were it. Their whole world.”
I pause, swallowing hard.
“I didn’t really understand it back then. But after the accident… I did. When they died, we were truly alone. And since Grandpa didn’t want us, all we had was each other.”
She nods, absorbing what all of this means for her—and the impact it had on us, especially on me after losing her.
"Elle, I'm so sorry all this happened to you."
"Now can you understand why it's so hard for me to pretend everything is okay?" I ask softly. "My life was so lonely without you in it. I'm grateful we've found each other, but I'm still trying to work through all the pain and resentment I’ve carried about how everything went down."
