‘And we don’t want to have Sunday dinner without you,’ Abby said. ‘So please, Blake. Please get up and come and eat with us? We miss you.’
It was as if Abby had a magic line to her heart, because Blake couldn’t wallow knowing that her siblings needed her. She groaned and got up, going straight into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She stared at her reflection in the mirror—hair sticking up on end, bloodshot eyes with mascara smudged beneath them, and pyjamas that needed a wash. She was a mess, and Blake was never a mess.
She could hear Abby singing to herself in the bedroom as she turned on the water. And this time when the tears started, it wasn’t because of Henri, or Paris, it was because her sister had thanked her for all those nights, all the hours she’d held her through her pain, wishing there was someone who would hold her through hers.
When Blake emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, with her hair freshly washed and her skin scrubbed clean, smelling like her vanilla-scented soap, she was pleasantly surprised to see her bed made, with her dirty sheets in a pile atAbby’s feet. What she wasn’t so happy to see was that her sister had her sketchbook open, and was silently flipping through the pages.
‘When did you start designing again?’ Abby asked.
Blake sighed and walked over to her, closing the book and picking it up. She would have scolded her for looking in the first place, but they were sisters—they looked at each other’s everything.
‘When I was in Paris.’
‘I love what you’ve done,’ Abby said. ‘Are you going to keep sketching?’
Blake shrugged. That was the problem; she had absolutely no idea what she wanted to do next.
‘Have you written your final story yet? Or are you still working on it?’
‘I’m still working on it. It’s, well, it’s just hard to know what to include and what to leave out.’
There was silence for a moment, before Abby stood and brushed her hands down her jeans. ‘Blake, can I ask you something?’
She nodded, rummaging through her drawer for something to wear so that she could get out of her dressing gown.
‘Why did you come home?’ Abby asked. ‘When you were in Paris, you seemed alive. I heard something I’d never heard in your voice before.’
‘Because I have a job, and I have a family, and a flat…’
‘Then quit your job, leave your family and end the lease on your flat. Or make your sister take it over, because she needs a new place.’
Blake turned round and shook her head. ‘Abby, you just don’t get it! I’m not you, I can’t just up and leave whenever I want when I have responsibilities, and, and?—’
She’d purposely said words that would hurt her sister or make her feel guilty, but Abby didn’t seem wounded. Instead, she smiled, seemingly unaffected by her big sister’s rant. ‘Blake, youcanleave. You’ve been telling yourself that story your entire life, but it isn’t true anymore. We’ll survive without you, and Deborah will find another writer to fill your position. But you? You will never forgive yourself if you don’t finally follow your heart.’
‘What if I’m not as brave as you?’
Now it was Abby shaking her head. ‘You’ve always been the brave one, Blake, you always have been and you always will be.’
‘Knock, knock.’
The sound of Tom’s voice broke the heaviness sitting between them, and Blake looked up to see her brother standing in the door with two plates.
‘I guess we’re eating in here?’
‘Yes,’ Abby said. ‘We’re eating in here like old times. Remember when we were kids, and we’d all snuggle up and watch a movie while we ate noodles?’
‘I loved that,’ Tom said. ‘But I never got to choose the movie.’
‘Youalwaysget to choose the movie, Tom,’ Blake said, giving him a pretend slap about the head before taking the plate from him.
‘But tonight, I get to choose,’ Abby said, as she took the other plate before her brother could keep it. ‘We need a belly-laugh kind of comedy, not an action flick.’
Tom disappeared to get his plate of lasagne which, despite being bought and not home-made, smelt absolutely delicious, and when he returned, he gently bumped his shoulder into hers.
‘You okay, sis?’
She gave him a little bump back. ‘I will be. And thanks, for bringing dinner and coming over, it means a lot.’
