And that’s true.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been an awful brother.”
“Actually, you’ve barely been a brother at all.”
“You’re right.”
“You didn’t even come to my graduation day when I left school.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been really shitty: to you, to Mum and Dad, and most of all to my own daughter. But I’m trying to make up for it, now.”
I’ve invited Rian out this morning. She wasn’t sure at first – she doesn’t trust me at all, and for good reason. I wouldn’t trust me if I were her. But, in the end, she gave in and agreed to have breakfast with me; her first class isn’t until eleven o’clock, and I only had to take Skylar to school. So now we’re sitting outside a café at the docks, enjoying the lazy autumnal sun.
My sister is young: almost as young as my daughter. But she has a good head on her shoulders, just as my parents have always told me, probably to highlight just how different we are. She finished school two years ago, a year early, then launched full-time into her yoga training. She wanted to be an instructor, have her own gym, help people to find their own peace and stay in shape – not just physically, but mentally, too. She never wanted to do anything else: she’s always been a passionate about it. She hasn’t stopped practicing since the very first time she ever saw someone contorting their body on TV. She went to lessons, then took a course that would allow her to qualify as an instructor herself.
I only know all this because my parents told me; luckily, I listen sometimes.
We’ve never had any kind of relationship, me and Rian. The huge age gap doesn’t help, and the distance between us took care of the rest. Rian was born when my mother was forty-two – I don’t know whether she was planned, or just a miracle from the gods, but it didn’t seem my place to ask. I had already moved out; I had my own life. I wanted nothing to do with a baby or a toddler, let alone with a teenager later on. And now I find myself sitting across from a woman I barely recognise: someone unique, special. Apparently, everyone around me here is special in some way – unlike yours truly. Yet, not long ago, I thought I was the unique one. I thought I was different.
“I grew up an only child,” Rian says, her tone calm, measured. She isn’t pissed off with me – she’s merely stating what happened, how she felt. “I’d have liked to have had someone on my side, to help me out whenever I fucked up.”
“I don’t think you ever fucked up, Rian.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Niall. You’re not the only one who can get yourself into trouble.”
“I don’t doubt it, but it looks to me like you turned out perfectly fine, without my support. I mean, look at you: you’re eighteen years old and you’ve already moved out. You have a job, you have…a life.”
“You make it sound so boring. I can go out and have fun, too, you know.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“You make it sound like youdidn’thave a life.”
“I did.” I don’t know whether I feel defeated or bitter.
“Do you miss it?”
“At first, when Skylar came to live with me, I had to give up my job and become a father… Yeah, I guess I missed it all. My freedom, the fact that I could say whatever I wanted and watch anything on TV. The women…” I sigh, sadly. “Then Skylar started getting into more and more trouble. She got kicked out of school, lost all her friends, lost…everything. I was all she had left.”
My sister smiles at me, for the first time since I moved back to town.
“And she couldn’t lose me, too.”
“You really care about that girl, don’t you?”
I throw a glance at her, wary.
“I thought you only cared about yourself.”
“I used to.”
“Then what changed? Where has this revelation come from?”
“I don’t know: maybe it’s coming back here, to my roots. Seeing the place I grew up in, the people who surrounded me. My family…”
“Don’t tell me you actuallylikeliving here?”
