“You know,” Dad said, “your mother told me I couldn’t get involved when you got back with Wells—”
My shoulders slumped. I put on the kettle.
“We were worried,” Dad finished, throwing Mom a look. He paused. “That guy reeks of cologne, and if there’s one thing I know about artificial scent, it’s that it repels fish.”
“I’m not a fish, Dad.”
“Nope.” His smile was rueful. “You’re an entertainer.”
My heart squeezed, the lyrics to that song fromGypsyfunneling back to me all at once.
Dad rubbed his chin. “I guess what I’m trying to say is: I just want my kid to be happy in the little moments.”
Without Wells, I’d certainly be happier. Wouldn’t I? I was definitely relieved. My rib cage tightened. Once early bliss wore off, it was human nature—at least, itwas, before Soulmail—to wonder if you were with the right person, if you were happy, but could be happier. With Wells, I’d been content. And the scary thing about leaving him was that maybe the universe somehow knew this.
“Well, that’s easy to want,” I settled on saying. I sat on the couch, rearranged the throw blankets.
“I’m not even going to pretend to know how to use this thing,” Mom said, handing me the remote.
I groaned. “At least pretend to not be the stereotype.”
Dad jumped up. “Didn’t you say there’s a wobbly shelf in your bedroom?”
I rolled my eyes, but gratitude relaxed my shoulders. “Yeah, the one beside the door.”
“Let me take a look. Where are your tools?”
I said nothing and wiggled my eyebrows.
“Got to get you a level,” Dad muttered. He vanished.
I made Mom and I chamomile tea, and we put on Netflix. An ad for a new Nick-and-Vanessa-Lachey-hosted reality dating show popped up. Without warning, I finally burst into tears.
Mom fumbled to put the steaming mug on my rickety side table, the one with three legs that toppled over when someone sighed too hard. When my sobs quieted to the occasional hitch, Mom stroked my neck the way she did when I was a child. “Good,” she said. “This is good, my love. Let it out. It’s been quite the life lately, hasn’t it?” Her words only made me cry harder.
“Yeah.” I sat up and scrubbed my cheeks of tears. “I’m so relieved. But something’s still so off. What if the universe was right, and I’m making the wrong choice?”
“Oh, sweetheart. The fact that you made the choice is something I’ll admire about you for the rest of my life.” Mom’s fingertips stilled. “Are you a little angry that your sister is mine?”
I paused. Part of me might be. But a different piece of me—the better one, or at least the more generous one—knew that in the long run, I’ve had a much more fulfilled life than Sabrina did. Addiction at such a young age was a nearly impossible climb, one that many people can’t shake loose from. I was so grateful that I wasn’t in its grasp, and the most mature parts of me knew that Sabrina deserved someone like Mom. “Not really. But I’m sad. You deserve to have her here. You were the best gift the universe could have given her. And I know how much you and Dad hate someone else bringing her up.”
“Olivia,” Mom said. It was half-admonishing, half-loving, my name coming out throaty and thick. “No matter what Soulmail says, we all deserve to have our person here. Please believe me when I say that the reminder of Sabrina isn’t what’s painful. We hold that pain every day.”
I nipped at the inside of my lower lip, looked everywhere but at her. “It must have been so hard to lose a child.”
“Impossible.” Her smile was sad. “We didn’t want you to know what happened when she died.”
“I didn’t wantyouto know what happened when she died!”
My mother stilled like someone had put her on pause. “You knew?”
I nodded, recounted research class for her. “You guys did, too? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, love, you’ve been carrying this too long. We always intended to give you more details, but they’re just so painful, so we chose to protect you instead.” After a moment, she licked her lips. “Time changes with tragedy, with grief. Or maybe they change time.”
“I—” My breath caught in my throat. “I tried to do everything I could to fix things for you and Dad.”
The corners of her eyes softened. “We know.”
