"Brys," Jakob whispers, his voice ragged. "I…"
"You had your turn," I say. "Don't make this about you." I touch his hand and smile to take the sting out of it. "There's so much for me to get out—so many things I've never even tried to put into words."
"Trust me, I know."
"I know you know," I tell him. "That's the only reason I'm even able to sit here and try. You understand. That's my point."
He watches me in silence as I regather my thoughts.
"I suppose I should start with the hardest thing," I mutter, as much to myself as to Jakob; I look at him, hold his gaze. "Why do you find it hard to trust people?"
He looks away, thinking. "Because I've…because I know I cannot be trusted. I am a liar, so I assume others are, too. I am devious, manipulative, and selfish, and I assume others are too."
I nod, sighing. I have to close my eyes and breathe in and out slowly a few times before I can make myself speak. "It was never supposed to be me."
"What wasn't?"
"BDI. The life I'm living. It was never supposed to be me."
"Then who was it supposed to be?"
"My sister," I whisper. "Britt."
I see him process this. "Sister?"
"Older by six years," I say. "Iwas an accident;Brittwas the chosen one."
He doesn't ask the obvious question.
"My father was grooming her to take over for him her whole life. And it's what she wanted—it'sallshe ever wanted. She wore power suits to high school. Accelerated classes. College credits her senior year. Interned for Russel Dempsey, dad's VP of operations, every summer during college. She was the golden child. Did everything right. Perfect grades, perfect behavior. Never snuck out, never got drunk, never had any pregnancy scares, just…perfect. All the time."
"That never goes well, in my experience," Jakob says. "Which means I don't like where this is going."
I acknowledge him with a nod, but that's it. "I was always compared to her. ‘Why can’t you be more like Britt?’ they'd ask me. If I fucked up, they'd point out that Brittneverfucked up like that. And what sucked the most about it was thatshenever rubbed it in. Never lorded it over me. She was an amazing older sister. Looked out for me. Let me tag along with her friends."
It takes a few deep breaths to get going again.
"I wanted to be just like her. I started working at the office when I was fourteen. Sorting mail in the mailroom, stuffing and stamping mailers, delivering intra-office mail, and packages. I have never worked anywhere except BDI. I dressed like her. I snuck into her room so I could organize my closet like hers because I saw how she did it, and it was so cool. I…my first boyfriend was her boyfriend's younger brother. She didn't like that very much." I laugh, remembering, then sober, shaking myhead. "I knew the big chair was never going to be mine. I was happy with VP."
"But?"
"My senior year at Yale, things were really taking off for the company. They were expanding, investing in exciting new fields. Things had been happening at a breakneck pace for a few years by then. Britt was Dad's assistant—on paper, she was his PA, but in reality, she was essentially a junior VP. She had a lot of leeway. He gave her freedom to use her judgment. Let her take the lead on some big pitches and handle some big clients. And as always, Britt came through. Everything she touched turned to fucking gold. She invested four million into a startup no one had ever heard of, some niche little product that she just had a hunch was going to break out. The board didn't like it and wanted to cut back on the slack Dad was giving her. But Dad figured fuck it, it's only four mil—he could put that back into the accounts from his pay package in a worst-case scenario." I snort. "In less than two years, that company went public for over half a billion dollars. Our investment was returned withsignificantinterest. She had the Midas touch. The board agreed with Dad, and they took off the training wheels. Put her on the board, made her the youngest voting member by a good thirty years." My voice wavers, shakes. "She was destined for greatness. I know that sounds melodramatic or whatever, but it's true. And then, in February of my senior year, she took her own life."
"Oh god…Brys."
"There are no words for the shock. Initially, it was…we would have been less shocked to find out the moon really is made of cheese. I don't know. There were no indications. She was dating a great, great guy. He was planning to propose in a couple of months. She'd had a string of wildly successful investments and pitches. We all had dinner together at this place way uptown that Mom loved. Mom and Dad stayed to drink wine and talk. I leftto meet some friends at a bar, Bryan went to do I don’t know what, and Britt went home. The last time I saw her alive, she was taking the keys to her car from the valet. Her car, god. She loved that thing more than just about anything. She bought it with cash. It was a 1989 Porsche 911 Targa 4S, in Porsche red. Mint condition, all original. Just beautiful. I mean, that's how fucking cool my sister was. She didn't just drive a Porsche, she drove aclassicPorsche."
My eyes burn, and then sting, and then go hazy.
Jakob shifts on the bed, grunting, and then takes my hand. "I'm here, Brys."
I sniffle. Squeeze his hand. "I watched her take the keys from the valet, and god, he was starstruck. You'd think she was Nicole Kidman, the way he was looking at her. I mean, I get it, though. She was gorgeous. Same height as me, but the fat ass gene skipped her." Another pause, swallowing hard. "She drove away, and I never saw her again. No one heard from her that night or the next day, so Mom went over to her place to check on her. Found her in her garage, in her car. She'd run a hose from the tailpipe. She’d written 'I'm sorry' in the fog on the window."
"For what?" he asked.
"Exactly what we all went crazy asking ourselves. Dad went haywire. Spent hundreds of thousands of dollars keeping it out of the news. We weren't, like, nationally famous to any degree, but around the city, we were pretty well known, and he—it was something he could do, I guess. Because no one could understand why. It hit Mom harder than anyone. She found her, and…Mom never got over it. But that came later. I'm the one who figured it out. I was the only one who could stomach the task of going through her stuff, packing it up, all that. I had to go through her personal information—her finances. And that’s when I found out what had happened."
"God, Brys. That shouldn't have been on you."
