I turn to my dresser, which is covered in trophies, ribbons, and medals. I wince in embarrassment at the veritable shrine to myself that I had forgotten existed. I pick up a silver debate trophy and turn it inmy hands. I go to the next. A bronze debate trophy. A few medals from decathlon tournaments. Some ribbons from Future Business Leaders of America.
I take in each one, none of which I remember winning. I have a vague recollection ofgoingto academic tournaments, but they’re foggy memories at best. My mom insisted that I join the debate team as well as Future Business Leaders. Good preparation for law school, she said.
What I find surprising is the number of science-related medals. I had forgotten I was good at science and that I’d liked it. It had never been this all-encompassing passion or anything, but it was my favorite subject in school.
It makes sense, the more I think about it: Science was Sierra’s thing, and I never wanted to put myself so solidly in her shadow like that. So even if I was good at science, even if I liked it, I never would have pursued it in any real way.
I consider the awards with a tilt of my head.
Maybe I’ll try some STEM classes next semester.
I turn around and gasp. Sierra lurks in my doorway, eyebrows arched in judgment.
I haven’t spoken to Sierra since I’ve been back, and we hadn’t spoken in years before I died, but it’s not the time and distance that make the sight of her so strange. It isn’t even the fact that my sister—myoldersister, who I always looked up to and feared and resented in equal measures—is so young, standing in front of me at the tender age of twenty-two.
No, what’s strange is that she looks somiserable.
I don’t remember this misery.
Was I so in my head I just didn’t notice?
She has bags under her eyes, her hair is a mess, and her mouth is contorted in a deep frown. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I get the sense that if I don’t speak, she won’t either, and we’ll have a long, tense,quietweekend ahead of us.
I think of the Sierra I left behind when I died.
Did she feel guilty that we hadn’t spoken for so long? I wonder. Did she regret not swallowing her pride and apologizing when she had the chance?
Iregret it, I realize. Maybe I always have. Every single day we didn’t speak, every time I was reminded of her, every time I thought of calling but didn’t—was that regret?
I can’t go back. I can’t apologize to that version of Sierra. I can’t sit with her and have a rational conversation and try to get to the bottom ofwhyshe insists on always bringing me down.
But I can work toward something better with this Sierra. Maybe.
I offer her a small smile and say, “Do they not have sunlight in Baltimore? You look like the ghost of a sad Victorian orphan.”
Can’t be too nice.
My sister smirks, a weight lifted. “You’re one to talk—what, did you forget to pack a brush when you left for school?” She snorts, then retreats downstairs for dinner. As I follow, she continues, “Med school’s exhausting, but it’ll be worth it. You’ll find out when you’re in law school. Or maybe not. I’ve heard it’s nowhere near as difficult.”
Mom overhears this and yells out a protest that is drowned out by my father’s laughter. A lively, joking debate about the hardships of their respective careers proceeds, with my sister and I observing their banter like a tennis match.
Just like that, all is normal in the Vasquez household, as if the two daughters hadn’t spent months not speaking. It’s unhealthy that we move past conflicts by pretending nothing happened, no need for apology. Itwill only breed resentment. A lifetime of resolving nothing and silently swallowing it down. And eventually just silence.
I’m unaware of it when dinner begins, but I don’t have to wait until Thanksgiving for that big family blowup. After several minutes of Sierra talking about medical school, there’s a lull in the conversation, and my mom takes the opportunity to turn to me and ask, “Have you made any plans to see your old friends this weekend?”
I stare at her blankly, because there’s no one I’ve kept in touch with. Then I remember—only six months have passed since I finished high school, so that hasn’t been established yet.
“I’ll probably spend most of the weekend sleeping. Recovering from classes. You know.”
Sierra scoffs, and I know she wants to comment on how lazy I am or turn the conversation back around to her, but my mom replies before Sierra can say anything.
“Winter break will be so busy, you might as well catch up on sleep now while you can.”
“Wait,whyis winter break going to be busy?” I ask, confused.
“Your internship. With Judge Wright? We talked about this.”
“Right. We did, only I thought I told you that I wasn’t sure it was something I wanted to take on during my first break.”
