I stalked out of her office, leaving the door open behind me. Equal parts bitter and immature. I worked with nine-year-olds—every once in a while, the childish whims won. Phoebe leapt to her feet, her expression shifting from curiosity to dread as she registered my anger. I was halfway out the door when Gloria called out a goodbye. Phoebe jogged to keep up.
“Stupid bitch,” I grumbled.
“Are they kicking me out?” Phoebe asked breathlessly. We turned the corner and pushed through the doors, out of the building. A warm breeze curled around us, the smell of impending summer permeating the air—gasoline, hot asphalt, a savory drift from the food trucks setting up shop in the park down the street. This would be Phoebe’s first summer in the city and I had no idea if she missed the salt of the ocean or the sweetness of the magnolia tree Dad planted in the yard when she was born.
“No,” I said. I paused at the edge of the sidewalk, hands on my hips. The tension in Phoebe’s shoulders ebbed slightly. “They’re giving you the year. But if you keep it up, you’re done.”
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“No, Phoebe. It’s not good.”
“What? You’d rather I get expelled for breaking some asshole’s nose?”
“No! I’d rather you didn’t break anyone’s nose!” I tipped my head back, closing my eyes. The sun warmed my face. Somewhere close by, a bird sang its song. When I looked back at my sister, her eyes hardened, daring me to throw down the guardian card. It was overdue and completely worthless.
Some of the girls from high school I followed on Instagramchoseto become parents at twenty-six. I hated every single one of them.
“You didn’t break his nose,” I said. She furrowed her brow. “Nearly, but no dice.”
Her lip twitched. “Damn. Guess I’ll try harder next time.”
Together, we crossed the lot. My car had only been parked in the sun for a few minutes, but the inside already tipped from uncomfortable to sweltering. I made sure Phoebe had her seatbelt on before driving off. She stuck her head out the window like a dog, effectively cooling off and delaying the rest of this unpleasant conversation. I didn’t mind. I stuck my hand out the window, letting the breeze rush through my fingers, wondering how our dad managed to get through the tough talks with a smile on his face.
My eyes burned. I pretended it was sweat.
Once we reached our apartment building, Phoebe was out of the car before I even put it in park. I stepped out, watching her dart across the lot.
“Outrunning me? That’s your plan?”
She flipped me off over her shoulder.
I trailed behind, wincing as she stomped through the ring of flowers near the entrance of our building. The only reason we managed to nab a unit in such a coveted area was my best friend’s boyfriend, Noah, and the endless list of Guys He Knew—when the apartment across the hall opened up a few months ago, it was ours before it officially hit the market. The rent was expensive, but utilities were included, and I could walk to work.
Plus, it wasn’t our dead dad’s house.
Phoebe slammed the Door Close button repeatedly as I collected our mail and approached the elevator, but as the doors slid shut, a hand slipped out, stopping them. She groaned.
“Goddammit.”
I stepped into the elevator, shooting our elderly neighbor a smile. To Phoebe, I said, “You should’ve taken the stairs.”
She rolled her eyes.
It was supposed to get easier, wasn’t it? Nine months of backbreaking effort and yet I could’ve been standing in the teachers’ lounge in September, answering a phone call from the hospital, understanding the nurse’s grim tone before anyone had to say the words out loud.
Phoebe bolted when the doors opened. With a sigh, I made my way down the hall, surprised to find her waiting outside the apartment door for me. She shrugged.
“Lost my key.”
“Of course you did.” I handed her mine, along with the mail. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She let herself into the apartment without a word. In the months after our dad’s death, I read several parenting books in a desperate attempt to feel in control of an uncontrollable situation. Phoebe had been drifting fast, her moods souring, patience thinning, and each book assured nothing I said would be right ina teenager’s eyes. I didn’t find it quite as comforting when I used to be Phoebe’s hero. Now, sometimes it felt like I hadn’t done anything right since taking her in, and even that might’ve been a mistake. I couldn’t imagine her anywhere else. But maybeshecould.
I drifted across the hall and banged my forehead against the door three times. A beat later, Arden opened it, her presence illuminating something in me. Even when everything else caught fire and burned to ash, I had her, so things could never be irreversibly bad.
“Hey,” she said cautiously, dark eyes studying my face. I should’ve been at work, not barging in on her day off. But she’d been my rock for years, especially since Dad died, and it would be a disservice to her if I held off on a vent session when I needed one.
“I used to be a happy person, right?” I asked. She winced.
