May was the cutest kid. Got even cuter when she started dressing the way she wanted. Her pigtails and rainbow tutu phase, causing havoc while doing pirouettes through the house. I miss that version. The one before she became a tween and started loathing my existence.
“Mom put her in therapy, put herself in therapy, listened to the medical professionals, did her research. Seattle was a better place to help her with her transition, so we moved, and our dad . . . didn’t follow.”
“But they got remarried?”
“Eventually, yeah. My dad put in the work for her. He learned about my sister’s life, what it meant, went to therapy sessions with her. Mom took him back after they mended their relationship.”
“But did he ever mend his relationship withyou?” She asks the million-dollar question.
My dad doesn’t communicate—he barely speaks at all—but somehow, he learned how to work through that with May. Not me. They’re good, and I might as well be a kid again, wondering if my dad loves me enough to come back.
“No. Not really,” I admit to myself as much as her.
“He left during a very important phase of your life. Why wouldn’t he think he owed the same to you?”
She’s right. They divorced when I was thirteen and my sister was seven. By the time he came back, I was grown. He could have stayed gone, and it would have had the same impact.
“It’s fine. My sister’s life has been ten times harder than mine. I can’t complain when heshouldspend the rest of his life apologizing for what he did to her.”
“Except you can,” she says. “It felt wrong to complain about my pain when my mom was lying in a hospital bed, but that didn’t make it go away. Your hurt isn’t less real because someone else’s pain is worse.”
Taken aback, I’m at a loss for words. Bri has lived three lives, having wisdom far beyond her years. How she thinks she hasn’t achieved enough in her life is beyond me. “I guess you’re right.”
“You deserve his apology too. It was bad enough for me growing up. I assume it would be much worse for a young boy to be without his dad.”
“Your dad left too?”
“You can’t leave a place you never were,” she quips with a humorless smirk. “My mom had me young and didn’t get married until I was fourteen. My stepdad is the only dad I’ve known, but he got remarried a year after my mom passed. I didn’t understand how he could find someone new while her loss was still consuming my life. I haven’t really been able to forgive him for that.”
I let her talk, not interjecting some sort of apology or trying to say I understand, my hand still stroking her arm. A silent, pity-freeI’m here.
“His new wife is nice. They’re both widowed, her kids are right around my age—but I never found my place with them, and I never wanted to be family for family’s sake,” she explains. “My friends are myrealfamily. The family I chose.”
I’m jealous, in a way. If having close friends feels as good as having her in my life, I can only imagine how much happier I would be.
“I want a family like that,” I admit.
Bri tugs at the front of my shirt. “Then you have to gooutsideandmeet people.”
I sneer at the thought. “Sounds fake.”
“It’s not. Promise.” Her voice is quieter than before.
“How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” she mumbles, her eyes closing and never reopening.
“Do you need to sleep?”
“Mm-hmm.” She’s fading fast.
“I’ll leave you alone now.” I lift her hand from my chest and press my lips to her palm.Why did I just do that?She doesn’t seem to notice.
I crawl off the bed slowly. She doesn’t move when I slip from her room and close the door behind me.
A thought crosses my mind. My sister is one of those people who doesn’t respond to messages, but if I stop messaging her, she thinks I’m mad. I send her a text.
Me: Hey. I love you
