Page 43 of Secrets, Lies and Love

Jesus, no one told me that Greeks were so stubborn, both men and women.

I’m getting ready to take a shower before going to see Joseph when suddenly my phone rings. When I see who’s calling, I feel my stomach drop.

Peyton, my stepsister.

For a moment, I consider not answering, but I’m not a child and I have to face my problems.

“Hello,” I say.

“Finally, I hear your voice again. I thought you died.”

I feel my jaw tighten. This is how she talks to me after so long without any contact.

Since I turned eighteen and left home, this is the first time we’ve talked, even though I continued to live in our little town and she and Jodelle could have met me if they’d wanted to.

When I left, I signed a document giving up my share of the house, which belonged to my father, because I just wanted to get rid of those two. Peyton and her mother sold everything and left for the capital. I never saw them again. They didn’t reach out to me, so I have no idea why she’s calling me now.

“What do you want, Peyton? I’m about to leave.”

“To go where?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Wow, how rude.”

I roll my eyes, feeling a twinge of headache starting. It’s ironic that she’s accusing me of being rude when, along with her mother, she’s always shouted at me.

“No problem, sister. I’m not resentful. How is life in New York?”

“How do you know I’m in New York?”

“Because I went to look for you in that end of the world where we were born, and they told me you had moved. Why? You’re not the type to live in a big city. In fact, Austanville suits you: dull and simplistic.”

“Did you call to insult me? If that’s your intention, go look for a new victim. I’m immune to your poison. I got a tetanus shot this year.”

“Haha! Very funny. Have you finally started showing your claws, Harper?”

“Like I told you before, I’m in a hurry, Peyton. If you could get on with it and say what you want to say, it would make this easier for both of us.”

“I want to visit you.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “When did you become a comedian?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I left the house that belonged to my father, giving up what was rightfully mine, for one reason: I didn’t want you around. Neither you nor your mother. And now that I’m finally free of you, you think I’d welcome you into my home? Maybe in another life. Or who knows, maybe not even then.”

“Ungrateful. Mom raised you like you were her daughter.”

“When did that happen, Peyton? On the days when my father was traveling and she left me hungry? Or maybe when she hid the shampoo and conditioner and said I had to make do with soap because I didn’t need those luxuries? Or when you two locked me in the house for a whole weekend while you went to visit your relatives, leaving me alone without food when I was only eight years old?”

“You are very dramatic.”

“And you are clueless. Have you ever heard that saying: the axe forgets, but the tree remembers? I took a lot of punishment from you, literally and figuratively speaking. You have lost power over me. If you think you can just cozy up to me now because I live in New York, you don’t know me that well.”

I hang up the phone, shaking and angry at myself for losing control like that.

I never went to therapy because I didn’t have enough money, but I’ve read a lot about it and I know that when you lose control like that in front of your enemy, you give him power.

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