Page 90 of The Comeback Summer

My sister’s eyebrows shoot up, but before she can say anything, I start talking:

“I know you’re not going to like this, but I’m a grown woman, okay?” I say. “I get to make my own decisions. That’s not to say that I don’t appreciate everything you did to help me, because I do, but here’s the thing: I have a lot of skills now. My prefrontal cortex has fully developed. I’ve donetherapy. So, I guess what I’m asking is for you to support me. No matter what happens.”

I force myself to stop; my breathing is erratic.

“I”—Libby stares at me, her eyebrows still raised—“have no idea what you’re talking about. Can you back up?”

I blink. And realize that I skipped over some key information.

“I went sailing with Josh tonight.” Deep breath. In and out.

Her eyes widen. “Okay. Okay. That’s fine. As long as you didn’t—”

“We had sex,” I blurt.

Her glass slips out of her hand, hitting the tile floor with a spectacular crash, sending shards flying across the room.

“How could you do that?” she shrieks.

I gasp. She doesn’t have any shoes on, just ankle socks. “Don’t move! I’ll grab the broom.”

“It was just a onetime thing, right?” She’s wailing,oblivious to the broken glass. “One time to get it out of your system so you can move on?”

I bite my lip and look away, and she knows what that means.

“Hannah! You can’t get back together with him. Are you out of your mind—”

“Stay still! You’re going to get cut.” I get the broom and carefully step across the floor, glass crunching under my shoes. I’m grateful for something to focus on so I don’t have to see the disappointment on my sister’s face.

“I can’t believe this!” She’s practically hyperventilating. “You know you can’t trust him, right? You—”

“It’s not your job to protect me,” I cut in. Now that the proverbial bomb has dropped, I feel calmer. Like I can let the fear go and sink back into the logical side of my brain.

“But itwillbe my job to fix everything when it falls apart again,” she says, “so I think I should have some say in the matter.”

I shake my head, frustrated. Does she hear the words coming out of her mouth? Does she honestly think she has a say in who I choose to love?

She keeps ranting: “I just don’t understand how, after everything he did to you, you can forgive him!”

“Well, I have,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “And—”

“Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting what he did. GiGi always said to forgive your enemies but remember their names—”

“Pretty sure it was JFK who said that—”

“Not the point!” she says, and I roll my eyes. “Someone has to hold Josh accountable for what he did, and if you won’t, I will.”

“You’re not holding anyone accountable; you’re just holding a grudge,” I say. “Oh, and you’re bleeding.”

I point at her ankle, where there’s a two-inch slice of red from a flying piece of glass.

“What?” she gasps.

I bend down to inspect the cut; it doesn’t look deep. “I’ll get a Band-Aid,” I say, and reach around to the drawer where we keep the first aid supplies. Crouching again, I apply it to my sister’s ankle as she hisses in pain. Then I sweep up the rest of the glass, grateful for a moment of silence.

“It’s not so fun, is it?” Libby says quietly. “Picking up the pieces.”

“I don’t mind.”

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