Page 127 of Reconciling With the Rival

“Is she upstairs?” I ask, unsure of what else to say.

He nods at me, and as I start up the stairs, I hear him say something else.

“I’m sorry.”

I know he’s talking about more than just Thanksgiving, and as I turn around to face him, his face full of regret, I let a few tears fall. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He shakes his head. “But I’m proud of you, Ella.”

“We’ll talk later, okay?”

He nods at me, returning to whatever he was watching as I walk up the stairs, headed straight for my sister's room. I knock on the door and hear her mumble something.

“It’s me, Lizzie.”

I hear a few footsteps before the door swings open, and I barely have time to say anything before she wraps her arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles as I squeeze her. I can hear her voice tight with emotions, and my first instinct is to make it better, but maybe all she needs from me right now is a hug.

Trying to rewire my brain to stop having my first thought being to fix something is going to be hard, but I need to let the people I love figure things out for themselves sometimes.

“Do you want to sit?” I ask as she leans back from me.

“Yes.” She grabs my hand and leads me to her small twin bed, the two of us sitting cross legged across from one another like we used to when we were kids.

I don't say a word as I wait for her to start the conversation. She might need me to listen to her, and I don't know what happened in the past week with our mom to make her upset. Or maybe it was because of what I said? I don’t know, but my stomach is flipping as I wait.

“I’m sorry about Thanksgiving. It was all my fault, and I guess I didn't think it would go the way it did. Looking back, I realize I was a little naive.”

“It’s okay, Liz. I’m sorry for my outburst.”

“Don’t apologize, Ells.” A few tears fall from her eyes. “I never realized how hard it was for you. I only really focused on my own pain, but hearing you say all that to Mom opened my eyes to what you went through too. You had more pressure on you, but you always made sure I was okay as a kid. So, thank you. Thank you for all you did and all you continue to do for me and Dad.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Lizzie. You’re my sister.” I grab her hand. “I would do anything for you.”

It’s quiet for a few moments before I hear her sniffle and speak softly. “Mom has been flaking on our last few get-togethers.”

My heart breaks as I hear her say that. “I’m sorry, Liz.” I know my sister wanted to have more of a relationship with her than I did, but I guess I wished our mother changed enough to give it a shot with her. It kind of feels like my fault. My outburst was warranted, but it might’ve made her second guess even trying to have a relationship with Lizzie.

Tears fall onto my sister's shirt, and I grab the tissue box from her side table, handing her a few. “I thought she changed.”

“Look at me, sis,” I say, and she does. “She might’ve changed, but sometimes, people do things that don’t make sense. It’s not on you, Lizzie. Her leaving and flaking isn't on you; it’s on her.”

“I wish I was as protective of my heart as you are. Maybe then, I would realize some people don’t deserve the chances I give them.”

“I love how open you are to seeing the good in people, Liz. You shouldn't change that about yourself just because of her.” I squeeze her hands. “You just need to be a little more protective of who you give your heart to. Don’t let what she did break your faith in people.”

“I would love to have her in my life, but I don’t know if I can handle being hurt over and over again.”

My heart breaks when she says that. I’m not sure there’s a normal piece of it left with how many blows it has taken over the past few weeks, but whatever was left just shattered. “It’s hard, Lizzie. It’s difficult putting your all into someone like her. Maybe you need to start slower with her and let her prove she’s going to stick around. Baby steps, you know?”

She nods at me. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Maybe I tried to jump into the deep end without having any floaties on.”

I laugh at her metaphor. “That’s a good way to describe it.”

She sighs heavily, and I can still see the weight of all this on her shoulders.

“Just don’t let this break you, Liz. It took me a really long time to learn that the decisions she made don’t have to define who I am and how I love going forward. It’s hard to come to terms with that, and it’s a fight every single day to remind myself what she did won’t define who I am.”

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