Page 22 of You and Me, For Real
She winces, and I almost feel bad about my tone, but she’s had five years to find me and apologize. She’s had the funds to obtain a private investigator to find me—same as my mom—and yet, neither ever did. It’s not like I traveled far. While there were no qualms in my heart about leaving Mom, I did, on occasion, miss my sister. At least, the relationship we had before the show took off.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yes! I know that’s hard to believe after all this time, but I am. I have been. I’ve been wanting to reconnect for some time. Then I saw you on the news.”
My stupid, fumbling interview. I can’t believe it even aired!
“I thought it was divine intervention.” She takes a step forward.
I take a step back.
“There’s so much I want to tell you. So much to talk about. And clarify about our past?—”
“There’s nothing I care to talk about from our past.”
My sister looks like I just kicked her puppy, and guilt pinches me.
“I just want to fix this. Fix us.”
Over her shoulder, I spot Marissa pulling into the parking lot. I’ve never been more grateful for her early arrival to work foronce. This time, I step toward my sister, and her face starts to light up, like I’ve just granted her a wish.
I blame my inability to hurt people for the words that slip from my mouth. “Okay. We’ll talk.”
“Really?” She squeals and clasps her hands together.
“Yes. Really.” I put my arm around her shoulders and spin her toward the door. “But you need to go.” Marissa waves as she approaches the door. I wave back. “I have to work.”
“Oh, right. Of course. I don’t want to interrupt.”
Marissa enters the shelter and I hold my breath, praying she doesn’t recognize my sister. The last thing I need is for someone fangirling over her right now. I need her out of here before questions start flowing.
“Morning.” Marissa stays glued to her phone, her thumbs speedily tapping away on the screen.
Oh, bless those self-absorbed teens.
“Morning, Marissa. Would you mind letting out the dogs in the hallway kennels first?”
She continues walking into the shelter, her eyes still fixed to her phone. “Got it.” She enters the swinging doors and disappears into the hallway.
I release my breath.
“Can I have your number? I’ll text you, and we can set something up?” My sister is downright giddy.
I open the front door. “I still know your number. I’ll call you.”
She pauses in the doorway. “You promise?”
“Cross my heart.” I do the gesture—one we’d done together as kids.
Her expression softens. “Good. Please do.” She smiles and slips on her sunglasses. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I miss you.”
Something loosens around my heart as I look down at our clasped hands. A piece of me that’s been missing clicks intoplace. But it’s too soon for such admissions. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Sounds good.”
My hand is numb as I lift it into the air and wave, staring after her car as she pulls out of the parking lot.
