Page 61 of A World Without You
“I’msoexcited,” I say very unconvincingly.
She crosses her arms. “You’re nervous.”
I freeze before finding any courage to respond. “I...am...” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, hoping I sound a little more like the version of myself I’m supposed to be. “Overwhelmed,” I finish with confidence. “I have a lot of packing to do and logistics and...”
My voice trails and she nods. “Whatever you need from me. I’m here.”
“Thank you, Petra.”
“I’m really...” she steps forward and swallows hard, her nervousness apparent. “I’m really thankful I got to work with you this year. You’re an inspiration.”
I force a smile that masks the emotion strangling my throat.
When she leaves the office I almost sob as I collapse into my chair. I want to be excited. I want to be ecstatic. This is something I dreamt about for years and years until I passed it over as an impossible goal. A dream that would never come true. The ache in my chest is clearly trepidation as I realize it’s all possible.
Everything I wanted. The photography. Traveling the world.
Everything except Colin.
I exhale and glance down at my desk calendar. There’s a heart around the twenty-fifth, and in the middle, written in red is one word: Paris.
Asking Colin question after question about details of our life seems to be an increasingly bad idea—unless, of course, I want a psych evaluation and to be committed to Western State. It’s time to text my sister.
Me: Are you free for lunch?
Melanie: lol. Are YOU????
It stings knowing I’m highly unavailable, though it doesn’t come as a shock.
––––––––
IPULL THE IRON DOORopen and let my eyes travel through the restaurant. The walls and lighting are dark and industrial, but windows reach the ceiling letting in enough natural light to make the spiral staircase of wine glisten.
“Olivia!” my sister calls from a table near the back corner.
When I reach her, I hold her tight and smell her hair. Even though it’s longer in this life, she still smells exactly the same, giving me a rush of familiarity. I hold on to her for too long.
“Who died?” she asks.
I pull back. “What?”
“This feels like a funeral hug.”
“Oh,” I fake a laugh. “It’s not, I just miss you.”
She squints at me as she takes a seat across from me at the table. I can’t help but study her face. “You look great. Did you do your makeup differently?”
“No, I don’t think so. I just think it’s been too long since you’ve seen me,” she jokes and I try to laugh. It would seem I’m a negligent sister no matter what.
Fantastic.
Our server comes and we each order a glass of wine. She orders the duck risotto and when I order the lobster mac and cheese, she says, “That’s not gluten-free, sis.”
I blink rapidly and shake my head. “Oh right. A girl can dream,” I say, laughing uncomfortably and picking the first less gluteny thing I see on the menu. “Braised lamb, please.”
While our server leaves with our orders I give myself an internal pep talk. If I’m going to get information out of Melanie, I need to be calm and unassuming. I’ll ease into the conversation. All I need is an opening line. I’ll ask about Matty and Mason and apologize for not being able to see them for Christmas, which will segue into Paris. It’s perfect.
I could also use some liquid courage.
