Millie
When I wake up in the morning, my back stiff from drifting off in the armchair, any ounce of confidence I had yesterday after my conversation with Ethan has evaporated and is replaced with a sense of dread.
I unfurl my limbs and stretch as I stand, cracking joints and shaking out my feet. Below me, I hear Lucy moving quick-footed in the kitchen. She stops, and I picture her sliding onto a seat at the counter, reaching for a banana, drinking a mug of coffee.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirror as I smooth down my hair and fit my lips around the words I need to say: I’m sorry.
When I get downstairs, Lucy is right where I thought she’d be, sitting at the counter, mug in hand.
“Lucy,” I try.
Lucy whips her head around, and even though there’s a smile on her face, it falls as soon as she sees me. “What?” she asks.
“We need to talk.”
“Not really,” she says. “We don’t need to do anything.”
“Lucy,” I say. “Everything that happened was a mistake. I was an idiot, and I want to say I’m sorry.”
“You should be sorry,” she says, pointing her milk-covered spoon in my direction, splashing a stray Cheerio on the floor.
“I am. That’s what I’m trying to say. I talked to Ethan and—”
“Oh, you talked to Ethan? Well, how nice. Isn’t that lovely.”
I blink, trying to stop the stinging in my eyes. “What I’m trying to tell you is that I wish it never happened. I was totally misguided, and I’ll do anything for you to forgive me.”
“I don’t have to forgive you for anything,” Lucy says. “You kissed Ethan, Millie.”
Behind me, someone gasps, and I spin around, horrified to see that Frankie is standing right there, wearing her bunny-print pajamas, dark circles under her eyes. She’s holding a mini whiteboard, the kind you might stick on a wall above a desk.
“Frankie,” I say. “It’s not…”
“Not what it sounds like?” Lucy asks. “Yes, it is. Millie kissed Ethan after we broke up. Didn’t even give it twenty-four hours. Not even twenty-four minutes.”
“It was a mistake! I don’t know how else I can say this—I regret the whole thing. I thought I loved him. I thought he liked me back. I thought…”
“You thought wrong,” Lucy says, “because you didn’t think about how this would affect me. You only thought about yourself.” She looks over my shoulder and lifts her chin. “Right, Frankie?”
Frankie’s eyes pinball back and forth, like she’s trying to decide which side might benefit her, which sister to back. But in an instant, she flips the whiteboard around, revealing a complicated web of names and places and little scribbles all connected to one another.
“What the hell is this?” Lucy asks. “Did you go all psycho meme on us?”
“Worse,” Frankie says. “I think I solved Billy’s murder.”