Chapter 1 #2
I stare, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. Mom's eyes glisten as she watches them embrace, her hand lifting to her mouth. Wait. What? My pulse hammers against my ribs as a single thought crashes into me, stealing the air from my lungs. God, please don’t let this be my sister. Fate can’t be that cruel.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
“Come sit. Let’s get you something to drink,” my dad says, guiding her toward the kitchen. Rose follows him, but as they pass through the hallway, her steps slow. Her attention drifts to the photographs lining the wall before settling on one in particular. She stops. Her hand rises to her mouth.
“You kept it after all these years?” she whispers, as if she’s just remembering the drawing she gifted him.
Dad joins her at the wall, his eyes following hers to the framed drawing.
A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as she looks up at him, and something unspoken passes between them—something neither of them needs words to explain.
For a moment, it feels as though they're standing somewhere else entirely, reliving a memory that's been waiting years to find its way home.
I watch them in silence, my chest tightening before relief washes over me.
This is the Rose. The little girl my parents have spent years talking about.
Everything clicks into place, and I finally step forward to join them.
They lead us into the kitchen, where Rose reaches for one of the chairs gathered around the large island. I move before she can pull it out herself, sliding it back for her.
“Thank you,” she says, her posture stiff, manners polite. When I take the seat beside her, her eyes find mine once more, as unreadable as they were the moment I opened the door.
Mom heads to the refrigerator and pulls out four bottles of Jarritos.
She pops the caps off with the wall-mounted opener beside the fridge, then passes one to Dad.
Their eyes meet for the briefest moment, a quiet exchange that speaks of years spent building a life together without ever needing words.
She hands the rest of us a bottle, and I settle back in my chair, listening as they fill the silence with stories of everything the years between them had stolen and, somehow, returned at this moment.
“So do you still live in Boston, Rose?” Dad asks. All eyes turn to her. A small smile touches her lips, the corners lifting as if she’s remembering something.
“Well,” she begins carefully, “I actually live in New Hampshire now.” She hesitates, and I sit up a little straighter, glancing at Dad. I notice, and he does, too. “I’m going to school there,” she says, then looks directly at him. “Do you remember that last conversation we had?”
I see the moment he does as his dark eyes soften. “Of course,” he says, his voice softening, one reserved only for people he cares about.
“It was the day before I left with my aunt,” she continues with a composed voice.
“You told me this didn’t define me, that I could choose my own path.
To have the kind of life I wanted instead of the one I’d been given.
” Mom blinks rapidly, her eyes already glistening.
I glance between the two of them, and when I look back at Rose, her eyes shimmer, too.
Not with sadness, but pride. “I believed you,” Rose continues.
“I went to college.” She laughs softly, almost as though she still can't quite believe it herself.
“I graduated from Dartmouth.” Dad's chair scrapes across the hardwood before the words have fully left her mouth. “I’m in medical school now, starting my third year,” she finishes.
He closes the distance between them in two strides and wraps her in a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve always been special, Rose.”
She melts into the embrace, and for the first time since she walked through our front door, I see her shoulders relax.
He releases her from the embrace as she drops her hands, discreetly glancing at her watch.
“I should probably get back,” she says with an apologetic smile.
“I came with a few friends from medical school.
One of them grew up around here, and we're headed to a nearby state park.” Disappointment ripples through the room, though no one tries to hide it.
Promises to keep in touch are exchanged with the easy certainty of people determined not to lose each other again.
I remain silent, watching her as though looking away might somehow hasten her leaving.
She turns toward the front door. I clear my throat and push back my chair.
“I’ll walk her out.” No one questions it.
Maybe because it sounds like the polite thing to do, but they don't hear the unmistakable insistence beneath the words.
The moment I opened that door, something inside me shifted in a way I still can't explain.
It wasn't simply that I wanted her. It was the impossible certainty that I'd been waiting for someone I hadn't known existed until she was standing in front of me.
Mom has always joked that I inherited my father's obsessive streak.
Until today, I'd always laughed it off. Standing in the doorway with Rose only inches away, I'm not laughing anymore.
She moves to pass me, but before she can step through the doorway, I move just enough to stop her.
For one suspended moment, she's caught between staying and leaving.
“You know,” I say, leaning in just enough to catch her attention.
She turns toward me, waiting. For the briefest moment, her gaze drops to my mouth before finding my eyes again.
“I’ll be at Dartmouth too,” I say. “My dad’s alma mater.
” A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“So, I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around. Maybe we can hang out sometime?”