2
ANNA
I press my forehead to my closed bedroom door, my hand hovering over the knob, not ready to twist it open. But Rosie, who isn’t aware of my inner turmoil and is starving, is antsy to get out.
“Mama, vamos comer.” She rocks on her heels, reaching for the handle and shaking it. “Comer, comer!”
My daughter hasn’t been exactly quiet since she woke up fifteen minutes ago. I know Maya heard her, but I was hoping I could stall for a few more minutes to figure out what to say.
Rosie zooms out of our bedroom and into the living room but stops short.
“Hi, sweet girl.” My sister crouches down to be at her eye level, waving at her, but Rosie doesn’t budge. “Soy tu tía, Maya. Do you speak to her in English? Spanish?” she asks, but then proceeds to translate it in English. “I’m your aunt Maya.”
“I do both, and she understands either just fine,” I answer, standing awkwardly a few feet away.
Rosie stares warily, but it doesn’t take long before she’s perking up and smiling at my sister.
“Maya.” She tests the name out.
“She’s just like you when you were little. Some things don’t change, do they?” The corners of her mouth jerk up, eyes reminiscent. “Breakfast is ready and everything is hot. Just how you like it.”
“You still remember?” I bend to pick up Rosie and pad over to the small round dining table. I set her on the high chair and strap her in.
After she arrived last night, we didn’t speak much. Rosie woke up and wouldn’t go back to sleep until I lay with her. I meant to stay up to talk to Maya, but I ended up falling asleep. The last thing on my mind was the way she looked both relieved and sad to see me.
Like she does now. She isn’t the same Maya from before, but I guess I’m not either. A lot has changed since we last spoke—six years ago. That conversation ended in an argument that spiraled out of control, the reason for it being my daughter’s father.
Despite our fallout, she’s still my big sister, and I have missed her.
“Of course I remember. You’d throw the biggest tantrums if it wasn’t piping hot. But that didn’t change as you got older.” She tsks. “You’d burn your mouth but you still wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Cold food is not enjoyable.” I smile, remembering those moments. “How was your sleep?”
I live in a one-bedroom apartment, and I have a full-sized bed. The only thing I had to offer was my couch or the floor. She took the couch.
“It was fine until I heard your neighbor upstairs. What the hell? Are they shooting a porno? God, I swear they were going at it. She had to be faking it because there’s no way.
” She sets a steaming breakfast plate in front of me and Rosie’s divided plate with her food cut up into bite sizes.
Then she brings hers over, along with two mugs of coffee.
“Yeah.” I rub my tired eyes because I didn’t sleep well either. “This happens a lot. I’ve already talked to him many times and complained, and he’s been issued a warning by our landlord, but nothing has really happened.”
As much as I’d love to move out, this is the cheapest rent I could find. And while my lease will be up for renewal at the end of the year, I don’t see myself leaving any time soon.
“Please don’t tell me it wakes up Rosie?”
“Thankfully not last night, but it has before.” It’s already bad enough not getting sleep because of my daughter, now I have to add a neighbor who doesn’t care. “But anyway, this looks really good.”
“It’s nothing crazy, and probably not as good as what you make, but I hope you like it.”
Pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fruit. It all looks and smells good, but—
“I only had eggs in the fridge. When did you go out?”
I’ve been so busy at the bakery I haven’t had the chance to buy groceries. But I was planning to get some today, since we’re not open on Sundays.
“I placed an order and—”
“How much do I owe you?”
“Shut up and eat,” she says as she takes a seat opposite me, next to my daughter. “Or your food will get cold and I don’t want to hear you bitching—” She winces, glancing down at Rosie, who’s too busy eating to pay her any attention. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Clementine has a habit of dropping every cuss word you can think of in front of her,” I explain, cutting into my pancakes. “And I accidentally slip from time to time.”
She snorts. “Who’s Clementine?”
“She’s who I co-own Everything Everything with…” I trail off, stuffing my mouth as I consider what I want to say. As casual as our conversation seems, we’ve gone years with no contact; there’s a lot to cover. I have many questions and I’m sure she does too. “So…”
“Ask whatever you want, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer everything.” She pastes a smile on her face, but it feels painfully forced.
I don’t know where to begin, but I go with “How did you know I live here?”
“I spoke with Isabella. She gave me your address, and then she told me about Rosie.” She glances sidelong at my girl, her expression sorrowful.
I nod. Our cousin is the only family member I still talk to—not a lot, but we catch up now and again and share whatever we’re up to.
Everyone sided with my parents when they decided they didn’t want to talk to me anymore.
I’ve not spoken to them in over six years.
I miss them, but as the years have gone on, it’s gotten easier not to feel their absence.
“I’m assuming that’s how you found out about the bakery?”
She nods, dropping her fork before picking up her mug, taking a small, careful sip.
We’re enveloped in silence, neither of us brave enough to speak up. It lingers, lasting longer than I feel comfortable with. But when her lips part, eyes darting to Rosie and back at me, I shake my head.
When she found out who Sylas’s family was, the influence they have, the kind of money they have, she told me I was stupid for believing he’d be any different. That guys like him don’t fall for girls like me.
Her words were much harsher, but that’s the condensed version.
And I should’ve listened. I should’ve stayed away.
“Like you, there are things I’m not sure I’ll be able to share or give you the answers to yet. Maybe one day, but not right now. And please, I don’t want to hear the I told you so. I don’t need you gloating about how you were right, how I was stupid, how I should’ve listened to you. Please don’t.”
“I didn’t come here to do that. Not when I…
” She swallows hard, the noise audible in the semi-quiet apartment.
“Not when I’ve done stupid sh—stuff. It’s also been a few weird, rough years.
I’m sorry it took me this long to come see you, to talk to you, but I…
” Her voice quivers and she clears her throat.
“I didn’t know how and I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me. ”
“Yet you still showed up with no notice. Really thought I’d just let you in, huh.” I smile to slice the tension bubble we’re trapped in. “What if I hadn’t? What if I had shut the door in your face?”
She lifts her mug to her lips, cracking a smile behind it. “I had a plan B.”
“Which was?”
“A hotel room. But I wasn’t worried because I know you’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed you.” Her eyes mist and she repeatedly blinks, looking away. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional. I’m never like this,” she croaks.
A laugh trickles out of me. Between the two of us, she’s always been the least friendly, the more serious, the most focused. Always with her nose in books, never crying or getting upset. She’s a take the bull by its horns kind of person.
So seeing her hold back tears, stop herself from breaking down, makes me unsure how to feel—how to let her know it’s okay to let herself feel when I myself am not sure how to feel after everything I went through.
We’ve never been close, never been the kind of siblings who open up to each other.
I wanted that so badly growing up. I yearned to be close with her, but she never wanted me in her space.
She was harsh with her words, yelled for me to stop bothering her, so eventually I did and that drew us further apart.
In fact, I think we’ve spent half if not most of our lives arguing rather than getting along.
People say it’s normal, say it’s something siblings do, but nothing about our arguments felt normal. For fuck’s sake, we stopped talking. Even before him, we weren’t getting along and would go months without talking.
“Can I ask you something?” she asks moments later, loosening the noose of silence strangling us.
“Only if you let me ask something in return,” I bargain, because it’s the only way I’ll answer truthfully.
“Okay.” She sighs, finally meeting my eyes. “Is he in her life?”
Ever since she found out about him, and we got into the argument, she’s refused to use his name. It angered me before, but now I’ve never been more thankful. It’s hard for me to speak it sometimes, let alone think of him.
“No.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “He—he didn’t want to be, and I’d prefer if you didn’t bring him up.”
Her lips form a flat line, nostrils flaring, but she doesn’t comment, only nods once. “I promise I won’t bring him up again.”
“Thanks.” The corners of my lips lift slightly, but I can’t bring myself to smile or force myself to mean it.
“So, where are you working? Weren’t you in medical school?
And weren’t you engaged?” I didn’t see her engagement ring last night.
I was too stunned, and because Rosie woke up, I couldn’t ask.
“I dropped out of medical school years ago and became a physical therapist instead. And he cheated.” Her gaze flicks to her left hand, eyes lasered on the empty ring finger. “Many times with my friend.”
I don’t know whether to congratulate her or let her know I feel her pain. Sylas never cheated, but he sure broke my heart. No—not broke. Stabbed, ripped, poured acid over it, and set it on fire.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I should’ve known.” She shrugs the devastating emotions away, like always. She doesn’t smile, and she even seems indifferent. “Anyway, it’s all in the past, as I’m sure you want to keep yours in, so…”
“Yeah, I know.” I take a careful sip of my coffee. “How did Mom feel about you—”
“We’re not speaking,” she drops casually.
My eyes bulge. “What?”
“She wasn’t happy about me not going to medical school even though I went to school for physical therapy.” She rolls her eyes. “But I don’t want to talk about her either.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
“Us. I know it’s been years, but I’d like for us to…I don’t know…fix things? If you want,” she says, not meeting my stare.
“I wouldn’t have let you in if I didn’t want that.”
For the first time since she arrived, she looks at ease, the visible tension fading away. “I promise to leave soon. I just arrived last night, and I really wanted to, uh, see you and meet my niece.” She gently taps Rosie’s space bun. “She’s big for a toddler and looks nothing like you.”
I haven’t missed that. Her saying things so bluntly.
She must realize because she backtracks. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. It’s true. She doesn’t look like me. Although she’s not as pale as him, but still.” He wasn’t exactly pale, but I was always tanner.
Maya laughs. “The printer was low on ink.”
We look at Rosie and share a laugh. It dims but it’s not awkward. “I’m in no rush for you to leave. You can stay as long as you want. Though I don’t have much space as you can see, but you’re welcome here.”
“Thanks, but as much as I like being around, your tiny couch is uncomfortable. I’ve already got a kink in my neck.” She rubs her nape, face twisting in discomfort. “Did you grab it off the side of the road? You would do something like that.”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “It’s used, but I bought it off someone. Don’t judge me. It was cheap.”
Mostly everything in here is used or gifted to me by clients, Em, Jenny, or her aunt who used to live here and was my sitter.
“I’m not judging. I promise.” She raises her hands in surrender. “So…I’m just going to say it. I really hope we can make this work. I’m moving to Boston and plan to stay as long as you guys live here. I really want to be part of your life and Rosie’s. If that’s okay with you.”
How I’ve longed to hear those words. My eyes mist as I strain them to keep from blinking. I should think this through. She could walk away again…
“I promise I’m not leaving,” she insists. “Not unless you want me to.”
“I don’t. I’m okay with you being here.”
“Wow.” She exhales, relieved.
“What?”
“I thought you’d kick me out or hate me. I don’t know. I didn’t expect it to go like this,” she tells me, her voice quiet and embarrassed.
“Life is too short. I’m almost twenty-eight. I’m a mom,” I list, then pause. “And I missed you.”
“Yeah, me too.” She offers me the smallest smile and I return it.
It grows quiet again, and it’s both comforting and awkward. There is so much to say, but I don’t want to overstep.
“We’re going to figure it out.” She sounds so self-assured, speaking as if she’s got everything figured out.
She sounds like the Maya I used to know. Some things really don’t change.