played when we were younger. It should repel me—anything that man loved is bad news—but what is it they say?
The heart wants what it wants?
Not that I listen to mine. Not anymore.
My eyes flit to the clock on the wall—the cheap pink one from Target. For all her STEM nerdiness (she's a chemistry genius), Addie is a total girly girl. Pink and purple everywhere. Only it's pink leggings and t-shirts.
She rocks low-effort cute like it's her job. No makeup, ashy hair in a messy bun, pink tank top.
"You need help with those?" I motion to the pancakes. No longer smoking. Smelling a lot more like chocolate and vanilla and a lot less like burnt flour.
My stomach growls. I'm starving. And dead tired.
I need caffeine.
"I got it. I swear," she says.
I motion to the kettle on the counter. "Set it for me, please. I have to pee."
She nods of course. Calls out an apology for waking me as I run to the bathroom.
Another small space. With the world's smallest window.
Ah, the charms of the city. Really, I love New York. It's home.
When things were better, when Dad was working and sober, we visited Jersey, Florida, California, Iowa, Hawaii, Vegas. Sometimes family. Sometimes work. Sometimes fun.
Lots of places appealed. Constant sunshine and gorgeous beaches in California. Houses the size of a city block and fields of grass in Iowa. Bright lights and—
Okay, Vegas is like Times Square on New Year's Eve. All drunk people. No reason to visit.
New York is special. Unlike anywhere else. At least in the US.
Is Ian from London? Or is it that I can't name any UK cities outside of London?
Edinburgh. That's a place. There's the countryside. In that show Broadchurch. Or the other countryside in Happy Valley. God, I watch some depressing shit.
And I'm already in a bad situation.
Thinking about Ian as I pee, wash my hands, brush my teeth.
Even as I move into the kitchen and fix my chai. Extra strong tea, lots of almond milk (Addie is a vegetarian, but she's trying to go vegan).
A tiny sprinkle of cinnamon.
Another thought of Ian.
Is that his real name? Or is he really some sort of operative?
And why do I keep—
"You okay?" My sister shoots me a curious look.
"Tired." I try to avoid lying to her, but it's not always possible. I don't want her to know how much I'm struggling. I want to protect her from that.
"You sure?"
I nod yeah. Take a long sip of my chai. Sigh over the perfection that is cardamom. Or maybe the cloves are better. Hard to say.
Even with the sweltering weather, I need my morning tea.
The rest of the day, iced whatever, whenever. But first thing in the morning, chai. Always.
This isn't great tea. It's what I can buy off Amazon for fourteen cents a bag. The crushed leaves no one wants. It takes three bags to bring flavor, but with milk and extra cinnamon, I can barely tell.
"Maple syrup?" she asks.
It's not real maple syrup. We can't afford that. But why point out the artificial flavors? "I'm okay." I motion to the honey on the table. It's a little strange on pancakes, sure, but it doesn't taste like it was made in a lab.
She nods okay, brings pancakes and tea to the table, sits across from me.
I hold up my mug. "To your cooking."
"Taste it first."
"Even so."
She gives me that you're ridiculous look, but she still taps her mug against mine.
I smile as I take a sip. Cheap, oversteeped tea. Slightly burnt pancakes. Bulk honey. Discount chocolate.
It's not the finest breakfast in the world. But, here, with my sister across from me.
With Addie happy, healthy, alive—
This meal is priceless.
I'll do whatever it takes to keep things this way.
When we can no longer take the heat of the apartment, we head to Central Park. The sweltering subway station. The frigid car. The wide open air of Columbus Circle.
Cold brews from Dunkin Donuts. (Not the best quality, but they're cheap and strong). Then we find a nice spot on the grass and we read.
The Bell Jar for me.
A non-fiction book for her. Something about physics. Something way over my head.
After a few hours, we part. Addie on her way to meet with a friend from Mathlympics. Me to a coffee shop with strong air-conditioning.
I reapply my makeup in the bathroom. Double-check my work clothes.
I have the entire afternoon, but it doesn't make sense to go back home. Even if I am craving the quiet privacy.
The very, very hot quiet privacy.
I find a