She considered this for a moment, then asked, “Like what? What do you assume about me?”
“You’re bossy. And stubborn.”
“But I am. And so what? I know for a fact you deal with bossy, stubborn, arrogant people all the time.”
“Those people aren’t my sister.”
“So what? What difference does that—”
“Because I don’t care about what they think. I’m not scared of losing them.”
Lisa snapped her mouth shut, flinching back, her eyes growing large at the vehemence in my voice.
But for me, the floodgates had opened. “You push your experiences on me, like I’m responsible for them, like I should be able to read your mind, or like I shared those same experiences, and completely disregard that my life was—is—different than yours. That doesn’t mean my life is better, or harder, or easier. It’s just different. You think that I’m emotionless, or that I should be. But I’m not. I don’t want to be emotionless.”
Lisa blinked, her eyes watery, and shifted them to some point over my head.
“I want to believe you love me, and part of me does,” I admitted quietly, the words sticking in my throat. “But another part of me is constantly worried that you don’t, not enough. I wonder, if I do something or say something you don’t like, will you ignore me again?”
Her face crumpled and she closed her eyes. My heart gave an aching lurch. A rush of heat flooded my neck and cheeks. Now I felt like a big jerk, and I wondered if I’d said too much.
“Lisa.” I struggled with the impulse to take it all back.
She swallowed, sniffling, shaking her head, her eyes still closed. “I don’t know what to say.”
I couldn’t think of what to say either.
Were things so broken between us? These last few years, we’d made progress, hadn’t we? We spoke. I knew her daily, weekly, and monthly routines. I knew how she liked her coffee. I knew who her least favorite teachers and subjects were. But how much did I know—really, really know—about my own sister?
In a way, it was ironic. I’d spent twelve days total with Abram, but felt like I knew him better, felt more confident with him, trusted him more than I did Lisa. If I were honest with myself, I had similar feelings toward Leo, and my parents. Similar concerns.
Do they love me enough for me to be myself with them?
My heart gave another painful twist, one that nearly robbed me of my breath. I hoped they did, but looking back, looking at their actions, or lack of actions, I faced the facts I’d been ignoring for maybe my whole life.
I couldn’t be certain. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust them.