for the kitchen.
The foyer is big, an open space with a grand staircase leading to the second floor. The marble floors are cool underneath my feet even though I’m wearing socks. Different art pieces hang on the walls. All look big and freaking real, not some lame copy you can buy pre-framed at Walmart. Nope.
Nixon’s home looks like something out of a magazine. It should seem cold and untouchable, but the small details make it more homey. Potted plants in corners. Shoes scattered next to the shoe closet. A family portrait hanging between the art pieces. I stop in front of it and look at Nixon’s family. It must be a recent photo, maybe a couple of years old. Nixon looks younger; there is no scruff on his jaw, but I would recognize that grin anywhere. He favors his father; same strong build, same golden-streaked hair, same smile. His hand is placed on Nixon’s shoulder.
Then there are his mother and sister. Jade is scrawny, with thin, long limbs and masses of dark hair, braces shining on her teeth. She has the same dark brown hair as their mother, and both brother and sister have their mother’s eyes.
“I should take it down, but my mom loves that damn picture so much.” The soft voice makes me jump.
I turn around, my hand clenched over my chest, right over my racing heart, and find Jade standing on the last step, her hand gripping the railing. She’s still in her pajamas, her hair pulled into a messy bun. She looks like crap. Her skin is pale, making the dark circles underneath her eyes stand out. Her cheeks are hollow and from the way her shirt is hanging on her shoulders I know she recently lost weight.
Her mother is dying and she’s the one that has to watch it twenty-four seven, of course she lost weight.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” I say, trying to calm down my racing heartbeat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jade takes the final step and comes closer. “I didn’t think anybody would be up.” She rubs at her tired face. One lone chuckle escapes her. “I actually didn’t think yesterday happened at all.”
My heart squeezes painfully at her words because I recognize the girl trying to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. I know her pain, understand it better than she’d ever know because I’ve lived through it. Sometimes I still do.
“I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t mean to snoop, but I’m an early riser, and I needed some coffee.”
Jade slowly takes me in as if assessing me.
We didn’t talk much yesterday. After Nixon ran out of the car like it was about to explode, I waited a little, not knowing what to think. Then I saw Jade coming out and them embracing. I watched them exchange some words, and then Nixon was rushing inside, while Jade stayed outside, her arms wrapped around herself.
Until she saw me.
I’m not sure which one was more surprised to find the other, her or me.
I knew there was no sense in trying to hide, so I put on my big girl panties and got out. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere anytime soon.
Reluctantly I walked up the steps. Only when I came closer could I see the resemblance.
“I didn’t know Nixon was with a friend,” she said as she took me in.
This was the girl who had Nixon dropping everything just to come to her as soon as possible. Smalls. She was the girl from the photo, but at the same time she wasn’t anything like her at all.
She looked both younger and older at the same time. The happiness that was radiating from the photo was nowhere to be found in real life. She was still pretty, but it was obvious she’d been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her whole face blotchy from tears. The lines of her face were hard, but overall she looked tired.
So damn tired.
It was a feeling I could relate to all too well.
“I had some car issues, and Nixon picked me up,” I offered as an explanation. “I’m Yasmin.”
I could see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to place me somewhere, figure out what I am to Nixon, but I gave nothing away. With those blue-gray eyes fixed on mine and looking at her now, up close like this, I knew what she’d say even before the words left her mouth. “Jade, Nixon’s sister.”
“I suck at cooking, but I make