Her self-assuredness in the face of my own self-doubt was like a lance to the gut. So naturally, I lashed out. “What about you?”
She blinked rapidly. “What about me?”
I put my chopsticks and takeout container back on the coffee table. “You have no idea what’s going on in my life. You never return my calls. I feel like a celebrity stalker or something.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s so busy in LA. Work is insane.”
My jaw clenched. This is always her excuse. Too busy, too important, too famous for her poor older sister, the loser. “You say you don’t have time to call, but I know you have time to brunch with friends at the Ivy.”
“Jane, I’ve invited you down to visit so many times.” She leaned forward, eyes earnest. “You can come anytime and stay with me and meet my friends. But you don’t. You always have excuses. I’m the one who always comes up here to visit, never the other way around. It’s a two-way street.”
I shook my head. “You know why I don’t come.”
Her hands flipped into the air. “You can’t let anxiety turn you into a hermit. I can’t be your only person. You need more people and to put herself out there. It’s scary but it’s worth it.”
I stood, picking up the empty food cartons to throw in the trash, walking away from her. “You don’t understand. It’s easy for you.”
“You don’t even try!” she yelled at my back.
I spun around. “You know what, I get enough criticism from Mom. I don’t need it from you too. You’re just like her.”
When the words flew out of my mouth, I wished I could snatch them back and swallow them. But it was too late. It was already out there. I’d compared her to Mom. Probably the biggest insult I could have flung at her.
She stared, her mouth gaping open. It took her a minute to speak. Maybe she was waiting for me to take it back, to apologize. I should have. But I didn’t.
“Maybe I should leave,” she finally said.
“Maybe you should.”
I should have apologized, but I was ashamed. She was right to be angry.
But now, she’s back and she’s trying and it’s time for me to try too.
And I know exactly when to catch her in the act.
It’s time to come clean. Put it behind us. I miss my sister. She’s basically my only friend and I totally shoved her out of my life.
I swing open the door right as she’s digging in her purse, probably for a pen and paper. “Eloise.”
“You’re home.” Her perfectly manicured brows lift in surprise. She’s wearing dark orange, wide-leg pants, a top that’s cinched at the waist and a cute little denim jacket. It looks perfect on her, but would make me look like an Oompa-Loompa. After a pause, she steps into me, enveloping me in a hug that smells like vanilla and sunshine and home.
A wave of nostalgia crashes over me.
We used to be close, a united force against the stalwart force of our mother. A team.
She steps back. “I thought you’d be at work.”
So that’s why she’s coming over in the middle of the day and not bothering to knock. To leave me a note when she knows I’m not home.
But why bother?
I clasp my hands in front of me. I need to ask. To push through this.
I can’t control anything she feels, says, or does, but I can control my part in our relationship.
“Do you want some tea or something?”
She nods. “Yes. Please.”
I move into the kitchen. She shuts the door behind her, clutching a small vintage purse in her hands.
I turn on the electric kettle on the counter and grab some mugs and tea bags from the cupboard.
Eloise stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, her eyes following me.
“Darjeeling okay?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You can sit down.”
She nods, blonde head jerking up and down, and then disappears into the living room.
The kettle heats. I bring the cups over to where she’s perched on the corner of my couch like she’s scared to relax.
I sit next to her. “I’m glad you came over.”
She turns, angling her body in my direction. “You are?”
And then I tell her something I should have said a long time ago. “I need to apologize.”
She blinks. “You do?”
“I know we haven’t been close in a long time, and it’s mostly my fault.” My voice is only slightly tremulous as I speak. But it’s not with worry. It’s with relief.
Her mouth pops open.
I continue. The only way out is through. “The truth is that I’ve been jealous.”
She makes a strangled sound, coughing, and then puts her mug on the coffee table. She takes a breath and then meets my gaze. “Jane, you have no reason to be jealous of me. And I’m the one that should be apologizing. I was pushy and overbearing, I was . . . Mom.” She grimaces. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to not be our mom.”
I laugh. “Me too. You aren’t Mom. And you were right, but I wasn’t ready to hear it.”
She shakes her head. “No. I wasn’t right. You can do whatever you want. It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life.”
I put my mug down next to hers. “You didn’t. You want me to be happy and I wasn’t. But I wasn’t in the right place to hear it. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my own weaknesses.”
“Jane, you’re not—”
I hold up a stalling hand. “It’s okay. I could never measure up to you. Mom is always comparing my accomplishments to yours.” I wince. “Such as they are. You’ve always been the outgoing and vivacious one. I was the shy loner. And that’s not your fault. I thought I could be impressive. I tried to fit myself into a round hole, but I’m a square peg.” I shake my
