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“You didn’t have to come,” I remark, but that’s probably a big lie. No matter what, I would’ve done the impossible to ensure that she was safe.
Ameline’s scoff cuts through the air, sharp and unsettling. “I didn’t want to start a scene in the middle of the airport—or in front of your sister.” The frustration in her eyes, so vivid and intense, fans the flames of my irritation. “It would’ve escalated from a minor disagreement to a full-blown battle. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with your intensity.”
A spark of annoyance lights up within me. “Because I always act out and you have to rein me in,” I retort, unable to hide the sarcastic tone.
“You do. You insist on having things your way because, in your mind, you’re always right.” She shakes her head and narrows her gaze. “Have you thought about going to therapy? I mean, there’s something very wrong when a person thinks that they’re always right.”
I clench my jaw, feeling my patience thinning. “And there you go again, blaming me for everything and pushing my buttons,” I remark, struggling to keep my voice even.
She glances at her phone. “Maybe I should just leave, save us both another fight. Life is too short to deal with your temper,” she suggests. “Let’s not do this again, ever.”
“Why are you here, Ame?” I ask, disregarding her comment.
“Don’t call me that,” she replies sharply. “The name is Ameline. A-m-e-l-i-n-e. It’s not Amy, Ame, or Lynny. Get it?”
I frown because it’s obvious that her nickname is now a sore subject. “Are you upset with me? Because I’m the one who should be pissed here.”
She takes a seat on a barstool by the kitchen island, her posture casual yet guarded. “Oh, do tell. How exactly have I managed to upset you, Gabriel Frédéric Walker-Decker?”
I open my mouth to respond, but her cell phone interrupts, ringing insistently. She holds up a finger, signaling me to wait. “One second, I need to take this.”
Ameline speaks into the phone, her tone a blend of annoyance and fatigue. “Hey, isn’t it a little too late for phone calls?”
I check my watch and stop myself from nodding, because who the hell is calling at almost four in the morning?”
Ameline listens intently to the other end of the line, then nods and rolls her eyes. “Valid point, seven isn’t that early. Yeah, like I said, I’ll call Izzy around eight Seattle time. And as I said before, if she needs a kidney, I’ll say no.” After a series of nods and shakes, she adds, “It’ll be fine. You have fun with your parents, and . . . yeah, have fun. Bye.”
Her conversation leaves a strange unease coiling in my stomach. I knew her presence in Seattle wasn’t just random. Lyric mentioned Izzy, but a kidney?
I don’t think Ameline should go and see Izzy or even be in Seattle.
When she left, she was pretty clear about her motives: there’s too much toxicity in this place for her to stick around. It was withering her heart and soul. And swore she would never be back, but here she is.
What if I had called her because I needed her?
Would she have dropped everything for me?
Would I even deserve something like that?
Those questions are useless right now. It’s best if I focus on her visit.
“I’m going to repeat the question, and this time I need you to be honest. Why did you come to Seattle?” I place a cup of warm milk in front of her and start preparing her a sandwich. Knowing Ameline, she probably hasn’t eaten since before her flight.
She stares at the cup, her fingers curling around it, focusing on the steam. She’s obviously trying to decide whether to leave or just make me stop asking questions. Somehow, it’s a small relief knowing that we’re both struggling. I’m just hoping she’s not hurting. I hate when she is, and more so if I’m the cause.
“Lyric mentioned Isadora,” I say, hoping this will push her to speak. Then glance at her phone. “Plus, you just mentioned that you’ll call her in a few hours.”
At my words, her shoulders slump. “Izzy called me yesterday morning. She’s sick and would like to see me.”
I stop mid-motion, moving closer to the kitchen island that keeps a good gap between us. Somehow, I’m relieved that there’s a separation. My instincts tell me to hold her, pull her into my arms and promise her that everything will be fine.
The last time I tried to help her I didn’t just fail her. I broke us. But maybe I can find a specialist that could help Izzy so Ameline can head back to New York to continue living her happy life—hoping it’s happy.
So I ask, “Sick? How?”
I sound stupid, but I can barely talk as that word triggers me. I mean, it shouldn’t, after all I’m a doctor. But this precise moment reminds me about their mother—and how everything, the best beginning and most tragic end of my life began.
“She didn’t give any details. It could be something minor, like a common cold, or . . .” Her voice trails off, the silence hanging heavily in the air.
