My mother crosses her arms. "Your father’s Parkinson's treatments. Harper has been paying for his meds and care. Alone. For months. Without telling you."
"Harper!" Amelia's voice is sharp. "Is that true?"
I want to turn on my mother, but she’s already slinked out of the doorway and back into the rest of the house.
As for my sisters…
I can’t even look at them as I answer.
"Yes."
"How much?" Margot asks.
"It doesn't matter?—"
"How. Much."
"Eighteen thousand dollars. Plus I'm behind on rent. And utilities. And—" My voice cracks. "And I can't keep up. I can't do this alone anymore."
The silence is deafening.
Then Margot throws chucks her cookie across the room, the pastry exploding in crumbs and chocolate chips.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"Margot—"
"No. Don't 'Margot' me. You've been drowning in medical bills for months and you didn't tell us?"
"I didn't want to burden you?—"
"Burden us? Harper, we're your sisters! That's literally what we're here for!"
“No, it’s not. You two were busy. Margot with the kids. Amelia with the wedding. I wanted to handle it, to protect you?—"
"From what? From helping our own father?" Amelia stands up, her face flushed. "Do you hear yourself right now? You sound insane."
"I'm not insane. I'm trying to be responsible?—"
"You're trying to be a martyr!" Margot is pacing now. "You always do this. You take on everything yourself, refuse help from anyone, and then wonder why you're drowning."
"That's not fair?—"
"It's completely fair! You did the same thing with Thomas. You tried to fix your marriage alone instead of asking for help. You tried to save him from himself instead of accepting that he was an ass who didn't deserve you. And now you're doing it again with Dad's medical bills!"
"It's not the same thing?—"
"It's exactly the same thing!" Amelia's voice turns husky, roughened with emotion. "You think asking for help makes you weak. But it doesn't, Harper. It makes you human."
I'm crying now, and I hate it. Hate that they're right. Hate that I've been carrying this alone because asking for help feels like admitting I can't handle my own life.
"I just—" I swipe at my eyes. "I thought if I could just manage it myself, if I could just get through this without needing anyone?—"
"Then what?" Margot asks. "Then you'd prove you're strong enough? Then you'd prove you don't need anyone? To let your ego write a check your body couldn’t cash?”
I wince at the word ‘ego.’
Was it ego? Was it my own pride getting in the way because admitting that I wanted Victor’s help, that I needed him in this visceral way, was stopping me?
