Page 120 of My All American Girl

51

SARAH

My heart felt heavy. Colorado had always been home, a place of comfort and love, but now it felt like a minefield of emotional pitfalls. The past few days had been a rollercoaster. I was still reeling from the revelations I had learned.

I felt ridiculous for not knowing better. I was a shitty sister. A horrible sister. I had been so caught up in my own world and what I wanted, I never considered what my sister was going through. I knew my father and I had a special connection, but it never occurred to me it was at her expense.

I’d learned so much about my family’s pain, my own mistakes, and the consequences of my actions. I’d hurt Meg deeply without realizing it. I’d lost Dean. And I was starting to fear that I might have lost my father too. My mom loved me, but she wasn’t happy I had been so oblivious.

I walked downstairs, feeling like I was walking on eggshells. The house had been tense. Too tense. Mom was in the kitchen making cookies.

“Hey,” I greeted her. “Where is everyone?”

“Your father is in the garage and Meg left early.”

“She’s still mad at me.” I sighed. “They both are.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” she replied.

“How come you’re still talking to me?”

She turned toward me, dusting her hands off on her apron. “Because someone in this family has to keep the peace. And I’m not mad at you, Sarah. Disappointed, yes. But not mad. You’ve always been very smart and capable. You’ve never given us any trouble. We could always count on you to be the responsible one. And you have been, a few bar fights aside.”

I sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching as she moved around the room. The scent of fresh cookies wafted through the air. Normally it would’ve been comforting but not today.

“Can I help?” I asked quietly.

She looked surprised for a moment but then gave a nod. “Sure,” she said, handing me a bowl of dough. “You can roll these into balls and place them on the baking sheet.”

I nodded, dipping my hands into the cookie dough and beginning the task. The repetitive motion was soothing, my mind able to focus on something other than my guilt.

“Mom,” I ventured after a few minutes of silence. “Did you… do you ever feel like you didn’t pay enough attention to Meg because of me?”

She stopped what she was doing, her back still turned to me. There was a long pause before she replied.

“I think every parent has those moments where they wonder if they’re being fair to all their children,” she said at last. “But you have to understand, Sarah, that every child has different needs. You were always so independent, so strong. I sometimes wish I would have been more present for her.”

“But Meg seems so happy,” I said. “She was always the happy one. I would get jealous of her because she always seemed to have it so easy. I wanted to be like her.”

“Sarah.” She paused, turning to face me. Her expression was solemn and the deep creases on her face seemed more pronounced. “Every person carries their own burdens. They differ in sizes and weights but they’re equally important to the bearer. Meg might’ve appeared happy, but it was probably her way of dealing with things she didn’t understand. You were always mature for your age, so perhaps you saw her happiness as something that came naturally to her. Your burden was to be the perfect son your father never had. That wasn’t fair to you either.”

“But I should’ve known,” I whispered guiltily.

I knew my mother was trying to make me feel better but the knot in my stomach refused to dissolve.

“I think you forget you’re twenty-two.” She laughed. “No one is perfect. No one blames you for being who you are. Meg will be fine. She still loves you.”

She moved to stand in front of me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “And your father, he’s just scared. Scared he is losing his little girl. He knows you are embarking on the next phase of your career and it’s likely going to be more dangerous than either of us cares to admit. You know I’ve always been the one that never really wanted my little girl up there flying a jet and potentially going into a war. That terrifies me. Your father has always encouraged you with this and he has been so proud of it, but now reality is biting him in the butt. He gets to be worried alongside me.”

A lump formed in my throat, and I fought back tears. The image of my father as an invincible force of nature was crumbling before my eyes, replaced by the image of a doting father with his own worries.

“I thought he wanted me to do this,” I said.

“Oh, he did—in theory.” She laughed. “He’ll be fine. He’s very proud of you. It’s just going to take him some time to see you are a young woman and not his little girl.”

“I think we’re having this conversation a little late,” I muttered.

“Speaking of putting off conversations too long, why don’t you take him some cookies? That’s always a good way to break the ice with him.”