Page 54 of Spin Control

“No! God, no. Todd wouldn’t.”

I try to keep my face neutral. But I fail spectacularly and Jane shakes her head as she lets out a disbelieving little huff. “I’m not some delusional housewife clinging to a fantasy. Todd and I talk. We’re honest with each other. And we have a healthy sex life. He has no reason to cheat.”

“As if having the perfect wife has ever kept a man from stepping out. Even satisfied men cheat.”

Emotion flashes in Jane’s eyes and I brace myself. But then she takes a deep breath and straightens her spine. “I get where you’re coming from, Lizzy. I really do. You deal with awful situations all the time and see the worst of people. I understand why you misinterpreted what you saw, and I appreciate that you jumped to my defense. But I need you to know that my marriage is solid and that I’m happy.”

I want to believe my sister. I want this to allay my concerns. I want to say something warm and loving.

But all I can see is the way Todd was looking at Bianca. How his hand curled around her elbow as he leaned in toward her. How it didn’t seem like his nearness was a surprise to her. I wonder what would have happened had I waited just thirty more seconds before walking over.

So rather than laughing this off and letting Jane know that I’m happy she’s happy, I say, “I really hope you’re right about him.”

“Of course I am. He’s my husband. I know him better than anyone.”

“How often is he actually home?”

Jane’s mouth sets into a hard line. “I trust my husband, Lizzy.”

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think critically about him.”

“You really think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“No. I just don’t want you staying with a man who ends up being even worse than Dad.”

Jane flinches as if I just slapped her across the face. Todd may not be as openly misogynistic as our father, but in my book, they’re just the same: men who do not respect or appreciate their wives and who don’t seem to love their children.

“Well,” Jane says. “It’s a good thing you’re leaving for Montréal tomorrow. That keeps me from having to ask you to leave.”

My jaw drops. “Jane!”

My sister’s stony expression makes my blood run cold. “You’ve made it abundantly clear for years that you do not respect or trust me. I’ve tried to be nice about it. I’ve worked very hard to understand things from your perspective, but you have not afforded me the same courtesy. I hoped you’d have grown up by now, but I have to accept that you’re always going to be like this. I can’t make you change. So, I think this is where we should part ways.”

“Part ways? We’re sisters!”

Jane motions for the bill. “We are. But that doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

Shock surges through me and tears sting the backs of my eyes. But I grit my teeth and set my jaw, letting the calm of a crisis wash over me. “That’s probably for the best. It’s not like you’ve been interested in having a relationship with me in years anyway.”

Hurt crosses Jane’s face, and I know that was a low blow—but I’m also not wrong. I’m the one who reaches out, who tries. After all, she does it so rarely that I think every call from her is an emergency.

I grab my phone out of my bag, transfer Jane money for my share of the house rental, groceries, and this meal, and then use a ride-hailing app to book a cab. “I wish you all the best, Jane.”

With that, I turn and walk away, my heart breaking with every step.

As I’m packing my things, I weigh whether I should get a hotel room.

I probably shouldn’t stay the night here after having such a massive falling out with my sister. But the thought of leaving in the middle of the night and not saying goodbye to my nieces and nephew makes my chest hurt.

A potent mixture of humiliation and anger floods my veins as I think about how thrilled Todd must be about this. I’m sure Jane called him the second I left the table. He’s probably basking in his victory, listening to “Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead” on repeat. Hell, he’ll probably volunteer for breakfast duty for the first time ever so Jane doesn’t have to see me in the morning.

How did it come to this? Am I really such an awful sister?

A sob crawls up my throat, but I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to fall apart. I need to pack. And I have a feeling that once I give into my emotions, I won’t stop until I’m too exhausted to keep my eyes open.

Focusing on my task, I transfer neatly folded clothes into my beloved packing cubes until all that’s left are the clothes I’m planning to wear tomorrow. I’m zipping my suitcase when there’s a knock at the door.

I freeze. Could it be Jane?