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“Jackson will be here and I was told to meet him by the coffee bar, so we don’t have to take the elevators or go to a room.”
“Oh good.”
I toss a sharp look at her, take in her profile.
Her eyes meet mine and she forces a smile. “Let’s go sit over here. Jackson will see us.”
“I’m going to get a coffee. You want one?”
“I don’t know.” Running a hand through her hair, Greer looks at the exit. “No. I’m good.”
“Uh, okay. Be right back.”
The second I get to the coffee station, my heart begins to race. The realness of this hits me. I take a few calming breaths and shift my hand from the regular pot to the decaf, feeling like a punk for not being able to handle a caffeinated beverage. I’ve already had three cups and too much caffeine has always made me jittery. Today, I don’t need that.
I empty a few creamers, then a couple packets of sugar. Greer is talking on the phone. I wonder if it’s my dad but I stand there, whipping a wooden stick around my cup. I don’t see Jackson anywhere and I’m surprised that he didn’t get here early with his client.
I go and sit by Greer and she hangs up before I can pick up on any of her conversation. After rubbing her hands down the front of her legs, she pulls out her phone again, and a quick glance in her direction shows that she’s scrolling Instagram. That’s what I should be doing. Killing time on social media and pretending like this isn’t one of the most important days of my life. Because the next ten minutes are pure hell. Every time I see someone walk through the front door, or get off the elevator, or exit from the hotel’s restaurant, I study them from where I sit, waiting for someone to glance my way, make eye contact with me, something.
At 9:15, I start to get pissed.
“Well, I don’t think they’re going to show. Let me call Jackson and see if I got the time wrong.” I stand up, ready to tug my phone from my back pocket.
Greer wraps her fingers around my wrist. “Hold up.”
Her eyes are so big they’re bugging from her skull. She shakes her head, licks her lips.
I sit back down. She knows something.
“I debated on whether I should tell you,” she says, voice soft.
A storm of butterflies release in my stomach. I quietly wait as she chews on her cheek.
And that’s when I see it. The resemblance. The high cheekbones and the narrow chin, the crease in her nose.
God, what an idiot I am. This 26-year-old version of my mother, sitting right here in front of me.
“It’s you, isn’t it? You’re my sister.”
Her tongue pokes at the corner of her lips. She could say no, it’s not her, but she knows who it is.
But she doesn’t.
She nods her head, affirming my prediction.
There’s a pleading look in her stare as she covers her mouth with both hands.
“Please don’t hate me,” she adds, her words muffled.
I’m surprisingly calm. But it feels like a wicked storm just started brewing inside of me. I look away, feeling like the biggest fool that ever lived.
“I don’t hate you. I’m just confused.”
“I know it’s a shock. You were probably expecting someone totally different.”
I blow out an irritated laugh. “My question is, why did you drag me here, put me through all this when you could have just told me at home?” I gesture around the huge space. “Like, is this some kind of joke to you?”
“God, no.Tove…” She puts her hand on my arm, exasperation filling her voice. “I would never. In fact …” When she gulps, tears form in her eyes. “I wasn’t going to tell you. Your father …” Her hands move side to side. “Bottom line is, after you scheduled the meeting I had second thoughts. I wasn’t going to show up. I’d asked you if I could be here because I wanted to see how you’d react—”
