Page 23 of All We Could Still Have

Of course she’d seen them. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

She poked her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me about it? Did you tell Sharon?”

I didn’t answer but could feel my face heating up.

“You told her. You tell her everything. You do realize I’m your sister, not her.” For once, Dana wasn’t smiling.

“I don’t like to talk about it because it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Women get pregnant all the time. Without even trying. Why can’t I?”

Dana frowned, an expression I’d rarely seen on her. With the frown, she looked like me. I wondered when I had become so unhappy. Was it after I’d had the miscarriage, when my parents had died, or after the first failed IVF attempt?

“Lots of couples have trouble conceiving, Nikki. That’s why fertility clinics exist,” Dana said.

“I never expected it to happen to us.”

“’Cause bad shit never happens to the DeMarcos.” Dana’s tone was as sharp as the blade on Kyle’s skates. “Anyway, that doesn’t explain why you told Sharon and not me. Was it less embarrassing telling her?”

I opened my mouth but didn’t have a good response, so I shut it again.

“You’re the only family I have. You and Aunt Izzie,” Dana said. “I always tell you what’s going on in my life, but you never tell me anything.”

The sadness in her voice made my heart ache. She was right, though. I never confided in her. In my mind, she was still the little sister who followed me around the house, the one I had to babysit when my parents were working at the diner, the little girl who rode the pink bike with the white banana seat through the neighborhood while I was driving around town in my parents’ Accord.

“It’s because of our age difference,” I said.

Dana rolled her eyes.

“I know it doesn’t matter now, but when I was thirteen and had my first crush, you were five. I couldn’t tell you about it. When I was sixteen, going through my first breakup, you were eight and wouldn’t understand. I just never got in the habit of telling you things, so I don’t think of you that way.”

Dana pointed to herself. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m all grown up now.”

Of course I knew she was a full-grown woman now, but she would always be my little sister, someone I was supposed to look out for. I hated that I had unintentionally hurt her. I leaned toward her and pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Dana shook her head. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to understand that no matter what, I’m here for you. I want you to know you can trust me.”

“I do.”

“Then tell me what’s going on.”

I stood. “I will, but we need alcohol for this conversation.” Dana followed me into the kitchen. I pulled out a bottle of Montepulciano from the built-in rack and tried to open the wide drawer under it for the corkscrew. The drawer stuck. I tugged hard, managing to open itjust far enough to see a pad of bright-yellow sticky notes caught in the tracks. I used to write messages on them and leave them in Kyle’s lunch cooler, telling him what time he had to be home to give me my shots. “You don’t have to remind me,” he had snapped during the most recent cycle. “It’s the same damn time every day.”

I wrenched at the notepad until it came free. The drawer slid open. Matchbooks and a screwdriver tumbled out. I rummaged through the contents, pulling out pens, menus, old postcards, elastics, and twist ties. Finally, I ripped the drawer from its brackets and flipped it over on the counter. The remaining junk spilled out, some of it crashing to the floor.

“Nikki.” Dana nudged me to the side. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the corkscrew.”

She took the bottle from me. “It’s twist off.” While she opened the bottle and filled our glasses, I flung the sticky notes into the trash. We settled back on the living room sofa. Dana’s drink sloshed over the side of her glass and left a small red wet spot on the couch’s tan fabric. “Whoops,” she said, soaking up the spill with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. I returned to the kitchen to grab paper towels and soda water.

“When did Kyle leave?” Dana asked as I tried to blot out the stain.

“Can you still see it?”

“It’s fine.”

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