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“Ethan wasn’t wrong, you know,” I say, gaining courage simply by evoking his name. “All I’ve ever wanted was your respect and friendship, to feel like you cared about me. There have been moments of kindness, sprinkled here and there, but overall, you haven’t exactly been a model big sister.”
Tears fill her eyes, collecting in her lashes like tiny dewdrops before tumbling down her cheeks. “You’re right. And so was Ethan. I’ve been a jealous jerk.”
I’m fairly certain my mouth has literally fallen open in shock. I expected her to protest or deflect, not agree with me.
“I grew up in Matt’s shadow,” she continues softly, fidgeting with the crisp paper folds of the playbill. “He was the firstborn son. The golden child. Everything came so easily to him. But not me. I had to fight for every second of attention, every word of affection, every sliver of praise. Then you came along.” Her voice quivers, tears puddling in her eyes again, making them appear twice their normal size. She always was a pretty crier.
“You were the precious baby of the family. The happy surprise. Mom and Dad adored you. And I was so afraid you’d take my place. That I’d go from being second best to completely forgotten.”
As she stands before me, her cheeks pale and damp, her nose red, I’ve never seen her look so vulnerable. She’s no longer my perfect sibling, the one on a pedestal, looking down on us little people. She’s a real person, with fears and flaws, just like me. And strangely, I’ve never respected her more.
“The truth is,” she says sorrowfully, “I’m ashamed of how I’ve treated you. As the older sister, it was my job to look out for you. I should’ve helped you find your way in this crazy, competitive family of ours. Instead, I did the opposite. I tore you down every chance I got, hoping to make myself look better. Except, it didn’t make me look better. It made me look petty. And ugly. And small.” She sniffles, attempting a smile. “You may not believe me, but I’ve secretly admired you, Quincy. Because somehow, even with subpar siblings like me and Matt, you never got bitter. You’re kind and generous and forgiving. Even when we don’t deserve it. And trust me, I know we don’t deserve it.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” Tears blur my own vision now, and I desperately want to hug her, but I don’t know how she’ll react. This moment is too precious, too precarious. I don’t want to risk ruining it, even for a second.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to apologize. And tell you that, while it might be too late, I’m going to try and be the big sister I should’ve been when we were growing up.”
Too emotional to speak, I blow my nose into my soccer jersey, reasoning that I’ll probably throw it away later, anyway. All of a sudden, I have a vision of me and Veronica shopping Rodeo Drive, laughing over low-fat lattes as we try on different outfits, modeling them for each other in a movie-like montage. Could this really be the beginning of an honest-to-goodness relationship? Like the kind I’ve read about in all those women’s fiction novels? It doesn’t seem possible, but it’s also not the first miracle I’ve witnessed lately.
“My first act as your new and improved big sister is to tell you this,” Veronica says, setting the playbill back in the box. “Whether you take the promotion or not, don’t throw away what you have with Ethan. I’ve waited my whole life for someone to love me the way that man loves you. And whatever it takes to hold on to him—long distance, relocating,whatever—do it.” Her features soften, her lips curling ever so slightly into a smile. “When I saw you and Ethan at the marathon, I could instantly tell that what you two have is special. He’s the kind of man who loves you exactly as you are but will do anything and everything to help you become the best version of yourself. Do you understand how rare that is?”
“I do,” I whisper, suddenly missing Ethan so much it hurts. I’ve been such a coward, compartmentalizing my life because of my indecision and fear. But Ethan—and Brynn—deserve to know what’s going on, even if I don’t have a clear answer yet.
“Then what’s wrong?” Veronica asks, sensing my internal torment.
“I—I think I’ve messed things up.”
“Then let’s figure out how you’re going to fix them.”
To my surprise, she maneuvers around the stack of boxes and pulls me into a hug. Her embrace is awkward at first, her arms stiff, her posture rigid. But as I melt against her, I feel her body relax, and for the first time since I left New York, I wonder if maybe… just maybe… everything will turn out okay after all.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Part of me isn’t surprised to find my dad hard at work, even in his hospital bed. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” I ask, trying to sound stern and disapproving, although it’s difficult when he looks so content.
The incline of his bed is elevated as upright as it will go, and the table—which is supposed to be reserved for pills and pudding cups—is engulfed by two open laptops. Okay, and one empty pudding cup. Chocolate, from the looks of it.
“Iamresting,” he insists with a wry grin. “I tried to convince your mother to bring my large monitor from the office and replace the TV with it, but she felt that was going too far. So, here we are.” Still grinning, he waves a hand over his tandem laptops.
He finally has some color back in his face, and according to Mom, he’ll be discharged soon. This should be a time of rejoicing. But instead, I’m the bearer of bad news.Reallybad news. In hindsight, I should’ve brought some chocolate—or bourbon—to soften the blow.
My throat tightens, and I try to swallow but suddenly forget how. In a flash of panic, I wrap my fingers around my neck. This is how I’m going to die—by drowning in my own drool because my God-given reflex is on the fritz.
“Are you okay?” Dad gives me a funny look, and I lower my hands, thankfully able to swallow again, although it goes down the wrong tube.
“Uh-huh,” I sputter and cough, definitelynotokay. And not only because I’m choking on my saliva. I still can’t believe I waited my whole life to hear my father say he’s proud of me, and now that he finally has, I’m about to hit the Undo button. And not only that, I’m about to abandon him—and the company—in his time of need. What kind of daughter am I?
“Have a seat.” He gestures to the stiff armchair by his bedside. “I want to go over some of the current accounts with you. I know you’ll primarily be focused on Extra Energy Drink, but there are a few others that will need your immediate attention, Miss Marketing Director.” Guilt pumps through my veins like gasoline, and his jovial teasing is like a lit match. I’m fairly certain I’m seconds away from internal combustion. Maybe I can’t do this….
I gather a breath, mentally revisiting my conversation with Veronica, which, admittedly, is a strange feeling. The only thing more surreal than listening to my sister’s advice is actually taking it. But this time, I think she’s right.
“About that, Dad.” The vinyl cushion squeaks as I shift my weight. But I think my discomfort has less to do with the poorly constructed seating—which seems purposefully designed to be as uncomfortable as possible—and everything to do with the fact that my life is about to implode.
“Uh-oh. Don’t tell me. You want a bigger budget to redecorate Steve’s office?” He laughs, but immediately sobers when I don’t join in. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”
Kiddo.Somehow, my father is able to make me feel like a respected business professionalandhis little girl all at the same time. A poignant combination that makes what I’m about to do so much harder than I anticipated. Which is saying a lot, since I already equated it to stabbing needles underneath my fingernails.
He imperceptibly leans forward, waiting for my response, but I can’t speak. Tears sting my eyes, and my pulse quickens with apprehension. For a moment, I contemplate utilizing the Lamaze-style breathing I saw a pregnant woman performing in the elevator when I arrived. Although I’m not sure why. It didn’t seem to alleviate her anxiety, and I wonder if my eyes hold the same spark of trepidation. Not that I consider my situation to be the same level of trauma as childbirth or anything.
