FLIGHT 485, THE ONE CARRYING MY SISTER, switches from On Time to Arrived at Gate on the arrivals board. I walk back to my father, who’s sitting in a pastel chair in the waiting area, reading a magazine he picked up at the newspaper stand when we arrived at the airport.
“She’s here,” I announce.
Dad closes his magazine and stands up. We walk to the baggage claim area and stand by the escalator to wait. My stomach jumps in anticipation. In spite of the tension between us these past couple of months, I’m excited to hang out with my sister for a few days. Since Dad’s off work all next week, we made a bunch of plans—dinners, drives, a day trip to the beach. I try not to think about the other day trip Rachel has planned.
“There she is,” Dad says, grinning and waving.
I follow his gaze and catch my first glimpse of my sister in eight months. She’s walking toward us, smiling, wearing a short white sundress that shows off her tan. Her small pink suitcase trails behind her, the one that goes with the luggage set Mom and Dad gave her two birthdays ago, when they were still together. Like her, the suitcase is still as bright as ever.
Rachel hugs Dad first, then me. We hold each other tight for a few moments before stepping back to examine each other.
“Your hair got long,” she says, touching the wavy strands.
“And yours got short.” Her light brown hair always reached the middle of her back, but now it just brushes her shoulders. It hits me all over again how much she resembles Mom. Same brown hair and blue eyes, same dimpled smile and long, straight nose. The only thing I got from Mom is her lack of height. Rachel is five five, and I’ve envied her extra three inches—and the fact that she can tan in the sun instead of frying—for years now.
Rachel tosses her head. “I got sick of having it long. Change is good, right?”
I nod. She looks happy and shining and in love. It’s strange. I’ve never seen my sister in love before. She dated a lot in high school, but none of those boys made her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkly. The look agrees with her. Dad must think so too, because he smiles as he watches her. Or maybe he’s just relieved that she didn’t come home with an engagement ring or a protruding belly.
We make our way to the parking lot and Dad stuffs the pink suitcase into the trunk of the CR-Z. I climb in back, leaving the passenger seat to Rachel. During the thirty-minute drive to the apartment, she fills us in on her flight and her job and which courses she’s taking this fall. Dad listens to her ramble on with a contented expression on his face. I think about this past Christmas, when Rachel’s bubbly chattiness filled the normally quiet apartment, and how nice it was to have some life in the place for a change.
It’s late by the time we get home. Fergus greets us with a series of panicked meows, like he’s spent the past few hours worrying that we’d never come back.
“Fergburger!” Rachel scoops him up and kisses his head. Fergus’s purring is audible from here. “Morgan let you get too fat.”
“I take full responsibility for my weight gain,” Dad says as he flicks on the kitchen light.
“Dad, I was referring to Fergus, not you. You look great.”
Dad winks at me, making me laugh. Just like that, all the tension from the past few months slips away and we’re a family again. Complete.
We stand around the kitchen and talk for a bit before deciding to call it a night. Dad goes to get sheets for the pull-out bed while I get into my pajamas and brush my teeth. When I’m done, I head back out to the living room to find Dad gone and Rachel sitting on the couch, tapping on her phone. She smiles when she sees me and pats the spot next to her. I flop down and pull a blanket over my legs, settling in for some long-awaited sister bonding. Fergus joins us a few seconds later, curving his plump body against my thigh.
“Amir just sent me this.” Rachel tilts her phone toward me, and I lean in to get a closer look at the screen. It’s a selfie shot of Amir, leaning back on what I assume is a headboard, shirtless with a crooked smile on his face. The picture only shows him from the shoulders up, but still. I feel like I’m intruding on an intimate moment.
“Oh my God, Rach,” I say, pushing her phone away.
She laughs and gazes at the picture again. “He’s hot, though, right?”
He definitely has something, an indefinable quality that makes you want to stare at him. “Are you guys serious?”
“Depends on what you mean by serious. But if you’re asking if I love him, the answer is yes.” She places her phone on the coffee table and curls her legs beneath her body. “What about you and Eli?”
“What about me and Eli?”
“Same question. Are you guys an official thing? Are you in love?”
Images flash through my mind—Eli’s smile, his easy laugh, the way his eyes go dark when he wants to kiss me. “I don’t know,” I say. We still haven’t said the words. I’ve never been in love before, so I’m not sure if that’s what I’m feeling, or if it’s just a very strong fondness. All I know is that I like having him around.
Rachel flashes her dimples. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”
I cough, taken aback. “Rach,” I hiss, glancing at the hallway to the bedrooms. Now different images are flipping through my head—Eli’s mouth on my skin, the sculpted contours of his body, the way his arm muscles swelled as he hovered over me. My face burns as I remember the details of Wednesday night, the two of us together on this couch and then, ultimately, in my bed. “Well, you’re sleeping with Amir.”
She nudges my leg. “Yeah, and I told you about it, like, the next morning. Unlike you. The detailed text you sent me afterward must not have gone through, I guess.”
I nudge her back and we both start laughing. It feels like old times, sisters sharing secrets, our voices low so we won’t be overheard. I always miss her, but it didn’t hit me exactly how much until right now.
“Dad would kill us both, you know,” I say when we finally stop giggling.
“I know. He probably thinks we should stay virgins until our wedding nights.” She lets out a snort. “Like I’m sure he and Mom were, right?”
A cloud passes over the room at the mention of Mom. I was hoping we’d get through at least the first night without her name coming up.
“Morgan,” Rachel says, her voice soft.
I realize I’ve gone quiet. “What?”
“If I ask you something, will you promise to tell me the truth and not shut me out like you did over the phone all summer?”
I tip my head back and meet her eyes. The room is quiet except for Fergus, who’s giving himself a bedtime bath. “Yes,” I reply finally. I have a feeling I know what her question is going to be.
“Are you still shoplifting?”
Yep, I was right. “I haven’t done it in a while, Rach. That’s the truth.”
“And you want to quit for good.” She says it like a statement, as if she doesn’t believe I could possibly want anything else.
“Yes, I want to quit for good. And I’m going to get help. Dad’s been looking for a therapist for me.”
“Good. That’s really good.” She yawns loudly, her long day of airports and travel catching up with her. “Does everyone know? About the shoplifting, I mean? Your friends?”
I feel a twinge in my chest, remembering Alyssa’s and Sophie’s faces when I told them. “Yes,” I say past the tightness in my throat. I tell her about what happened at the mall last weekend, and the mixed reactions that followed.
“That sucks,” she says when I’m finished. “I mean, I understand why they’d be mad or wary or whatever, but it still sucks.”
I nod. I understand too.
“Does Eli know?”
The question seems to ring in my ears, tormenting me. “No.”
“God, Morgan. How long do you think you can keep it from him? You said it’s his aunt who you did the community service work for, right? I mean, eventually the truth is going to—”
“Rachel,” I cut in. “Can we not talk about this tonight?”
“Sure. Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.” She picks up her pillow and holds it in her lap. “So, about Sunday. I’m leaving in the morning for Sutton and coming back later that night. In case you’ve changed your mind.”
God, this topic is even worse. I look away so she can’t see my face. “I have to work Sunday, so I couldn’t go even if I wanted to.”
“You could call in sick.”
Annoyance prickles in my stomach, and I cross my legs, jostling Fergus. He hops down and moves to the chair, where it’s safe. “I don’t care if you go, okay? That’s your choice. I just don’t see the point.”
“The point is she’s family, Morgan. We have one mom, and she’s it. She made a mistake—a huge one—but that doesn’t mean we’ve stopped loving her, right? And loving someone means giving them an opportunity to make up for their mistakes.” She taps my leg with the edge of her pillow. “Isn’t that what you want from your friends? A chance to apologize and be forgiven?”
“Of course, but I also know forgiveness takes time and needs to be earned.”
“Mom knows that too. She’s doesn’t expect everything to be peachy again right away. She’s just asking for a chance to try.”
I think about lunch with Dad last Saturday, when I told him I’d consider going to see Mom. Well, I have considered it, and I just don’t see the benefit of looking her in the eye while she tries to reason away all the damage she caused. Maybe I’m just too scared to see the happy new life she’s made without me.
“It’s okay to miss her, you know,” Rachel says when I don’t respond. “I do.”
“Who says I miss her?” My throat tightens around the words. I swallow hard and quickly untangle myself from the blanket. “I think I’ll head to bed now. I’m really tired. Talk more tomorrow?”
She looks at me for a long moment, then she sighs and says, “Sure. Tomorrow. Good night, sis.”
“Good night.” I get up and leave the room, the in-person version of hanging up the phone before our conversation can veer back into a topic that hurts too much to discuss.