“Narri always makes it look so easy with you.”
Sabine blinked. “What?”
“You and her,” Parthenia said, too quickly, too carelessly. “I mean…she didn’t followthe planeither. Two kids with a man her parents refuse to acknowledge as the father of their grandchildren. She doesn’t even pretend to want the life we were raised to chase. But still, she’s always at your place. Always calling. Laughing like that world doesn’t exist. It was so easy for her…for you.”
There it was. A splinter of resentment buried beneath all that silk and etiquette.
“Narrineverjudged me,” Sabine sipped her iced tea. “No matter what.”
Defensively, Parthenia replied, “neither did I.”
“No…but you did distance yourself. You allowed the influence which turned into judgement.”
“I didn’t know how to be around you after everything. The ba—” she decided not to finish seeing her sister stiffen. “The divorce. It all happened so fast, and I was still…playing perfect wife, perfect daughter. I didn’t have the room to just be free.”
“But you still could’ve been my sister!” Sabine’s voice elevated, bringing attention to their table. She looked out the café window for a moment. A young couple walked by, arms wrapped around each other. “You know what the hardest part was?” she asked. “It wasn’t losing Ariyah. It wasn’t even Adair. It was feeling like no one really saw me after. Like I became a walking tragedy everyone tiptoed around and felt sorry for.”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“But you did,” Sabine said simply. “All of you did, in some way. Except Narri. She showed up even when I refused to see anyone, she showed up. Do you know how it feels for your own parents not to even give a fuck that you lost your child? That didn’t even bring them around.”
“I want to do better,” she said. “I want to be around again. For you. For Ade. Even if it’s awkward or…late.”
Sabine didn’t answer right away. Just shifted in her seat and took a slow sip of her drink. Her throat felt tight. Like there were too many words lined up and none of them could figure out who was going first.
The server came by, asked if they needed anything else, both responding with a shake of their heads.
“I didn’t mean to disappear,” Parthenia said again. “It was like...I blinked and suddenly we weren’t on the same sideanymore. I didn’t know how to talk to you without feeling judged. Or guilty.”
“I wasn’t judging you,” Sabine said. “I was grieving and you weren’t there. You were being primped and coached.”
Parthenia opened her mouth. Closed it. Then tried again.
“I really do miss you,” she said. “And I mean that. I miss laughing with you. I miss telling you dumb shit about my day. I miss feeling like...my sister was still my sister.”
Sabine’s face didn’t move at first but something in her eyes softened. “I miss that too,” she said. “But I don’t want a fake relationship. I don’t want check-ins and ‘thinking of yous’ and holiday texts and no follow-through.”
“I can do that.”
“Can you?”
“I want to.”
They were quiet again.
“You don’t gotta do much. Just listen and be there…like we used to be. And I want to listen and be there for you too. Even if the topic is somethingor someonewe don’t necessarily want to talk about.”
“Like Adair?”
Sabine’s expression went flat. “You wanna talk about Adair?”
“Okay,” Parthenia raised a hand. “Not yet.”
“Good call,” Sabine muttered. They both laughed—real, this time. Not too loud, not forced. Just a little pocket of peace between them. Sabine signed for the bill she volunteered to pay then gathered her purse.
“I gotta pick up Ade.”
“Tell him I said he and I miss him so much.”