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Our car rolls up the winding driveway and to the family entrance at the side of the property. I’ve always hated calling it a mansion. But considering that you could probably fit four or five normal houses inside this one with room to spare, there probably isn’t a better word for it.
I’d downplayed the sort of family I came from in juvie, but that didn’t do much to keep me from being a target. The other kids could tell that I wasn’t like them and they made sure I paid for it.
The car has barely rolled to a stop before I shove open my door and jump out. I’m too full of nervous energy to wait. It’s better to just rip the Band-Aid off all at once.
Voices no louder than a murmur come from the dining room. They’ve already sat down for dinner when I burst into the room, my entrance louder than I intended. The door makes a loud bang as it slams closed behind me.
Only my father looks up, gaze cold as he surveys me.
“Welcome home,” he says, but not like he means it.
My mother stares down at her plate even though she isn’t eating. Olivia’s back is to me and she doesn’t turn around enough that I can see her face. I stare at the back of her head, trying my best to silently will her to look at me, but she doesn’t.
I survey the table, disappointment spiking through me. There isn’t a place setting anywhere on the long table for me.
“You started without me.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. I’m supposed to be turning a new leaf here.
My father sets his wineglass down on the wooden table with a loud click. “We didn’t know when you would arrive. It didn’t make sense to hold dinner.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
His impatient gaze drifts over my clothing before returning to my face. “You might have forgotten, but in this house we dress for meals.”
“This is all I have.” I had a growth spurt while I was in juvie. The clothes I’d been wearing when I arrived there no longer fit, so I had to come home in clothes from the lost and found: a pair of acid-wash jeans that are a size too big and a Super Bowl 1991 t-shirt.
“Olivia, take your sister upstairs and find something for her to wear out of your closet.”
Without a word, my sister rises from her chair and brushes past me.
I guess I’m supposed to follow her.
Olivia was always the quieter one, the one who kept her mouth shut instead of openly engaging in confrontation. I would argue and plead until I either got my way or my father lost his temper completely. Olivia would nod, smile and act compliant while she secretly went about doing whatever it was she wanted to do.
Once upon a time, we’d made a good team. But after two years, I’m not the same person I used to be.
She probably isn’t either.
Her room is exactly the same as I remember it, done in pale pinks and lace because my mother picked out all the decorations. This one used to be mine. Having our rooms professionally decorated was supposed to be a surprise gift for our birthdays when we turned eleven. But I’d thrown an epic tantrum when I came home from school and saw everything covered in shades of Pepto Bismol. I’d threatened to sleep outside before I stayed in this pastel-hued nightmare. Olivia offered to take this room and let me have the one across the hall that wasn’t finished yet.
The decorator had been so offended that he never came back.
Olivia goes to the closet and pulls out a dress that still has the tags on it. “You can keep this one.”
I stop her before she can leave with a hand on her arm. “It’s good to see you.”
Olivia shakes me off, but doesn’t leave the room. “Is it?”
Two years shouldn’t feel like an eternity. But if we didn’t have the same face, looking at her wouldn’t be much different from staring at a stranger.
“It is,” I insist. “I’ve missed you.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left in the first place.”
I react like I’ve been slapped. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
I hold the dress tightly in my hand. It doesn’t escape my notice that she gave me something new. She doesn’t want me to have anything that actually belongs to her, nothing that might be considered shared between us.
