Sophia cracks a smile and takes a sip of her drink as if enjoying every second of my torture. I shoot daggers at her from across the table while she takes her time crunching on a piece of toast.
Finally, she answers my question, “Occasionally.”
Her one-word answer irks me, but I press on. “Do you miss her?”
Sophia’s upper lip curls ever so slightly as if the very thought repulses her.
“Doyou?”
I shrug and take a sip of coffee. “I miss the concept of her, I think.”
“The concept of her?” she repeats. Then laughs. “Okay, therapy.”
“Yeah,” I deadpan. Then, study her for a few seconds. “And given how fucking aloof you’re acting, I think it might be your turn soon.”
She points a finger at herself, mouth open in shock. “My turn?” She shakes her head profusely. “You got the wrong girl.”
“Why the hell not?”
Never in my life did I think I’d be the poster child for therapy, but here we are.
She scoffs, shoving a piece of bacon into her mouth. She chews, which I can only describe as,with attitude,before swallowing and finally saying, “No therapist is going to tell me anything I haven’t already figured out myself.” Her voice is thick with annoyance. “Abandonment issues? Check.”—she makes the motion with her hand—“Neglect? Check. Emotionally immature parents? Check.”
Realizing the conversation is moot, I concede to her holier-than-thou attitude.
For now.
I hold my hands up as a sign of surrender. “Okay, fine. Whatever. Suit yourself.”
I resume eating my blueberry pancakes in silence.
“Anyway,” Sophia says pointedly, obviously wanting to change the subject.
She picks up her phone from beside her plate and starts tapping around on the screen.
“Oh my god!” she says a little too loudly.
Her mouth falls open as her body jerks forward in shock, wide eyes jumping up to meet mine. I can tell by her expression that her shock is out of excitement.
I don’t have time to ask why she’s gawking at her phone before she flips her screen around and shows it to me. For half a second, I can’t tell why she’s showing me a picture of me and Connie. Until I realize that the picture has been posted onConnie’sInstagram profile.
It’s been almost two weeks since we officially started dating. Best two weeks of my fucking life. But she had not once posted about us on her socials until now.
“That’s a hard launch if I ever did see one,” Sophia chuckles, grinning at her screen.
“Let me see.” I grab my phone and pull up her profile. I study the picture some more. “She even tagged me in it,” I mutter under my breath.
It’s of us having coffee, sitting next to each other at her kitchen island. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts and I think I might die of fucking bliss staring at us.
I look so happy.Shelooks so happy.
Maybe I should be embarrassed by how excited I feel about just a simple picture of us. But it’s so much more than that. She’s finally claimed me. For the whole world to see.
I lean back into my chair, feeling smug as I look back at my sister. Sophia’s expression is one of quiet pride.
She smiles. “You deserve every second of this,” she says softly.
Not long ago, that statement would have made me uncomfortable. Mad even. But not today.
