I don’t know if I can face Isabella and still say what I need to say. She was the hardest part about leaving this place for good. I know she didn’t want me around. I know that even back then, we’d grown so far apart we were really only sisters in name. I’d lost her before I even left, but that’s not enough to stop the regret or the doubt.
I don’t have room for regret or doubt today. I consider just walking away and strolling around the neighbourhood until she leaves, but if I do that, I’m going to go on strolling straight back to Toronto.
I have to do this now, or the modicum of nerve I’ve worked up is going to leave me.
I take another few deep breaths. I focus on the asphalt under my feet, on the distance between me and the front door, and as I get closer, my head gets clearer and clearer.
I’m angry. In fact, I’m furious, but there’s a purpose to the rage, a direction. I don’t want to live this way anymore. So much of who I’ve become is a reaction to the things that happened in this house. I built my whole life around the idea of not getting hurt again, but it’s making me hurt other people. It’s making me hurt myself.
I can’t stop doing that until I go in there and say what I need to say.
I plant one foot on the doorstep, and then the other. The doorbell is faded brass with a white plastic button in the middle. I press it and hear the familiar chime chorus through the house.
My dad answers, blinking in shock before his face lights up with a smile.
“Mijita!” He pulls me in for a hug. “Qué sorpresa!”
He goes on in a mix of Spanish and English. He’s the only person I get to practice actually talking in Spanish with; all I teach Ingrid is how to swear. I’m rusty enough that it’s hard to keep up, but I answer his questions and explain that I was in Toronto and wanted to stop by.
Which is technically true.
“Al, who is that?” My mom’s shrill voice calls up from the half-basement where their bedroom and her office are. I freeze at the sound. “If it’s the renovation man, I have some things to say to him.”
“It’s not the bathroom guy!” he shouts back, looking at me with an excited gleam in his eyes. “Come up and see who it is!”
I wave my hands for him to stop, but it’s too late. I hear the stairs creaking while my mom mutters complaints about the interruption in Vietnamese, and then she rounds the corner to where we’re standing in the entryway.
“Paige?” Her eyes go wide.
She’s wearing a flowy silk shirt and a bunch of makeup. I can count the number of times I’ve seen her without makeup on one hand. I used to love when she’d sit me on her bed and give me makeovers for fun when I was little. I always thought she was so pretty and wanted to look just like her. I’d sit in the backseat of the car and mime out applying lipstick and mascara with her whenever she did a touch-up on the road.
That was before I learned what people want from pretty girls, before she told me that’sallthey’d want.
“What are you doing here?”
No one has moved. My dad is looking between the two of us like he’s trying to figure out how to get out of here without being caught in the crossfire.
It’s typical behaviour for him.
I clear my throat. “I, uh—I was...around.”
“You haven’t been home in so long.” She steps forward and puts her hand on my arm. I go tense, and she backs away. “Well, come in. Let’s sit.”
She leads the way to the living room, and I’ve just settled myself onto the edge of one of the couch cushions when I hear the stairs creak again.
“Isabella,” my dad calls out, “your sister is—”
His warning comes too late.
“Oh my god.” Isabella’s hands fly up to cover her mouth the second she steps into the living room. She stands there staring at me with her eyes bulging. Her arms shake a little.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. All I can do is look back at her.
I haven’t seen her in over a year, almost two now.
She’s as stunning as ever, with long, wavy hair flecked with highlights that falls almost to her waist. Most people say we look alike, although she’s slimmer and taller than me. She’s wearing high-waisted jeans and a teal t-shirt knotted at the front. She seems older, even though she looks almost exactly the same as I remember. There’s something about her stance that makes it clear she’s been living in the city for a few years.
“Paige,” she finally says as she lets her arms fall to her sides. “You’re here.”
