Chương 6
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were.”
“I was going to say that’s a lot.”
“It is a lot.”
She picked at the seam of the cup.
“I had a bonus coming.”
“Had?”
“They restructured.”
I waited.
She gave me a look.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Sit there quietly until I keep talking.”
“I’m literally just sitting here.”
“You do it on purpose.”
I took a drink of coffee.
She looked away.
“They changed the compensation plan,” she said.
“My bonus ended up being about half what I expected.”
“When did you find out?”
“After closing.”
I let that settle.
“And Evan?”
“He said I should sell.”
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Her head snapped toward me.
“Because I bought it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then her shoulders dropped a fraction.
“Because everybody already knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I bought a house.”
Her voice had gone flat.
“I had posted the pictures.”
I remembered the post.
Keys in her palm.
A bottle of champagne.
The front steps.
A caption about hard work paying off.
Hundreds of likes.
Mom had shared it.
Aunt Carol had commented something about Jenna always being the responsible one.
I had liked it too.
“You could have sold,” I said carefully.
“And then what?”
“Then you wouldn’t be drowning.”
“I’m not drowning.”
“You’re here looking like you haven’t slept in a week.”
Her mouth tightened.
“That doesn’t mean I’m drowning.”
“Fine.”
“I have equity.”
“Probably not after transaction costs this soon.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Do not start talking to me like you’re my financial adviser.”
“I’m not.”
“Because you bought one giant house with cash and suddenly you understand everything?”
I put my cup down.
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither was what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“Yesterday.”
I knew exactly what she meant.
I wanted to make her say it.
That was petty, so I stopped myself.
“You think I invited you over to embarrass you.”
“You did.”
“I wanted you to see the house.”
“After I spent an entire party making jokes about you renting.”
“Yes.”
“You enjoyed it.”
I looked at her.
She leaned forward.
“Come on, Lil.”
I could have lied.
“No.”
She blinked.
Then I corrected myself.
“Yes.”
The word surprised both of us.
“I enjoyed the first thirty seconds.”
Jenna gave a humorless laugh.
“There it is.”
“I’m not proud of it.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
She sat back.
The college students by the window started laughing about something.
The sound seemed too bright for the table between us.
“I wanted you to feel stupid,” I said.
Jenna’s fingers stopped moving.
“I didn’t plan some elaborate revenge.”
“No?”
“No.”
“But you wanted the moment.”
“Yes.”
She looked down.
“So did I.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“At the housewarming.”
She swallowed.
“I wanted you to feel small.”
My chest tightened.
She said it without drama.
That made it worse.
“Why?”
Jenna’s eyes stayed on the tea.
“Because I needed somebody to be doing worse than me.”
The coffee shop seemed suddenly louder.
Milk steamed behind the counter.
A chair scraped across tile.
Someone dropped a spoon.
I watched my sister turn the cardboard sleeve around and around her cup.
“Evan had already left,” she said.
“I was lying to everybody.”
“To Mom too?”
“Especially Mom.”
“Why?”
She gave me a tired look.
“You know Mom.”
“Yes.”
“She thinks marriage is a report card.”
I almost smiled.
“That sounds like her.”
“She would’ve started calling him.”
“Oh God.”
“Exactly.”
I could hear it.
Mom telling Evan that marriage required work.
Mom asking whether he had considered Jenna’s feelings.
Mom somehow volunteering me as proof that being single was worse.
“So I didn’t tell her,” Jenna continued.
“Then the townhouse happened.”
“Why did you make the offer if Evan was gone?”
She rubbed her thumb against the paper cup.
“Because he said something.”
I waited.
“He said I cared more about looking successful than actually being happy.”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“And I thought, screw you.”
“That’s a very expensive response.”
“I know.”
There was no defensiveness in it this time.
Just exhaustion.
“I wanted to prove I could do it without him.”
She looked toward the window.
“Then I wanted to prove it to Mom.”
Her mouth twisted.
“And apparently to you.”
I folded my hands around my cup.
“Why me?”
“Because you never seemed worried.”
I laughed softly.
“I was worried constantly.”
“You never looked it.”
“I was broke for years.”
“You acted like renting was some kind of philosophical choice.”
“I couldn’t qualify for a decent mortgage.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
“My income was good, but I was putting everything extra into the product.”
“You never said that.”
“You never asked.”
The sentence came out harder than I intended.
Jenna flinched almost imperceptibly.
I let out a breath.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re right.”
That was the second unexpected admission from a family member in twenty-four hours.
I didn’t trust the trend.
Jenna traced a wet ring on the table.
“I thought you were floating through everything.”
“I thought you had everything figured out.”
She laughed.
Actually laughed.
It sounded rough.
“Great.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re both idiots.”
“Apparently.”
For a minute neither of us spoke.
The man in running clothes threw away his muffin wrapper and left.
Rain had started outside, thin enough that people ignored it.
Jenna checked her phone.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“The contractor.”
She turned the screen toward me.
The estimate was higher than I expected.
I winced.
She pulled the phone back.
“Exactly.”
“Can insurance cover any of it?”
“They said the leak was gradual.”
“Of course they did.”
“For someone who owns a mansion, you have very working-class opinions about insurance.”
“I still have a soul.”
That made her laugh again.
Then, without warning, her face folded.
She looked away quickly and pressed two fingers beneath one eye.
I pretended to study my coffee.
“I hate this,” she said.
May you like
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
