Chương 10
She looked at the folded air mattress.
“You could have stayed here when you visited.”
“When I visited my own home.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It is what you described.”
She sat on the floor carefully, back against the wall.
I stayed in the doorway.
Her eyes moved around the room.
“There really isn’t enough space.”
“No.”
“I thought it was bigger.”
“Based on what?”
“The listing.”
“You saw the listing?”
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
It was enough.
“When?”
She looked down.
“Mom sent it to me.”
The pain in my abdomen seemed to sharpen.
“When?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You remember.”
“Emily.”
“When?”
She exhaled.
“Before you closed.”
“How long before?”
“A few weeks.”
I gripped the doorframe.
Mom had known I was searching for a condo.
She had known my offer was accepted.
I had sent her the listing because she kept asking about parking and elevators and whether the neighborhood felt safe.
I had not sent it to Melissa.
“Why did Mom send you my listing?”
“She thought it might work.”
“For what?”
Melissa did not answer.
“Melissa.”
“She knew our lease was ending.”
A cold pressure spread through my chest.
“This started before my surgery.”
“No.”
“You were looking at my condo before I closed.”
“She sent me a link.”
“Why?”
“I just told you.”
“No, you told me your lease was ending.”
I stepped into the room.
“Why was my condo part of that conversation?”
Melissa rubbed her forehead.
“Because Mom knew we were having trouble finding a place.”
“You were approved for a townhouse.”
“That happened later.”
“So before that, Mom suggested my condo.”
“She said maybe there would be a way to make things work.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always know what things mean when you want them to.”
She looked up sharply.
“Fine.”
Her voice rose.
“She said you were buying a two-bedroom place by yourself and that it seemed wasteful when we were trying to find somewhere.”
I stared at her.
There it was.
Not desperation.
Not surgery.
Not a sudden housing emergency.
A judgment made before I had even received the keys.
Wasteful.
“You thought my spare bedroom belonged to whoever needed it more.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Mom said you might like having family around.”
“Did you?”
“What?”
“Think I would like it.”
Melissa’s expression softened in a way I distrusted immediately.
“You’ve been alone a lot.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Sometimes you act like you don’t need anybody.”
I felt something old and ugly rise in me.
“Sometimes you act like anybody who has something you need owes you access to it.”
Her eyes hardened.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“The perfect Emily.”
I laughed once.
“Nothing about this morning suggests perfection.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
She stood.
“You save money.”
“You buy property.”
“You have the career.”
“You don’t have four kids screaming while you’re trying to answer emails.”
“You don’t have a husband whose paycheck changes every month.”
“You don’t have people needing things from you all day.”
Her voice shook.
“You get to make decisions for one person.”
I stared at her.
“And you hate me for that?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Then she closed her eyes.
“Sometimes.”
That hurt more than if she had said yes.
I stepped backward and sat on the air mattress box because my legs had started trembling.
Melissa wiped her face with both hands.
“I don’t hate you.”
“You just hate that my life costs less.”
“That isn’t it.”
“It sounds close.”
She looked toward the window.
“There were years when I thought I was ahead.”
“Of me?”
She gave a small shrug.
“That sounds awful.”
“It is awful.”
“Still true?”
“Yes.”
I absorbed that.
Melissa had married at twenty-four.
Sophie came the next year.
By the time I finished graduate school, she had two children and a house rental with a yard.
Mom used to describe her as settled.
She described me as still figuring things out.
I had believed those descriptions longer than I wanted to admit.
“When did that change?”
Melissa sat on the floor again.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s probably not true.”
She gave me a tired look.
“Maybe when you stopped asking Mom for help.”
“I haven’t asked her for money since college.”
“I don’t mean money.”
“Then what?”
“Everything.”
She picked at the carpet.
“You stopped calling her before every decision.”
“You stopped asking what she thought.”
“You stopped needing approval.”
“That made you angry?”
“It made me jealous.”
The honesty landed strangely between us.
No defense followed it.
No explanation.
Just the word.
I looked at the blank wall where she had planned to put two of her children.
“What did Mom tell you about this place?”
Melissa hesitated.
“That you were making a mistake buying while you were sick.”
“I wasn’t sick when I made the offer.”
“You had the surgery scheduled.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“She was worried.”
“She is always worried.”
“She said if recovery was harder than expected, you might need to stay with her for months.”
“And therefore you could live here.”
“She never said therefore.”
“She didn’t need to.”
Melissa nodded reluctantly.
“No.”
For a while, we listened to the muffled sound of plumbing in the next unit.
Somebody’s phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.
Mine.
I did not move to get it.
Melissa looked at me.
“Probably Mom.”
“Probably.”
“You’re not answering?”
“No.”
“That’s new.”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“I didn’t plan to steal your condo.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“You planned to make it so inconvenient for me to say no that I would eventually say yes.”
She swallowed.
“That’s worse in some ways.”
“Yes.”
She leaned her head against the wall.
“I kept thinking once we were here, it would be fine.”
“For who?”
She did not answer.
May you like
I stood slowly.
The room tilted just enough that I put one hand against the wall.
