Page 5 of Because You Love Me

Victoria gulped and her hand shot to her ear, twirling the golf ball sized diamond earrings she wore. It hit me just how much she looked like our mother, clinging to shiny things instead of facing ugly reality.

"I just wanted to check on you." She gingerly reached for my hair. "You look awful, Penny."

I pushed her hand away. "Why are you here, Victoria?"

She dropped her arm back to her side, raising her eyebrows. "Are you going to let me in or am I going to stand in the hallway all night?"

I could have told her that opening the door period was a gift she didn't deserve, but I didn't have the energy to go back and forth. I let go of the door and let her slip inside. She’d paid for the room anyway.

I maneuvered through the mess to my bed and dropped down with a sigh. "Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon?"

She had a tougher time navigating in her stilettos, nearly tripping over my laptop bag. "This room is a disaster area. I guess you finally caught up with me, huh?" She eased onto the bed beside me, crossing her long denim legs with a toothy grin on her face. "Remember when we were growing up and my room was always wrecked and yours looked like a military barrack?"

"Military barrack," I muttered. "I remember your friends calling it the 'loser zone'. Laughing and saying it was so clean because I had no friends and no life."

Her smile disappeared. "I'm not here to talk about the past."

"Isn’t that funny? We seem destined to repeat the past whether we want to or not. You were a bitch to me growing up and you're a bitch to me now."

She brought a hand to her cheek like I'd just slapped her. "I was never a bitch to you! You're my sister!"

"Do you think just because you never called me names that somehow you're off the hook?" Victoria and I had never had this conversation before. I'd had it a dozen times with my therapist, running through the list of all the ways my sister disappointed me. My therapist would look into my eyes and tell me that when I had the strength to say the words out loud I'd be free. Right now, I was just pissed. "I get sibling rivalry. We were never destined to be thick as thieves, Victoria. But just once, I wanted you to look at your friends and tell them to lay off. To give them a look that shut them right up. They treated you like a freaking queen and would have done anything you said. Heck, I would have taken, 'no one picks on my sister but me!'. I didn't get any of that. You just let it happen. You said it was okay with your silence."

And there went the weight. I closed my eyes and felt the heaviness of my confession pour from my heart, out my lips, and hang in the air. Whether or not she got it, or just rushed to give me some halfhearted apology, was irrelevant. I stopped hiding my hurt. I stopped caring about her feelings. I stopped worrying that I'd look weak or that admitting my pain meant they'd win. Me suffering and carrying that baggage was no victory. It was just another way to be invisible.

This time when I looked in the mirror that hung on the wall, I didn't feel ashamed. She was right—I did look like a mess. I looked like I'd stumbled into a mosh pit and barely escaped with my life. My hair defied gravity. My shirt wasn't just inside out but I’d also put it on backwards. Makeup was smeared across my face. But I never felt more beautiful; more like me.

My sister, usually the beacon of togetherness, the ice queen without the slightest crack in her perfect facade, looked like she was on the verge of tears. We shared a bathroom growing up and I remembered standing next to her, pretending to brush my teeth when I was really taking stock of all the ways we were similar; which meant I was really thinking about all the ways I wished I was different. Her blonde hair always looked like spun gold beneath the skylight. Her skin had a radiance long before she intensified it with bronzer and glittery lotions. Her eyes would burn like blue flames when she caught me gawking at her. She would rush me out of the bathroom, barely giving me time to spit out the toothpaste. Other than our last name, we had nothing in common, except for now. We were both dying for something, anything, to get us out of this awkward situation.

She snapped to her feet, pointing at her eyeballs with her manicured fingers. "Do you see this? When was the last time I cried? You’re my sister, and I hurt you, and I'm sorry!"

I blinked up at her, the emotion building in her eyes noted and irrelevant. "Do you know how many times I've cried? I lost count. And that's not even the point. A few hours ago I cried until there was nothing left-"

"Because you thought your boyfriend was cheating on you," she butted in, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she was closing the case. "The thing is-"

"You still don't get it." I didn't have the energy to raise my voice. I fully expected my reclaiming the mic to get lost in her talking me out of my pain. Saving face and somehow taking the sister of the year award home. Why wouldn't she? Her heart was in the right place, after all. "At first, yeah I was hurt because you could ask me to be your maid of honor literally seconds before you were due to walk down the aisle, then dig up my boyfriend's ex and throw it in my face. And Xander, and whatever is going on with his ex, was like a dump truck just unloaded a crapton of suckiness on me. But it wasn't any of that. Not really. It hit me a little bit ago why I cried. I cried because I thought that I'd come so far. I thought I'd grown beyond the Penny that let anybody make me feel small." I lifted my shoulders and my chin was sure, the chiseled angles unshakeable by her. By anyone. "I cried because what I should have done was tell all of you to go to hell."

I expected her reaction to fall on one side of the spectrum or the other. Either she'd turn to stone and storm from the room, or if the prologue was any indication she'd drop to her knees, throwing out excuses in between her sobs.

She sniffed, her eyes on the floor. "I won't insult you with excuses." She crossed her arms against her chest and slowly lifted her eyes until they found mine and didn't let go. "I'm not proud of what I've done. I know I screwed up. You were my sister and what I did, not speaking up, not being on your side—I'll carry that regret with me until the day I die."

The nerve beneath my eye gave me away, twitching despite the blank, unbothered expression I wore. Tears rushed to the surface and I wanted to will them away. It would take so much more than a simple, long overdue apology to rebuild the trust that had been broken. I couldn't deny that her apology was huge. To my knowledge, my sister had never apologized to anyone for anything.

I reluctantly stood up, crossing my arms right against my chest like a shield. I mustered all of my strength to loosen my hold on the anger that whipped inside me like a raging fire. I almost wished I could look into her eyes and see another truth...that she could care less about me. About any of this. It would make the cross easier to bear. There was nothing sinister lingering in her eyes, when I looked closer, I even saw that her cheeks were wet and she wasn't rushing to dry them or hide her tears.

Everything wasn't okay—but it was a start.

We stole looks at each other, both of us waiting for the other to take the first leap. I decided to put us out of our misery.

"I'm sure your husband misses you, and I need to start packing-"

"I didn't just come over to apologize for being a horrible sister." She lessened the blow of interrupting me by reaching for my hair a second time. I didn’t swat her away. She gently untwisted one of my braids, her fingers grazing my scalp. She stepped back to admire her work, smiling like there wasn't ten more braids to go. "This is good news."

"I don't think I can take any more news," I began warily. Or surprise guests.

"It's about Xander."

My sister was sharing good news about Xander? Her sworn enemy?