“I would’ve paid money to see it.”
“Jenny.”
“What?”
I lowered my hands.
“Please don’t enjoy this.”
Her expression changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want her destroyed.”
“I know.”
“I just…”
I searched for the words.
“I need this not to disappear.”
Jenny nodded.
“That’s fair.”
That afternoon, Mom asked whether she could come over.
I nearly said no.
Then I decided I was tired of having important conversations by phone.
She arrived carrying soup.
It was such a Mom thing to do that I almost cried again.
She entered, saw my face properly, and stopped.
The swelling beneath my eye had darkened.
“Oh, Hannah.”
“I’m okay.”
She reached toward me, then hesitated.
I let her hug me.
We sat at the kitchen table.
For several minutes she talked about the hospital, my symptoms, whether I needed anything.
Then she set down her spoon.
“Samantha called me four times.”
“I assumed.”
“She’s very upset.”
I looked at Mom.
She caught herself.
“That sounded wrong.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re upset too.”
“No.”
Mom frowned.
“I’m angry.”
The distinction surprised me.
But it was true.
Last night I had been humiliated.
Scared.
Confused.
Today I was angry.
Mom folded her hands.
“Samantha says the police told her there may be follow-up.”
“Okay.”
“She thinks you’re trying to press charges.”
“I haven’t decided anything.”
Mom looked uncomfortable.
“What would you want?”
I almost gave the answer I had always given.
I don’t know.
Whatever keeps everyone happy.
Instead I thought about it.
“I want her to admit I told her no.”
Mom blinked.
“I want her to stop saying it was a prank like that makes the word no disappear.”
“Hannah—”
“I want her to stop calling me dramatic for ending up in the ER.”
Mom lowered her eyes.
“And I want her to apologize without explaining why it was actually my fault.”
“That’s reasonable.”
I stared at her.
“Then why does it feel impossible?”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“Because we let her get very good at never doing that.”
Neither of us spoke.
That evening, my cousin Leah called.
Then Amy from the party.
Then Trevor.
Every conversation was uncomfortable in a different way.
Leah apologized for laughing before she realized I was hurt.
Amy told me she had sent her video because the whole thing had bothered her afterward.
Trevor admitted Samantha had spent the final part of the party complaining that I had embarrassed her by leaving.
“She actually said that?”
“Yeah.”
He sounded ashamed.
“Then when Jenny said you were going to the hospital, Samantha said you always do this.”
My stomach turned.
“Do what?”
“Make everything serious.”
Of course.
That was my crime.
I made things serious by experiencing their consequences.
At 7:42 that evening, Samantha sent another message.
Mom says you’re refusing to drop this.
I didn’t answer.
Then:
You are ruining my life over BIRTHDAY CAKE.
Then:
I said I’m sorry you got sick. What else do you want?
I stared at those words.
I’m sorry you got sick.
Not I’m sorry I did it.
Not I’m sorry I ignored you.
Not I’m sorry I laughed.
She was sorry my body had made her joke inconvenient.
A final message appeared.
You always wanted everyone to choose you over me.
My finger hovered over the screen.
For the first time all day, I wanted to respond.
Not emotionally.
Not with insults.
Just one sentence.
So I typed:
This isn’t about anyone choosing me over you. I told you no, and you decided my no didn’t matter.
I sent it.
Trois points apparurent immédiatement.
Puis il a disparu.
Réapparu.
Disparu encore.
Finalement, Samantha a répondu :
Peu importe.
J’ai regardé le mot.
Et d’une certaine façon, cela m’en a dit plus qu’une excuse.
Parce que Samantha croyait toujours que le vrai problème était que je n’étais pas retourné chez moi.
La sœur silencieuse.
La sœur pardonneuse.
La sœur qui s’est nettoyée dans la salle de bain pendant que la fête continuait.
Elle ne comprenait pas que la femme qui était sortie de son appartement la veille n’était pas la même femme qui lisait ce message maintenant.
Je ne retournais pas dans ce rôle.
Même pas pour garder ma famille à l’aise.
Surtout pas à ce moment-là.
