I laughed at this, though she was probably right.
I’m serious, I wrote. I could definitely use the money, and then I can stay here and help my mom. Also I broke up with Hayes last night even though we were only together for like 24 hours. It was bad.
I didn’t have the energy to type anything else.
Franny WHAT?!
I’ll call you tonight I promise, I replied, but I gotta go do mom stuff xoxo.
*
Later, as I lay on my old twin bed, I thought about what it meant to be home. Growing up, I’d always felt out of place: With my mom and Jim. In my house. In my skin. But moving to New York, finding Lola and Cleo, discovering the world of art and design, creating my very own home in my little apartment—those things had shown me what it truly meant to belong. And then Hayes showed up in my life, and he felt both entirely new and utterly familiar, all at once. And all these things together made up the place I wanted to be more than anything in the world.
But I wasn’t there, where I belonged. I was here, staring at the cracked ceiling of my childhood home. I flopped around, trying to get comfortable. I turned over, and on the bookshelf next to me was a framed photo of me as a little kid, hair long and tangled, sitting in my grandmother’s lap, my mom seated next to both of us, her hand on my belly. We’re all grinning, and our smiles look almost identical, a thread connecting the three of us. I let out a sigh, felt the tears creep back into my eyes. Even if this wasn’t home—this place, this house, this family—they were still a part of me. And maybe in my own way, I did belong here too.
But there was one piece still missing, floating out there, ready for me to grab it. If I was ever going to truly know myself, I needed to know all of me. And so I grabbed my phone off the floor, opened up my email, and began to type.
Anna,
It’s been a crazy week here. My mom is in the hospital after having a heart attack, which has been awful and scary, though she’s doing okay. I’m still trying to figure out how to make the career I want in interior design happen.
On top of all of this, I met someone. A guy. Un uomo. （I’m trying to learn Italian!） He’s not like anyone I’ve ever dated, and I ended things in the worst possible way. I hope you don’t mind me dumping all of this on you, but it feels good to tell someone. Plus, you’re Italian. You all know something about love, right?
I’ve never had a sister, or any siblings before. But knowing you’re out there is really bringing me some comfort tonight. I hope we get the chance to talk more soon and, who knows, maybe even meet one day.
Love,
Franny （your sister!）
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hayes
Eleanor stood with her hand on her rounded belly, eyes following me like laser beams as I walked into her new office and shut the door. She had texted me, Get in here, as soon as I’d walked in.
“I know what you’re going to ask, and I don’t want to talk about it.” My voice was hoarse, the result of not sleeping. It was impossible to avoid eye contact with her, but I could at least avoid the conversation.
“Oh, we’re going to talk about it.” She had that no-nonsense tone, which meant one thing: She wouldn’t give up on this easily.
I waved my hands in defeat. I sat down in the chair across from her desk. I had expected the way things ended with Franny to dull me, numb me, make me a shell. Instead, everything felt heightened, too bright, my senses exploding. I could feel every hair on my head, every fiber of cotton pressing against my skin. Losing Franny had only made me more aware of everything going on around me, everything without her in it.
“So on Saturday, you texted me and basically told me you had a girlfriend.” She leaned forward, elbow resting on her desk, chin in her hand.
I sighed. “I never used that word.”
“I bet you wanted to, though,” she replied, her voice all-knowing.
“And?” I replied, impatient.
“And then last night you call from a hospital in the middle of Connecticut and tell me you can’t go to Seattle because of her.”
“Yeah,” I said, like it hadn’t been a crisis I’d forced her to get out of bed and deal with in the middle of the night.
“And now you’re here hours later, in the office, and you’re flying to Seattle tonight.”
Eleanor crossed her arms on her desk and looked directly at me. “So are you going to tell me what happened, or am I just going to have to guess?”
“There’s nothing to guess about. We were maybe going to be a thing, and now we aren’t, and that’s it.”