She peers at me. “Why Boston?”
I pick at my thumbnail. “Same reason you went to New York. I wanted to get away from all the memories of Mom. Boston was the only branch that had an opening for a strategist, so that’s where I transferred.”
“Do you like it there?”
No, I think. “Yeah,” I say, and take a breath before rattling off the pitch I’ve prepared. “We can rent a two-bedroom apartment. I’ll pay the bills until you find work that makes you happy.” To have a friend, let alone my sister, in my adopted city is almost more than I can hope for. I lean over to grab Kit’s hand, but she twists away from my touch. “Your friends miss you. I miss you.”
Kit shakes her head. “You don’t get it. I am happy. Wisewood is what makes me happy.”
“You’re seriously going to stay here long-term?” Visions of Friday night Parks and Rec binges fade. “What about dating or starting a family of your own? That stuff used to matter to you. Does it not anymore?”
She clears her throat. “Not really.”
My heart bangs in my chest. She doesn’t care about anything more than Wisewood. I don’t know where to go from here, have no idea how to change her mind.
“You’re not going to change my mind, Nat. This is not an indictment of you. You don’t know how glad I am to see you, even though you’ve gotten me in trouble.”
“Then why haven’t you called or texted a single time in the past six months? Gordon told me the guests are allowed to reach out to family members.”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, but I knew we’d end up having this conversation. I wasn’t ready to have it then. Teacher thought you might try to change my mind, and then I’d head back to the outside world with you and be totally miserable. I know you think I’m a selfish brat for choosing to be here, but this is the most content I’ve been in my entire life. I don’t know how to make you understand.”
“What’s so great about this woman, anyway? I have yet to see her.”
“That’s because she’s tied up with a new project.” Kit’s eyes shine. “She’ll change your outlook on life, Nat.”
“She has all of you jumping through hoops. Some of the people here seem brainwashed.” Like you, I don’t add.
Kit grimaces. “Scientists have proven it’s not possible to empty a person’s head against their will. You can’t take over someone’s mind. Brainwashing is a concept popularized by Hollywood. The idea gives family members permission to blame an outside authority instead of their loved ones.”
Exactly what someone who has been brainwashed would say.
“Everyone at Wisewood has made this commitment of their own free will. No one’s being coerced into anything.”
“Just because she’s not holding a gun to your head doesn’t mean she’s not planting ideas in your mind.”
“We want new ideas to be planted in our minds! That’s the whole point of a self-improvement program.”
“I’ve gotta be honest, Kit.” I pause. “Wisewood sounds like a cult.”
She works her jaw for a minute. “？‘Cult’ is a derogatory label that society puts on a group of people whose beliefs they either don’t understand or don’t agree with.”
“This place isn’t normal. No internet, no phones, no connection to the rest of the world.”
“What’s so great about normal? People are terrified of everything now. They climb corporate ladders, scared their stuff isn’t good enough because it’s not the newest or biggest or best. They do juice cleanses, afraid their waistlines are too big, then binge drink, afraid their nights are too boring. Climb, buy, eat. Climb, buy, eat. Like hamsters on a wheel. Overdrugged, overstimulated, over the life they’re killing themselves to keep up with. Why do you have to bash a different way of life? Let me be happy.”
Neither of us speaks for a while. I listen to my sister take deep breaths in and out. I don’t want to leave her here. I don’t want to resume life without her. How can she be okay with never talking to me? Does she value our relationship so little? We’re the only family each of us has left.
“I don’t know how to protect you.” My voice wobbles. “This place is awful, and you can’t see it.”
Kit sniffs. “Do you remember the Christmas I was nine and you were twelve?”
I shake my head. All our childhood Christmases blend: me wrapping Kit’s presents, baking cookies for her to leave Santa, tiptoeing downstairs to eat them once I was sure she was asleep, writing her thank-you notes in big block letters, carefully smudging them with charcoal so she would be convinced he’d come down the chimney. After being up all night, I usually passed Christmas Day in a tired haze.