Chapter 7 - What We Refused to Repeat
Nothing resolved in that meeting.
There was no dramatic confession followed by a check.
Vivian cried.
Martin called afterward to say we were humiliating his wife.
A cousin texted that family should handle things privately.
I stared at that message for a long time.
We were handling it privately.
With the people involved.
With records.
With professionals who understood the process.
Apparently, “privately” meant something different when the person asking wanted us to stop.
Margaret helped us seek independent administration and a full accounting.
The estate attorney cooperated.
Vivian eventually stepped aside.
The disputed payments became a formal matter between attorneys, with repayment and potential further consequences no longer left to family promises.
I did not spend my honeymoon studying every update.
Ethan and I left on Thursday.
For four days, we stayed in a small coastal inn where nobody knew what my sister had worn.
We walked in cold wind.
Ate chowder.
Argued cheerfully about whether a rainy beach counted as romantic.
On the second evening, I checked my phone under the table.
Ethan watched me.
“You can answer if it’s urgent.”
“It’s not.”
“Then what are you hoping to find?”
I looked at the screen.
Another explanation.
Another apology.
Something that would make the last month feel neatly finished.
“I don’t know.”
He reached across the table.
“You don’t have to monitor everyone to keep them from hurting you.”
The words found a place I had not known was tired.
I turned off the phone.
When we returned, Paige asked to meet.
Not to discuss the estate.
To discuss us.
We chose a park with benches facing a duck pond.
She arrived wearing a coat I recognized from three winters earlier.
For once, she had not dressed for impact.
“I started therapy,” she said.
I nodded.
“How is it?”
“Annoying.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
She smiled faintly.
“Apparently, understanding why you do something doesn’t mean you get to keep doing it.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“Extremely.”
We sat quietly for a moment.
Then she took a folded page from her pocket.
“I made a list.”
My stomach tightened.
“Of what?”
“Things I did. Not things you made me do.”
She looked down.
“The graduation announcement. The post about your house. What I said when Ethan proposed. Christmas at Mom’s three years ago when I told everyone you only hosted because you wanted praise.”
I remembered each one.
I wished I didn’t.
She continued anyway.
“I can’t fix them by saying I was jealous. I was jealous. I was also mean.”
My eyes burned.
I had spent years wanting her to admit it.
Now that she did, I felt grief for how long we had gone without this conversation.
“I don’t know how to trust you yet,” I said.
“I know.”
“I don’t want every good moment in my life to become a test.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“And I can’t be your therapist.”
She nodded.
“I’m paying someone specifically to stop you from having to do that.”
I laughed through the tears.
Then it was my turn.
“I used being the reasonable one as a weapon sometimes.”
Paige looked at me.
“I knew people believed me more easily,” I continued. “Sometimes I didn’t just want fairness. I wanted everyone to know I was better.”
She looked toward the water.
“Were you?”
The question was not bitter.
It was tired.
“No,” I said. “I was better at hiding certain things.”
She nodded slowly.
I told her again that sending the dress had been wrong.
Not because it excused her choice to wear it.
Because I had known exactly which wound I was pressing.
“I won’t do that again,” I said.
She looked at me.
“I won’t give you another reason.”
I shook my head.
“Don’t promise perfection.”
She considered that.
“All right. I’ll tell you the truth sooner.”
That felt possible.
We stayed until the wind made our hands cold.
Before leaving, Paige reached into her bag.
Mom’s blue scarf.
“I should give this back.”
I touched the fabric.
“Would you keep it for a while?”
Her eyes filled.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Then she asked, awkwardly, “Can I hug you?”
I thought about it.
That mattered too.
Then I stood.
The hug was not a reunion scene from a movie.
We bumped shoulders.
She laughed nervously.
I cried a little.
May you like
But neither of us performed.
For the first time in a long time, that was enough.
