Page 3 of Running Home to You
“I want to.”
“Why?”
Isla canted her head and extended a half smile. “Because you’re my sister.”
A younger Abby had fantasized of such a declaration. She’d first sought Isla after a few deep searches on the internet. Isla was away at college when eleven-year-old Abby called her house and Isla’s mother promptly hung up on her. When Abby’s mom caught wind of the bold attempt to track down her long-lost half-sibling, she took her phone and computer privileges away for a month.
She got her second chance during high school when Isla friended her online. They didn’t exchange messages. It was a silent lifeline. A chance to peek into each other’s worlds. A peek that would’ve satisfiedAbby’s curiosity, just enough acknowledgment to bandage the wound of not knowing all of oneself.
This, sitting across from each other, was never supposed to happen.
“I’m sorry for everything you’re going through.” Isla’s eyes glassed over, and Abby tore hers away. “Like I said, if you want to stay with me instead, I have room.”
“No, I think that’s too much.” Abby traced the condensation on her glass. “But thank you. You’ve done enough already. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden. We’re family.”
“We share the same asshole father and a last name. I don’t know if that’s family. Plus, I’m twenty. I don’t need another parent.”
“Right.” Isla nodded. “But can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She sighed. Summer had a late choke hold on September and the heat worsened Abby’s hangover. She fingered the cigarettes in her pocket, debating if it would be rude to light one.
“Did he ever call you?” Isla asked.
Abby finished her drink. “No.”
She lied. Her father, not that she made a habit of calling him that, called periodically over the years. A few birthdays. A few holidays. All dependent on his sobriety, who he was dating, where he was living, if it was a high year or a low. There wasn’t a formula to it, though she tried to find one in the beginning. By her teens, she caught on to his bullshit and hung up whenever he called. When he rang six months ago, she didn’t dial him back.
“What about you? Do you talk to him?”
“Occasionally,” Isla said, averting her gaze.
“Well, you knew him longer and better than I did.”
Isla scoffed. The scoff sounded like Abby’s, and it made her smirk. “I’m not sure if that’s true. And even if it is, I’m not sure it’s a good thing.” Isla stopped to flutter her thick lashes at their server. “Can we get two shots of tequila?”
Abby’s mouth fell open as he darted off. “Wow, Professor.”
“I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to do this sober.” Isla cocked a brow at her. “That’s a nice fake by the way.”
“Relax, I’m basically twenty-one.”
“As an employee of the university, I’ll pretend that’s true.”
When the shots arrived, they each shook out a pinch of salt, clutched limes, and held up their drinks.
“To long-lost sisters and second chances,” Isla said.
Abby clinked her glass despite the toast ringing more sentimentally than she liked. They hissed through the liquor, their grimaces identical. She didn’t know if she’d ever get used to seeing her reactions reflected on a stranger.
“Listen, I know you don’t need another parent or something,” Isla said. “And trust me, I’m not trying to be that. I hardly have my life together, to be honest.”
“Really? You seem like super put together.”
Isla’s flawless curls, her ironed slacks and stilettos, jewelry, manicure, and makeup suggested a meticulous existence.
“Maybe on the outside. But our dad, or lack thereof, did a number on me. I don’t know about your mom, but mine wasn’t exactly parent of the year,” she said. Abby’s mouth unintentionally crumpled, and Isla winced. “I’m sorry.”
