Page 61 of Love Bound

She turned around and, in a voice I will never forget, she looked me right in the eye and stated—quite correctly—that I was "not her mother," and she didn’t need someone "smothering her all the fucking time." Someone who was "no fucking fun."

If it had only been that one time, or maybe if she had seen or appreciated all I had given up and done for everyone, some kind of understanding that I, too, had suffered, something, I don’t think I would have done what I did.

I was still a teenager myself and I didn't get that you never take personally what a teenager says, even if it seems highly personal and directly aimed at you.

In rage and in ignorance, I kicked her out.

Right there.

By the time Devon returned from her graduation parties, I had three duffle bags full of her stuff on the porch with a note. And I gave her everything she needed, tears streaming down my face and snot pouring from my nose. I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t handle it if she died on my watch.

She left with two of the bags.

That summer, she lived with Geo and then took her scholarship to the University of Colorado. She came home dutifully that first Christmas for Laurel and Travis and kept up with them over email, and later Snapchat and Instagram, but I heard little until she came home three years ago and announced she was a smokejumper in Montana with one of the most elite teams in the country.

Of course, she was.

Our feud unraveled, pulled apart by time and distance, and though it wasn't quite a funny family story yet, it began to have the trappings of something powerful but no longer potent. She was really on her own. She had agency in her own life and I gave myself permission to let go. I was not her mother and not even a very good substitute, but I could be a great sister—so I tried to focus on that. So far, it's been working.

Now, looking around the little apartment she and Laurel share, Cody in his "building room" with his beloved Legos, and Colin Hay playing softly in the background from a really old CD player, the smell of roast chicken and potatoes welling from the small kitchen, I feel like a welcome guest. An outsider, yes, from their club of two, but welcome.

I squeeze Finn's hand, which does not go unnoticed, set the crab dip in the middle of the table, and open a bag of tortilla chips.

Chapter Sixteen

Finn

There's a flaw with the sisters, a wrinkle in their relationship. Those micro-expressions—so hard to teach, but so easy for me to pick up on—make it clear there’s hurt and betrayal going on. Or, went on. I've learned this curse, while helpful as a security expert, can get in the way of relationships. It's one of the reasons I don’t have many. Being able to determine if someone is lying, hurt, angry, devious, or shy, with all other outward aspects of their expression and demeanor seemingly neutral, doesn’t ever tell me the most important piece of information: why.

"That was amazing," says Laurel, wiping Cody's mouth.

He ate under the table at a bed tray she’d set on the floor. I felt bad; it was because I had sat down to dinner. Devon assured me it took Cody three weeks before he could sit at the table with her. Any change in routine was tough. When I moved into the kitchen to compliment Laurel, Devon asked me not to mention her explanation.

"Well, my contribution is fried bananas and ice-cream," says Devon. "Claire, could you make Mom's caramel sauce?"

Claire smiles at me. "I'll try. Travis does a much better job. Mine crystalizes sometimes."

"That's weird, because he never made it with her," Devon says and then hears herself. "I mean, you know."

"I know," says Claire and laughs, which makes Devon relax a little. "He always made it with me. He just has instincts. Sugar instincts."

"It’s 'cause he lived on gummy bears ‘til he was fifteen," Laurel says, pulling the chicken from the roasting pan and popping a piece into her mouth.

Claire bristles slightly. "He did not. He ate pretty well. We all did."

Laurel shrugs. "Well, not after you left for school."

Claire's mouth closes into a line and I can tell she's hurt, but she comes over and puts an arm around Laurel for a quick hug. "I left for school. I didn’t leave you guys."

Looking a little surprised, Laurel pulls away, but not before she kisses Claire on the cheek. "I know. I wasn't saying that." She turns to me. "You’ll find out that Claire is overly sensitive."

"I am not. I’m tough. Tough as leather," Claire argues.

"There's no such thing as being overly sensitive," I say.

Colin Hay wafts in the background.

I pick up a slice of cucumber in the salad. "I also don't believe in 'overreactions.'" After air quoting, I lick my thumb quickly and find three women staring at me. "What?"