Page 241 of A Taste of Vanilla

“You raised me,” she says. “I know. I know what you gaveup. I know you fed me and signed forms and learned how to braid my hair badly and made sure Dad’s bullshit didn’t swallow me whole.”

Warren looks down.

“Look at me.”

He does.

Tears fall down her face freely.

“But raising me doesn’t mean you get to manage every person I love.”

I watch the words hit him. Watch his body absorb them.

“You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”

Warren swallows. “I wasn’t trying to manage you.”

Her eyes flash. “Yes, you were.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he says honestly.

She throws up her hands. “And look how that went.”

He flinches again.

I take a breath. “Marley.”

Her gaze snaps to me. “You both let me be the joke.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper.

“I know.” She wipes her cheek. “That’s the worst part. I know you didn’t mean to. I know you love me.”

I nod, tears spilling. “I do.”

Her face crumples. For a second, she looks younger. Like the girl Warren raised. Like the sister who learned care from a brother who had no idea how to make it soft.

She pulls herself back together.

She picks up the fallen box and bag.

I kneel immediately.

“Don’t,” she says.

She gathers everything herself while Warren and I watch, unsure what to do.

Then, she looks at me. “Do you love him?”

I feel the air grow thick and heavy as the weight on my shoulders becomes harder and harder to bear.

I could lie. I could say I don’t know. It wouldn’t be fully false. Love can be complicated.

But I do know.

“I think I’m falling in love with him,” I say softly.

Warren makes a small sound, but I don’t look at him. Marley closes her eyes again like she expected to hear it, and it still stings.