He started talking to me because I looked smart. Because he liked how smart I seemed.
Dear universe, please help me through this.
Fortunately, before I get a chance to dive any further into my own head, the doors to the coffee shop open and there she is, my favorite person in the entire world.
“Max!” I shout, probably a little louder than I should. A few sets of eyes swing my way before the coffee shop’s occupants go back to their phones or laptops or lattes. I'm out of my seat and in her arms before I know it, crushed into a sweet-smelling hug that feels like it contains every ounce of warmth in the world.
“Baby sister,” she breathes, crushing my head beneath her chin. At five-eight, I'm about as average a height as there is, but still, my sister towers over me at six-one. We always used to laugh about it because both my grandparents are my height, as is Saffron. Maxine is the only person in the Banks family to exceed six feet. Since we know absolutely nothing about her biological father, we always assumed she got it from his side. And since we know nothing about mine, we always assumed any oddities between me and my family were the result of patriarchal DNA.
Only … Maxine is related to the Banks, whereas I am most definitely not.
After the surprise discovery of my lineage, we were both DNA tested, just to see if Saffron might’ve been lying about both of her supposed daughters. But no. Maxine is a true Banks. It’s just me that’s the odd one out.
“I've missed you so much,” I murmur, doing my best not to cry. I don't want to show the world how much I'm hurting. It's easier if I don't, if I pretend like I can handle this situation as if it’s any other, just a problem to be solved.
Even before the incident with the Netflix show, and the lawyers, and the FBI, Maxine had been away at college since August. I hadn't seen her since my birthday, so this is a reunion that’s been a long time coming.
“Not as much as I missed you, I promise,” she assures me, scooting me back so that she can look me over. She frowns at me and lifts up a strand of green hair, teasing it around her pointer finger. As usual, her nails are short but pretty, decorated with red tulips that she likely painted on herself using a brush the size of a toothpick. “I can't believe that woman hasn’t made you dye your hair yet.” She continues to frown, the harsh emphasis of the words that woman hanging in the air like smoke. Maxine flat-out refuses to call Tess anything but that.
X reappears beside us with a drink carrier, setting it on the table behind me. As soon as my sister’s eyes move from me to him, her entire face lights up. It’s then that I see it, how much she’s in love with him. My chest tightens considerably, and my breath releases in a sharp exhale.
I have never—and I mean never—seen my older sister look at a boy the way she's looking at Maxx Wright, like her heart has been wrapped in brown paper and twine, ready to deliver to his door, never to be returned. He isn’t looking at her just now, taking the drinks from the carrier so that he can return it to the counter. To look at Maxine now, you’d think he were a knight in shining armor, delivering a fatal blow to the dragon. A hero. A savior. A soul mate.
Goose bumps break out across my arms as I turn around, meaning to take the carrier from X’s hands so I can carry it back to the counter myself. Our fingers brush, and a zing shoots through me that only serves to make me more confused. That, and sick to my stomach.
You can’t control your thoughts, but you can control your actions, Dakota.
It’s the same mantra I've been feeding myself since I found out about Tess. The same mantra that I've been repeating every waking hour for weeks.
Our eyes meet, and I wonder if I’ve just suddenly developed a fever or if the heater in the café is cranked up too high or if perhaps I’m just losing my damn mind here.
“I've got it,” I say, scurrying away with the plastic tray and staring into the cup holders, at the stray droplets of condensation. X noticed my reaction, but I’m hoping like hell that Maxine didn’t. As I set the tray on the counter and glance back, I find the two of them smiling at one another. Much to my strange relief, they don't hug or kiss in front of me.
“So,” Maxine says, settling into a leather chesterfield armchair beside X while I take the seat across from her. The coffee shop that we're in is an eclectic mix of antiques and floral wallpaper set with stained concrete floors and decidedly modern light fixtures and art pieces. It's very Pacific Northwest, or so the online reviews said. “How are you settling in?” Maxine pauses and reaches up to adjust her dark hair, its natural shade so similar to my own that I doubt anyone ever looked at us and thought we were anything but blood related.
