“Resentful? My little sister’s been kidnapped twice at this point. Once, when she was two and again, just a few weeks ago. She’s lost everything. What has Parrish lost? Nothing but a little bit of attention. In exchange, he gained the most amazing sister in the world.” Maxine turns to me, very clearly in love with Maxx Wright but also very clearly on my side. Always. Forever. I smile back at her, reaching out so that she can give my hand a squeeze.
“Has Parrish said anything to you?” I ask, looking over at X. I don't want to exist in a world where my own beliefs and ideas are parroted back at me, deafening me to the thoughts and feelings of others. Empathy is the savior of society. If Parrish feels like I’ve done something to him, or if he’s suffering, then I want to know about it.
Maxine frowns, but waits for X to answer.
“He isn't exactly the sort of person who shares his feelings freely,” X offers dryly, checking his phone. “But he and Chas are supposed to be at the party tonight. It's no problem if you want me to talk to them.”
“Please don't,” I blurt, feeling my anxiety creep up on me like a shroud. I have the distinct feeling that being told off by their elder bestie will only make Chasm and Parrish like me less than they do, a feat that doesn't seem entirely possible, but which can only make this living hell I'm tiptoeing through worse. Instead, I turn to my sister.
“I don't care about Parrish or Chasm or anybody else here,” I tell her, and I almost mean it. “I want to talk to Grandma and Grandpa.”
Maxine’s face gets tight then, and I can see right through her brave big sister act to the fear and pain underneath. Something is going on that she isn't telling me, something that I'm most definitely not going to like.
“Maxie …” I warn when it looks like she might hesitate. “What's going on?”
“Kota,” she starts, her voice softening as she scoots her coffee away and shifts her seat to be closer to me. Her brow is furrowed with pain, lids drooped, mouth downturned in a rare frown. Maxine is one of those people who finds happiness in everything, who manages to salvage the worst situations imaginable. But, maybe, not this one. “They're heartbroken.” My own throat closes up at her words, even though I already knew that part of the story. Not only could I see it my grandparents’ faces when they were loading up Tess’ rental car with my bags, but I feel it in my own heart, that same sick, sad longing for the life we were supposed to have. “And they're not handling it well. Grandpa went to the hospital last week—”
A small sound escapes me as panic takes over, the buzz of it deafening me to the chatter in the coffee shop. All the while, X sits quietly, watching us both with an expression that says he very clearly feels like the third wheel here.
“The hospital?” I repeat as Maxine takes in a deep breath and then lets it out, nice and slow.
“I shouldn't have phrased it like that,” she begins, scooting her chair close enough to mine that the arms bump together with a wooden clack. “He fell carrying a bag of potting soil up the steps to the deck and broke his leg.” My hand goes to my chest, fingers curling in the fabric of my shirt.
“I want to talk to them,” I tell Maxine, knowing that I’m not leaving this coffee shop without at least attempting a phone call. If they won't pick up—and they might not because they're not just protecting themselves, but Saffron as well—that’s one thing. But I have to try. I have to at least fucking try.
Maxine looks unsure for a moment, glancing toward X in a quiet, couple-y sort of way, like they might’ve already talked this over at some point together. He gives her a sympathetic half-smile in response, vaguely nodding his head, like he’s telling her that whatever she chooses to do, it’ll be the right thing.
My face sours up, like I've bitten into a lemon. That sick sense of free-falling takes over me again, and I feel suddenly like I don't belong here either, in the one place I always thought I would: with my sister.
“Okay,” she says finally, and I exhale again, letting out a gust of that nervous energy. Maxine pulls her phone from the pocket of her bag, a plain canvas thing designed more for backpacking in the woods than for hanging out in a coffee shop in Seattle. My sister is an outdoorsy girl in her heart, so much happier playing in the dirt than curling up inside with a PlayStation, a Kindle, and an iPad. She dials up our grandparents, holding her phone in just such a way that I won’t be visible should they answer.
