Chapter 10 - An Easier Way Out
She called me at nine that morning and asked if she could come over, just her and him, just for a few minutes. I said okay. I wiped down my apartment kitchen counter even though it was already clean and put on coffee I didn't really want.
My sister arrived with her tote on her shoulder, the light checkered one with the tan trim, and her husband behind her in the same dark suit jacket he'd worn at the airport, no tie this time. She set her bag on my second chair like it belonged there. He stayed near the fridge, polite, hands in his pockets.
She didn't sit right away. She looked at my window, my sink, then at me.
"We've had a lot of people reaching out," she said. Her voice was calm and composed, the way it had been at the counter. "About the party. I know you've gotten messages too."
I had. Three texts that week asking if I was okay, if I was sick, if the cats needed something.
She folded her hands on my little kitchen table. Her layered gold necklaces caught the light.
"I think there's a version of this that is easier for everyone," she said. "We tell them you chose to stay home. That you offered to watch the cats because you had a lot going on and you didn't want to be rushed through the trip. It was your call. No drama. No one has to pick a side."
I felt my breath catch for a second. She said it so smoothly, like she was offering me a gift.
"You'd be doing us a huge favor," she went on. "People look up to us to keep things together. If we say there was a fight at the airport, it becomes a whole thing. If we say you volunteered, it just goes away."
Her husband nodded. He gave me that same small, polite smile he'd worn behind her at check-in.
"She's right," he said to me. His voice was soft, reasonable. "You know how family gets. This way no one's the bad guy. It's just - maybe it's easier this way. For real this time. For family peace. You wouldn't have to explain the cancellation or any of that."
Hearing him say that line again, even differently, made my chest tighten. I looked down at my hands on the table. My navy shirt sleeve, the little gold hoops I always wore. I could hear the coffee maker hissing.
It would have been easy to say yes. I had said yes to easier things my whole life. Let her take the bigger room on trips. Let her tell our cousins I was just busy. Let her keep the image clean while I stayed home and kept things quiet.
I took a slow breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I let the pause sit there. She watched me with that slight smile still in place, waiting for me to make it small again.
"No," I said finally. My voice was quiet but steady. "I can't do that."
Her smile thinned just a little.
"I didn't choose to stay," I said. "You told me I was staying to watch your cats. At the airport. In front of everyone. And then you canceled everything. I'm not going to tell people I volunteered for that. That's not what happened."
Her husband shifted his weight against my counter.
"Come on," he said, still trying to sound kind. "No one needs the exact play-by-play. It's just semantics. You did end up staying with the cats. We're just framing it a little better."
"It's not semantics to me," I said. I kept my eyes on my sister. "If someone asks me directly, I'm going to stick to what actually happened. I won't make a speech about it. But I won't lie and say it was my idea."
She picked up her tote and resettled it on her shoulder, even though she wasn't leaving yet. Her fingers tightened around the tan leather strap.
"So you want me to take the hit for the whole cancellation?" she asked, calm but cooler now.
"I want the truth to be the truth," I said. "You made a choice at that counter. I made mine now."
Neither of them exploded. No shouting. The kitchen just went very still except for the hum of my refrigerator. He looked at her, then at me, and gave a short nod like he was closing something.
"Okay," he said. "We hear you."
She didn't say she was sorry. She didn't drop the composure. She just stood there for a moment longer, holding that bag, looking at me like she was trying to figure out when I'd stopped being easier to carry.
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"We'll figure out what to tell people then," she said.
They let themselves out. The door clicked. I stayed at the table with my coffee getting cold, my breathing finally even again, and the empty chairs where they'd offered me an easier story I didn't take.
