For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Mom crossed the room.
“My baby.”
Lily stiffened.
Then collapsed against her.
My father remained near the door crying silently.
When Lily looked over, he managed:
“Hey, kiddo.”
She broke again.
I stood apart.
I loved Lily.
I was furious with Lily.
Those emotions did not cancel each other out.
For the first half hour, my mother talked too much.
Of course she did.
She talked when terrified.
“I still make your favorite cherry pie.”
“Your room isn’t blue anymore, but we can paint it.”
“I saved your old Christmas ornaments.”
“Remember that ridiculous song you girls used to sing?”
Lily’s face changed.
“Mom.”
My mother kept going.
“You both used to dance around the kitchen—”
“Stop.”
Silence.
Mom blinked.
“What?”
“Please stop.”
Lily pressed both hands over her face.
“I can’t do this.”
My mother went pale.
“I’m trying to make you feel at home.”
“That’s the problem.”
Dad stepped closer.
“What does that mean?”
Lily looked at all three of us.
“Five minutes.”
“I’ve been with you five minutes and we’re already rebuilding the person I used to be.”
Mom stared.
“I thought you’d want familiar things.”
“I don’t like cherry pie.”
My mother actually looked offended by the information.
“You always loved it.”
“Claire loved it.”
I looked up.
Lily laughed once, bitterly.
“There.”
“What?”
“That.”
She looked at me.
“All my life it was Claire and Lily.”
“Claire got the better grade.”
“Claire got picked first.”
“Claire spoke first.”
“Claire knew everybody.”
“Then people looked at me like I was the unfinished version.”
I stared.
“I never asked them to do that.”
“I know.”
“Then why does this sound like I’m on trial?”
“Because you never had to notice.”
That hurt.
She continued.
“You walked into a room and you were Claire.”
“I walked into a room and people asked where Claire was.”
Mom started crying.
“I didn’t know.”
