“B, please!” she begs. “I’ll do whatever you want. It’s the last trip before everyone graduates!”
I halt at her nickname for me as my heart fissures, remembering the day we came up with our nicknames—or I guess I should say, the day we stole them.
We were in our early teens and watching Gossip Girl, one of our favorite shows to watch reruns of on Netflix. Sierra pointed out that our first names started with the same letters as Serena and Blaire, the main characters in the show.
“They’re best friends just like we are. We should totally call each other S and B just like they do,” she said.
“We’re more than best friends,” I pointed out. “We’re sisters.”
“Best friends and sisters.”
We spent the next ten minutes trying out our new nicknames, as if calling each other a single letter was the best thing in the world. At dinner that night, Sierra called out my new nickname when she asked me to pass the rolls. When Mom asked where that came from, Sierra explained they were our new nicknames.
“Should we start calling you S and B as well?” Mom asked with a smile, while Dad chuckled, shaking his head.
“Nope,” Sierra told her. “They’re only for Blakely and me. It’s a sister-best friend thing.”
“Blakely!” Sierra yells, bringing me back to the present. “I’ll clean our room and bathroom, and do the dishes for a month.”
“Why would I agree to go to the beach with you for a week? For what? So you can party every night until you pass out with your loser friends? No, thank you.” My response is a mixture of anger, hurt, and jealousy. Anger because I hate what she’s doing to her life. Hurt because she either doesn’t see or care how much she’s hurting me. And jealousy because I miss my sister something fierce.
“Two months,” she counters, ignoring my comment. “I’ll do both of our chores until you leave for college.” Until you leave for college. That one statement has me feeling as if my chest is caving in and crushing what’s left of my heart. Until now, she hadn’t verbally confirmed that she’s not planning to move with me. That would mean actually speaking to me. Something she avoids doing at all costs. Unless she needs something, like right now.
Sierra never planned to go to college. Her dream is—or I guess was—to one day open a restaurant or a bar—she loves food and music and having a good time—and since she can do that just about anywhere, and we couldn’t stand the thought of being away from each other for four years, we always said wherever I went, she would go too. But that was before the accident. Now, she can’t stand being in the same room as me. She’s just trying to protect her heart, I remind myself. She still loves you. The bond we share is stronger than what tore us apart. It will get us through these hard times, and one day I’ll have my sister back.
My eyes meet hers, and a silent plea crosses from her to me, and I know I’m going to give in. Not because I condone her partying and wasting her life away, but because at the end of the day, she’s still my sister and I love her. And deep down, I keep hoping she’ll stop pushing me away and let me back in.
“Okay, I’ll go.” Maybe being at the same beach where we spent every spring break during our childhood will help her to remember all the good times we had before our world was destroyed. Maybe time at the beach will be what brings my sister back to me.
“Thank you,” she says, not even questioning why I changed my mind. She doesn’t care. She just wants to get her way, so she can continue to spiral downward.
“What hotel are we going to?” I ask, hoping it’s near where we used to stay with our parents.
She darts her eyes all over the room and clears her throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “It’s not the hotel they used to bring us to.” She can’t even say ‘our parents.’ It’s too hard for her. I read online that everyone handles grief differently. Some people cling to their loved ones, while others push them away. I tried to cling, but Sierra pushed.
“But it’s on the beach,” she continues, “and you can bring your book and spend the week reading. I promise everyone will leave you alone. We have to share a bed, since I didn’t have enough money to get a separate room, but you can have it. I’ll sleep on the couch or floor.”
I nod robotically, biting down on my bottom lip to stifle the sob that’s threatening to release as I listen to Sierra promise that everyone will leave me alone. Meaning she’ll leave me alone. At one time, we would’ve been planning our week together, making a list of everything we wanted to do. We would’ve been ecstatic to share a bed so we could talk all night.