He shifted in his leather chair and refused to look at me again. "Check on your mother before dinner," he said and turned the light off.
I retreated back to the kitchen, and Charlotte took one look at my face and folded me into a tight hug. "He's just grieving. Anything that comes out of his mouth the next few months is pure rubbish."
"I, I accused her of being rash. I actually joked about where her quick decision-making got her. It was awful," I said.
"No one can know what went through her head. Sienna always had her mind made up and wouldn't let anyone change it. A trait I'm happy you did not inherit from your mother."
Charlotte and my mother had a long-standing habit of arguing over recipes. Though my mother did not cook, she clung fast to a few beliefs of how things should be done and would not hear reason.
"Everyone always says Sienna is just like my mother."
"It never bothered you before," Charlotte said.
"What bothers me now are the ways they are the same. The big mood swings and the perfectionism. It’s just not that healthy," I said. My voice was low; they were words that felt dangerous to say out loud.
"What's wrong with perfectionism?" my father asked from the doorway. "Do I smell something burning?"
I ran for the oven and pulled the sugar cookies out just before the edges burned. "Nothing is ever perfect and people who strive for it end up stressing themselves out over something they can never achieve."
"Your sister achieved plenty," my father said too loudly.
I could not take anymore. "And what about the mood swings? Are you going to tell me it’s perfectly healthy to be so depressed you stay in bed behind black-out curtains for a whole day only to emerge ready to go out for cocktails?"
"And now, we're talking about your mother," my father said. "Your arguments always segue, like your entire life is full of segues. Next you'll be telling me that you want to quit nursing and join the circus, right?"
"Sienna is – was just like Mother. She would refuse to come out of her dorm room for days. I used to have to bring her food. Then suddenly, I would run into her at the cafeteria. She would be bright and smiley and act as if nothing at all had ever been wrong. That's not right."
"They are passionate, they know what they want, and they strive to make it perfect. I don't see anything wrong with that. Sure, they both take disappointments hard, but it just shows how much they care," my father said.
"Just once, I want to hear you admit it is not normal," I said. "And don't even use your lawyer arguments on me. Normal is not postponing Christmas because Mother has locked herself in the closet. Normal is not you breaking down the closet door with a metal baseball bat because she hasn't said anything through the door for two hours. Normal is not a smart, popular, college girl at the top of her pre-med class suddenly slitting her wrists and bleeding to death in a bathtub!"
I looked across the kitchen island at Charlotte. We had stood here and had the exact same conversation over and over again. Friends had offered contact information for doctors and psychologists, given my father books, and invited my mother to meetings. My parents always insisted she was fine.
Now, Sienna would never be fine again and my father still could not face the facts. "Something must have happened to make Sienna do what she did. When I found out who made her feel that way, there will be hell to pay. I bet it was that boyfriend of hers, Owen. She was always complaining that he refused to get a real job or do anything with himself."
I thought of Owen on the front cover of the gaming magazine. My father would never understand. "Speaking of Owen, have you called him?"
"Why would I call him?"
"Daddy, he needs to know! He doesn't go to UCLA. What if no one on campus had his contact information? What if they didn't think to get a hold of him? He might not even know Sienna is dead," I said.
"Maybe he's the one that drove her to it."
Charlotte sucked in air between her teeth, a sharp sound of disapproval. Even my father had to admit that was too harsh.
He shrugged in deference to Charlotte. "I never liked him for Sienna. They were not a good match. He was going nowhere and trying to hold her back."
"That doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to know," I argued. "Sienna loved him."
"Sienna didn't love him," my father countered. "She thought he looked good in pictures. I never heard one conversation where they ever agreed. They argued before every date."
"Only because they always did what Sienna wanted," I said.
"Right, exactly. A man needs to have a little bit more of a backbone, don't you think?" my father said.
"Enough backbone to make a phone call," I said.
Charlotte bit he