Unfinished

Chapter Six

Stacy

Jenny showed up at my apartment carrying Chinese takeout and a bottle of wine.

I opened the door and stared at her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Wow. Nice to see you too.”

“Jenny.”

“Move. My arms are dying.”

I stepped aside, and she walked straight into my kitchen like she owned the place.

Which, considering how often she’d helped me unpack groceries, fix broken shelves, and reorganize cabinets, wasn’t entirely unreasonable.

“Did Mom send you?” I asked.

Jenny placed the bags on the counter.

“No. But thank you for assuming I can’t visit my little sister without parental supervision.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. And no, she didn’t.”

She pulled out two containers and opened them.

“I brought your favorite.”

I looked inside.

Orange chicken. Fried rice. Extra spring rolls.

My stomach betrayed me with a loud growl.

Jenny laughed.

“Good. You’re starving.”

“I ate.”

“When?”

I thought about it.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly.”

I grabbed a fork.

“You’re very judgmental for someone who once ate cereal out of a saucepan.”

“Our parents were renovating the kitchen. There were no clean bowls.”

“There were bowls.”

“They were ugly.”

I burst out laughing.

Jenny smiled and poured the wine.

We carried everything to the living room and settled on the couch.

For a while, we ate without talking about anything important.

She complained about a woman she’d met at a charity event who had spent twenty minutes describing her dog’s birthday party. I told her about Maya threatening to resign if another supplier increased their prices.

Jenny nearly choked on her wine when I repeated Maya’s exact words.

“I like her,” she said.

“You’ve met her twice.”

“And both times she looked like she was considering murder.”

“That’s just her face.”

“Runs in the workplace, apparently.”

I threw a cushion at her.

She caught it.

“Violence. Lovely.”

“You’re in my house.”

“And feeding you. Show some respect.”

I stole one of her spring rolls.

“That’s my respect.”

She laughed and reached for another container.

I hadn’t realized how badly I needed this.

At our parents’ house, there was always something to discuss. Someone’s opinion to consider. Some invisible rule I was expected to follow.

With Jenny, I could sit on the couch in an old T-shirt, eat too much, and complain about my day without wondering whether I was disappointing anyone.

She knew the worst things about me.

And she’d stayed.

⸻

“So,” Jenny said, stretching her legs across my lap, “tell me about the big project.”

I pushed her feet away.

“Why does everyone want to talk about my work?”

“Because you’ve been chasing this opportunity for months.”

“Fair.”

“And because you haven’t told me anything beyond ‘the client is annoying.’”

I smiled.

“He is annoying.”

“How annoying?”

“Very.”

“Helpful.”

I leaned against the couch.

“He’s one of those men who thinks having money automatically makes him the smartest person in every room.”

Jenny laughed. “Sounds like half the men Dad invites to dinner.”

“Exactly. Except this one actually knows what he’s talking about, which makes arguing with him even more irritating.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.”

“Tell me about it.”

I told her about the presentation, the outdated drawings, and the site visit.

By the time I finished describing the argument over the reception area, Jenny was laughing.

“You actually told him his drawings were wrong?”

“They were wrong.”

“Stacy.”

“What?”

“Most people would have found a nicer way to say it.”

“I did find a nice way.”

She laughed harder.

“Oh, I wish I’d been there.”

“You would have taken his side.”

“I would have enjoyed watching you both.”

“Traitor.”

“Always.”

She nudged my shoulder.

“Seriously, though. This is huge for you.”

I nodded.

“I know.”

“You deserve it.”

I looked at her.

She wasn’t smiling now.

“I’m serious, Stace. I’ve watched you work yourself into the ground trying to build that studio. If anyone deserves a chance like this, it’s you.”

Something tightened in my chest.

“Don’t make me emotional.”

“Why? Your face is already doing something strange.”

“Jenny.”

She leaned over and hugged me.

I hugged her back.

For a moment, I was sixteen again, sitting on her bed after another argument with Dad, listening to her tell me that one day I’d have a life where nobody could make me feel small.

She’d believed in me long before I knew how to believe in myself.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She squeezed me once before pulling away.

“You’re welcome. Now stop being sentimental. It’s disturbing.”

I laughed and wiped at the corner of my eye.

⸻

Later, Jenny found the old photo album I’d left on the bookshelf.

“Oh my God.”

I looked up.

“What?”

She held up a photograph.

“Look at your hair.”

I groaned.

“Put that down.”

“You thought those bangs were a good idea?”

“I was fourteen!”

“You looked like you cut them with kitchen scissors.”

“I did cut them with kitchen scissors.”

Jenny collapsed against the couch, laughing.

I grabbed the album from her.

“Let’s talk about your eyebrows in high school.”

Her laughter stopped.

“Don’t.”

“Oh, now we’re sensitive?”

“Stacy.”

I flipped through the pages.

“Where’s the one from Christmas?”

“Burned.”

“Liar.”

She lunged for the album.

I held it above my head.

We wrestled over it like children until she managed to grab one corner and nearly sent us both off the couch.

“You’re twenty-five years old!” she shouted.

“Then stop attacking me!”

“Give it!”

“No!”

We dissolved into laughter.

When we finally stopped, Jenny was lying sideways across the cushions, breathing hard.

“You’re horrible.”

“You started it.”

She smiled at the ceiling.

“Remember when we used to sneak downstairs after Mom went to bed?”

“To steal the Christmas cookies?”

“And you blamed the dog.”

“The dog looked guilty.”

“We didn’t even have a dog.”

I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.

Jenny covered her face.

“God, we were terrible.”

“We were brilliant.”

“We were idiots.”

“Also true.”

She sat up and reached for her wine.

I watched her for a moment.

“Jen?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever wish we could go back?”

She looked at me.

“To being kids?”

“Yeah.”

She considered it.

“Sometimes.”

“Me too.”

“But I wouldn’t want to do high school again.”

I made a face.

“God, no.”

She smiled faintly.

“Some things are better left behind.”

I didn’t think much of the comment.

We all had things we’d rather forget.

I certainly did.

⸻

Jenny helped me clear the containers before leaving.

At the door, she pulled me into another hug.

“Don’t let Dad get into your head,” she said.

I sighed.

“Jenny—”

“I’m serious. He’s proud of you. He’s just terrible at showing it.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

She pulled back.

“I know he makes things difficult. But don’t let him ruin something you’re excited about.”

I studied her face.

“You really think I can win this contract?”

She looked offended.

“Of course.”

“Even against those huge firms?”

“Especially against them.”

I smiled.

“You’re biased.”

“Extremely.”

She kissed my forehead.

“Call me when you hear anything.”

“I will.”

“And eat properly.”

“Yes, Mom.”

She laughed and walked toward the elevator.

I waited until the doors closed before going back inside.

The apartment was quiet again, but it didn’t feel lonely.

I looked at the photograph we’d left on the coffee table.

Two little girls stood in front of a Christmas tree, wearing matching red dresses. Jenny had one arm around my shoulders, and I was grinning at the camera with a missing front tooth.

She’d been looking after me for as long as I could remember.

Whatever happened with our parents, whatever arguments we had, Jenny was the one person I never questioned.

I picked up the photograph and smiled.

Some people were simply part of your life.

Jenny was part of mine.

And I couldn’t imagine anything changing that.