Maeve
Elodie maneuvered me up the stairs and to her room. And I’m thankful for her being here. She keeps my parents at a distance. Can’t talk to them right now. We were off after a short greeting, and I didn’t even see Emma or Theo when we came in.
Now she puts a glass of water in front of me and sits down next to me on the small sofa.
My sister grabs my hand and holds it. And that’s enough. Enough for me to lean against her shoulder. To seek this comfort, this relationship I remember from when we were little. We insisted on sleeping in the same bed until we were like 5. Then our parents talked us into separate beds but still in the same room, which we shared until we turned ten. And even after that, Elodie or I would slip into each other’s rooms at night or go and squeeze in with Theo.
