Classes, exams, and avoiding my sister became my religion for the next two weeks and I’d become fairly practiced at it until I came home from school after my last exam. “I need your help,” Jen said as soon as I walked into the apartment door.
She sat on my couch, her face puffy and red from crying. The old crocheted afghan was around her shoulders and she wore the same pajamas I’d seen her in three days ago when I’d been foraging in my parent’s refrigerator—Mom said there were leftovers. Jen’s hair was a mess of gnarly knots and she looked like she hadn’t showered since Thanksgiving.
“You look like you need a priest,” I said, tossing my backpack down beside the couch.
Jen burst into tears, sort of, they were more like choking sobs without the water works, the tears all cried out by now.
