Page 26 of Forbidden Lyrics

Okay, then.

Ever since Gibson showed up at our place a couple weeks ago, she’s been acting differently. It’s like she’s distracted yet hyper-focused on everything I do and say. And I don’t know why.

As I twist the door handle, an idea hits me.

“Do you want to come?” I offer. “You can sit at the bar or a booth and listen to music or something. It must be lonely being cooped up in this apartment all the time.”

A flicker of fear flashes across her face before she gives me her back and grabs a spoon from the utensil drawer. “No thanks. I mean…what’s the fun of hanging out in a bar when you can’t drink, right?”

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had alcohol, but I’m not about to point that out to her. She already thinks I’m a judgy prude––no need to fan the flames.

“You sure?” I ask. “I bet you could order a mean glass of ginger ale.”

She lifts the spoon to her lips, gifting me with a rare smile that gives me hope for our relationship. “Thanks for the invitation. But I think I’m good.”

“How have you been feeling?” I ask, not ready to end the conversation now that my sister has decided to actually have one with me.

She shrugs. “Meh.”

“The doctor said the nausea should get better any day now,” I remind her as she sticks the spoon into her mouth.

Her lips smack a second later before she argues, “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’ll take me off bedrest before the baby’s born. You know Mother’s history.”

Yes, I do. The doctors considered it a miracle that she birthed two healthy babies, but it wasn’t without its trials. She had seven miscarriages and two stillborns before Madelyn was born. And even then, Mads came eight weeks early and had to spend six weeks in the NICU before she could go home. Before I was born, my mom had another three miscarriages. I followed in my sister’s footsteps by spending my first seven weeks in the hospital as a preemie.

Part of me wonders if that’s why our parents held us both to such extreme expectations. They considered us miracles. And miracles should’ve been perfect. Except we weren’t.

“Speaking of medical stuff,” I add. “Have you figured out health insurance yet?”

She frowns and takes another lick of peanut butter. “Nope.”

“Can I help at all?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“How?” I prod. I don’t want to be the bad guy, but burying her head in the sand isn’t exactly a solid strategy.

“I’m not stupid, Dove––”

“I never said you were stupid––”

“You should get to work,” she reminds me, shutting off right before my eyes.

And just like that, the sister I know and love is gone, replaced by a stranger who demands to keep me at arm’s length.

Shoulders hunched, I pull open the door, trying to fight off my annoyance as I reply, “Okay. Love you.”

I leave feeling guilty for a mistake that was never mine but unable to help my Mama Bear instinct that only wants my sister to be happy. And financially stable. And not so alone.

* * *

With a twist of my wrist, I pull open the back door to SeaBird while praying that no one will notice how early I am for my shift. The usual chaos that I’ve grown accustomed to is absent. I’m early, but I didn’t think I was this early. Carefully, I close the door behind me, head to the breakroom, and tuck my things into my locker before making my way to the small kitchen. Other than a giant stack of dirty dishes from yesterday, it’s empty.

SeaBird doesn’t offer many full-blown meals, but appetizers are a big hit. Unfortunately, the cook usually leaves the plates, utensils, and glasses for tomorrow’s problems instead of cleaning them in preparation for the next day. He’s a grumpy old man who’s about as stubborn as my sister, but he would probably appreciate a little help, and I might as well make myself useful.

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