Page 107 of Lush

My little sister, always so strong, so calculated, now looked out of place, as if she’d walked into the wrong room.

“I’ve been thinking. About the fight and what you said. You’re not wrong,” she admitted. “I do let Mama use me or whatever you want to call it.”

“I didn’t mean?—”

“You did,” she interrupted, her tone sharp but not cruel. “But you don’t understand what it’s like being the one who stayed.”

What could I say to that? She was right.

“You were the perfect daughter. Gigi and I grew up hearing it, feeling it.” She paused, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Mama used to say, ‘Why can’t you be more like Laurene?’ every time I made a mistake or when Gigi got in trouble. Even when you were gone, that didn’t stop.”

“I didn’t leave to hurt you. You know that, right?”

“I know. But it felt like abandonment all the same.You and Erik, Mama made it clear she had plans for y’all. Gigi and I were afterthoughts. And then you weren’t there. Suddenly, all the things you were supposed to do, they were dumped on me.”

A sharp pang of guilt hit me.

“When Mama turned to me. It felt good, Lu. To actually be needed for once.”

No matter how horrible I felt staying here, I never wanted Erik or my sisters to suffer.

Serena crossed her arms, her gaze distant now. “I got good at reading Mama. I thought I made her happy. I’m good at helping the business. I’m actually fucking great at my job.”

Her voice wavered slightly, and it felt like the room held its breath.

“I hate that Mama treats me like a tool. I hate that Gigi thinks I’m boring. I hate that no matter how much I do, it’s never enough. Because I’ll never be you.”

“Serena…”

“And the worst part?” she continued. “I hate that I still look up to you. After everything. After you left. I still look at you and think, ‘That’s the kind of person I wish I could be.’” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “How pathetic is that?”

I stepped closer. “It’s not pathetic.”

“Don’t,” she warned, raising a hand to ward off any hug. “Don’t try to fix this. You can’t. I don’t need you to.”

This was the first time in years I’d seen Serena hurt and trying to keep herself together.

“I’m sorry,” I said, stepping back to give her space. “For everything. For leaving, for not seeing what you were going through. For making you feel like you had to be me, like you couldn’t just be you.”

Serena didn’t say anything at first, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. Finally, she nodded, just once. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

“You know I love you, right?” I said. “Even when I left, even when we fought. I always have.”

She looked away. “Don’t.”

“I mean it.” My heart ached for her. “You’re you, and that’s valuable. You’re my sister. My brilliant, complicated, impossible little sister. And I love you. Always. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Ew.” Her lips pressed into a tight line, and then she looked at me, smiling.

And then, cautiously, like she wasn’t sure she could let herself, she leaned forward. Her arms wrapped around me in a stiff, almost mechanical hug. I froze for a moment. But it was real. I wrapped my arms around her, slow, giving her time to pull back if she needed to.

She didn’t. Serena just stood there, holding on—when she finally pulled away, her movements were abrupt, her expression already hardening back into something more familiar.

“Don’t make this a thing,” she muttered, brushing an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve. “I should go.”

“Hang out with us.”

Serena shook her head and already she was back on her phone, rapidly typing. “I’ll leave the fun to Gigi.”

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