Page 20 of These Summer Storms

“But you were with…someone else?” Gabriela Romero-Jiménez,the best attorney in the Brooklyn public defender’s office, entered the chat.

“I have to go,” Alice said.

“You absolutely do not have to go, you liar.”

“Objection. Combative,” Alice retorted.

“Overruled!”

Gabi’s shout was punctuated by a knock at Alice’s door. “Oh, shit. I really do have to go.”

“No! Who is there? Literally no one is more important than me in this moment.”

Alice laughed as the door opened and her younger sister’s head poked through the gap, a perfect replica of their mother’s face, albeit with a few more freckles (freckles wouldn’t dream of taking up residence on Elisabeth’s cheeks). “I have to go!”

“Is it someone famous? The president? The head of the World Bank?” Gabi asked in her ear.

“I don’t even know who the head of the World Bank is,” Alice said, before adding, “It’s Emily.”

“Ah,” Gabi said, understanding more than Alice let on. “You should go, then. Tell her I said hi.”

“Gabi says hi,” she said to her sister, who offered a little wave and stepped into the room. She looked as she always did, ready for yoga or meditation or an emergency Reiki session—barefoot, in a tight black tank top and printed, wide-leg, gray samurai pants. “She says hi back.”

“Text me about Monday.”

“I will.” Dropping her phone onto her bed, Alice crossed to Emily, stopping before she could hug her, not knowing if they did that anymore. “Hi.”

They had hugged, though. Before. They’d been the pair, Emily so much closer in age to Alice than to the others. But now, Alice hesitated, and finally, Emily reached for her. “Hi.”

Where Greta was cool rigidity and Sam was brash arrogance, Emily was the least guarded of the siblings. At least, she had been. Open and authentic in a way none of the rest of them were, which was ironic asher business—a holistic healing shop on the mainland—relied entirely on tourists with fat wallets and slim sense to stay afloat.

Or, rather, itwould beentirely reliant on those things, if their father hadn’t bankrolled the whole thing mere weeks after Emily graduated from college—a fact that set off Sam and Greta at every turn, despite Franklin having bankrolled Greta’s entire life as an unfinished novelist and lunch date for their mom, and given Sam an office down the hall, where he got to play grown-up while their father paid for Sam’s kids’ private school and Sila’s…whatever Sila was into at any given moment.

Maybe it was Emily’s age—five years younger than Alice, with all the privilege of the baby of the family. Maybe the mistrust that had been coded into the rest of them had run out before Emily’s DNA twisted into a double helix, but where the rest of the family hid their truths, fearing discovery and manipulation, Emily lived out in the open. She talked about feelings. Told people she loved them. It was equal parts refreshing and exhausting, and no one could explain quite how she’d turned out like she did.

Not even Alice, which was why she’d avoided her sister’s early attempts to keep in contact, when she wasn’t ready for feelings. Emily’s honesty demanded honesty in return, and Alice hadn’t been ready for that. And once she was ready, it had been Emily who’d disappeared. Tired of waiting.

It had been too late to apologize. At least, it had felt that way.

Alice stepped into Emily’s hug, almost tight, almost cleansing, and then…over. There and gone—guarded—before the youngest Storm stepped back, out of Alice’s grasp.

Oh.Alice let her go, disappointment hitting her like a wave, threatening to take out her sea legs.

“You came,” Emily said, lowering her arms, a dozen beaded bracelets (labradorite, malachite, moonstone, peridot—you get it) clattering together.

“Of course I came.”

Emily nodded. “I see that. I’m happy for it.”

Words that felt like accusation or manipulation from everyone elsein the family were full of something else here—truth. And somehow, that filled Alice with something closer to grief than anything she’d felt yet. Not even Emily had been sure she’d come.

Not even Emily could see the truth of why she’d left in the first place.

Alice swallowed her angry defense.Practice radical acceptance,her therapist would say.Be open.“How have you been?”

She barely avoided an outward cringe. Emily didn’t seem to notice the pedestrian question, responding with a small delicate shrug. “Okay. You know. Until yesterday. But this part is nice; I wasn’t sure you would…”

“Yeah. No one was,” Alice said, trying to take the words at face value. Ignoring the words that filled her throat.He was my father, too.Even though he would have preferred that weren’t the case.

---