She froze.
I continued.
“Not love because we’re sisters.”
“Do you like me?”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Answer.”
“You're being dramatic.”
“Answer.”
Vanessa stared at me.
For one second I saw something close to pain.
Then anger covered it.
“You want honesty?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
She stepped closer.
“I think everything became easier for you because you learned how to look wounded.”
My mouth opened.
Nothing came.
She continued.
“Your divorce.”
“Your accident.”
“Your job stress.”
“People always rush in.”
“Mom.”
“Dad when he was alive.”
“Now Daniel.”
I frowned.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“He asks about your shoulder.”
“He offers you chairs.”
“He carries things.”
“That is normal human behavior.”
“He’s supposed to be focused on me.”
“He is marrying you tomorrow.”
“Exactly.”
“Then why does he care how I’m doing?”
I stared.
The answer was so obvious I almost felt sorry for her.
“Because he’s a decent person.”
Her eyes flashed.
“You always do that.”
“What?”
“Make me sound crazy.”
“I didn't call you crazy.”
“You don't have to.”
I turned.
“I’m done.”
She grabbed my left wrist.
I pulled away.
“Do not touch me.”
“Stop walking away when I’m talking.”
“I am leaving because I don’t trust this conversation anymore.”
She laughed.
“You?”
“What?”
“You don't trust me?”
“No.”
That was the sentence.
Later, I would think about whether it triggered her.
Whether hearing the word no from me in that tone felt unbearable.
Whether she wanted to frighten me.
Humiliate me.
Make me look dramatic.
I still do not know.
What I know is that Vanessa looked toward the pool.
Then at me.
And said:
“Maybe some cold water will wake you up.”
I barely had time to understand.