She walked past me like she didn’t know what to do with her hands, stopping just shy of the couch, hovering like a ghost.
“Nice place,” she said, then caught herself. “I mean, of course it is. You’ve always had good taste.”
I didn’t respond. I just leaned against the wall and waited.
She turned to face me, taking a breath like she was diving underwater.
“Look, I know you’re mad, and I get it. I do, but I didn’t know mom didn’t invite you to the engagement party. I swear.”
My arms crossed without thinking.
“You didn’t notice I wasn’t there?”
Her jaw tightened.
“I… I figured you were busy. Or maybe you were just doing your usual too cool for this thing.”
I almost laughed.
“Right. The same way I was too cool for every other event I was quietly left out of.”
She winced.
“That’s not fair, isn’t it?” I said. “You hijacked my promotion announcement at Christmas. You’ve taken over every birthday, every holiday, and I never once said a word. Not until now.”
She looked down at her shoes, biting her bottom lip like she did when we were kids and she got caught sneaking candy.
“I didn’t mean to make everything about me,” she said quietly. “It’s just that’s how mom and dad are. They always push me to be the star. I guess I got used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I said. “They trained you to act like I was optional, and you never questioned it.”
Silence settled between us again. I could hear the hum of the fridge, the occasional creek of the floorboards beneath her heels.
Then she finally looked up.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the wedding?”
There was no malice in her voice, just confusion. Hurt even.
“I wanted peace,” I said. “I wanted one thing in my life that didn’t come with baggage. Didn’t come with expectations or backhanded comments or being made to feel like I don’t belong. I wanted a clean start.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes glossing with unshed tears.
“You could have told me. Just me.”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t trust you.”
That hurt her. I could see it.
And maybe part of me wanted it too. Just a little.
“I’m not asking you to invite mom,” she said, “or dad. I’m not even asking you to forgive me right now, but can I be there, please? Just me.”
It was the first time in years I’d heard her voice without that smug spotlight soaked tone.
Just Camille, my sister, asking for something without expecting it to be handed to her.