“Really?”
“Yeah,” I said. “What you’re doing takes real courage. It’s easier to let someone else fix your problems.”
“I’m starting to understand why you left,” she said quietly. “Not completely, but more than I did before. I’m starting to see how they made me weak by never letting me struggle.”
We talked about her classes, about the volunteer work she’d started at a crisis center, about how she was trying to rebuild her life on her own terms.
She was genuinely changing, and watching it happen felt like watching someone wake up from a long sleep.
Then June rolled around, and everything exploded.
I was at my apartment when my phone rang. My mother.
I almost didn’t answer, but curiosity won out.
“Emma, we need to talk about your sister.”
“Hello to you, too, Mom,” I said.
She ignored that.
“Bethany told us she’s been meeting with you regularly,” she said. “She said you’ve been helping her with school.”
“She asked for help,” I replied. “I provided it.”
“Well, she’s been saying some very concerning things lately,” my mother continued. “She told your father and me that she feels like we coddled her and that she wishes she’d been raised more like you were.”
I almost laughed.
“And that’s concerning to you because…?”
“Because you’re putting ideas in her head, Emma,” my mother snapped. “You’re making her think that the way we parented was somehow wrong, and that’s completely inappropriate.”
“I haven’t made her think anything,” I said. “She came to her own conclusions based on her experiences.”
“She was fine until she started spending time with you again,” my mother insisted. “You’re poisoning her against us because you’re still bitter about your birthday situation.”
The laugh finally escaped.
“My birthday situation?” I repeated. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“You’re twisting things,” she said. “We were trying to be fair to both of our daughters.”
“No,” I said. “You were catering to one daughter at the expense of the other. There’s a difference.”
“How dare you.”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I interrupted. “I’m not doing this. I helped Beth because she asked for help, not because I have some vendetta against you. If she’s questioning your parenting, maybe that’s something you should examine instead of blaming me.”
“You’ve always been ungrateful,” my mother hissed, “and you’ve always been blind to your own favoritism.”
I hung up.
An hour later, Bethany called.
“Mom and Dad are freaking out,” she said. “They’re saying you’re trying to turn me against them.”
“Are they wrong?”
“I don’t know anymore,” she admitted, sounding exhausted. “They want to have a family dinner. All of us. They want to clear the air and move forward.”
Every instinct in me screamed no.
“I’m not interested,” I started.
“Please, Emma,” Bethany begged. “I need you there. I don’t think I can face them alone, and I have things I need to say.”
“Beth, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I’m going to tell them how I feel either way,” she insisted. “But it would be easier with you there. Please.”
Against my better judgment, I agreed.
The dinner was at an upscale restaurant downtown. I arrived fifteen minutes late on purpose, and they were already seated.
My parents looked older than I remembered. My father’s hair had gone grayer. My mother had new lines around her mouth.
Bethany looked terrified.
“Emma, thank you for coming,” my father said stiffly as I sat down.
“Let’s just get to it,” I replied. “What is this about?”
My mother folded her hands on the table.
“We’re here because our family has been fractured for over a year now, and it’s time to heal,” she said. “We’re willing to move past your birthday tantrum if you’re willing to apologize and acknowledge your part in this rift.”