My aunt pulls away to get a good look at me. “You look so beautiful and happy.” Worry suddenly masks her expression. “Does Mom know you’re here?”
I shake my head. “She wasn’t at the house when I left. She’s at a church meeting, and she should be there until at least seven, so we have a couple of hours.”
“How are things with her?” she asks as we take a seat across from each other in the booth.
“I don’t know . . . Everything’s fine, I guess.” I reach for a saltshaker and spin it in my hands, feeling restless.
She shucks off her jacket and sets it aside. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
I sigh and start telling her what’s been going on while she’s been gone. I tell her about my strict home life, how hard things have been sometimes, how I never felt like I was good enough for them, and how part of me didn’t want to be good enough for them because, whenever I tried, it felt like I wasn’t being true to myself. Then I tell her about my friends and how, when I’m with them, I feel at peace with who I am.
I talk for over an hour, and by the time I’m done, I feel so much lighter.
She collects the mug in front of her, takes a sip, and then smiles thoughtfully as she puts the cup down. “You sound just like me. I always felt like the walls were closing in on me every time I was in that house, but when I was at school or hanging out with my friends, it was like I could finally breathe, you know.”
“That sounds exactly how I feel. It took me forever to act like myself in front of other people, though. I kept a lot of stuff from my friends for quite a while because I was afraid they wouldn’t like me.” I tear open a sugar packet and dump it into my coffee.
“It took me until I was about sixteen,” she says. “Up until that point, I spent every waking hour trying to do exactly what was expected of me. Of course, nothing was ever good enough, and I eventually got tired, said to hell with it, and did what I wanted.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
“Nah. I mean, I regret some of the stuff I did during my wild spree, but I don’t regret getting kicked out or anything.” She cradles the mug in her hand. “Leaving that house was probably one of the best things that ever happened to me.”
I stir my coffee with a spoon, mixing the sugar. “Can I ask . . . ? Do you mind if I ask why you got kicked out?”
Her brows spring upward. “They never told you?”
I shake my head. “I was always told you just did a bunch of bad things and that your mom kicked you out.”
“I did do some bad things. That part is true.” She sets the cup aside and rests her arms on the table. “I guess where it all really started was with the fire, though.”
I turn my hands over on the table, palms facing up, showing my scars. “The one that put these on me.”
Sadness creeps into her expression as she slides her hands across the table and places them over my palms. “I didn’t know it left scars.”
“They’re not that bad. Hardly anyone notices them.” Lie, but I don’t feel as guilty as I typically do, because it helps erase some of the guilt in her eyes.
“Still, you never should’ve had them at all.” Her tone is tight.
“Do you know how the fire started? Because I was always told that it was intentional, but that was about it.”
“Yeah, Mom started it.”
“My mom started it?” My eyes become round like saucers.
“Burning my clothes,” she adds. “Mom and Dad hated the clothes that I started wearing, so they threw them into the fireplace. One thing led to another, and the fire got out of control and spread through the house. They panicked and ran out of the house, shouting that it was all my fault. They were probably a little bit right. I did test their patience a lot. I was just glad I got you out of the house without us getting hurt. That’s what they can’t see—that their crazy punishments lead to so much damage. Even their verbal abuse isn’t harmless. It made me hate myself for a very long time until I realized that maybe it was just them, that maybe they had expectations that no person could ever live up to.”
Two things crash down on me in that moment and knock the wind out of me. One, I realize why I always felt I knew my rescuer, because it was her. She saved me from that fire. She might be the reason I’m alive today. And two, she keeps saying Mom and Dad like my parents are hers.
“Ashlynn, what are you to me?” I ask. “I mean, you’re my aunt, right? Because that’s what I’ve been told for pretty much my whole life.”
“No, I’m your sister.” Her shock slowly simmers to rage. “Those assholes. I can’t believe they’d do that, that they’d lie to you about something like that for all these years. I should’ve tried to get in touch with you earlier, but I thought, until you were eighteen, there was no way I’d be able to see you without risking getting the cops called on me.”
“They threatened to call the cops on you if you tried to see me?” That’s why she stayed away all this time, because they kept me away from her.
She nods, her eyes wild with fury. “They said they’d report me for stalking if I so much as ever came within ten feet of any of you. I should’ve said fuck it, though. I never should’ve left you alone with them, not after the fire.”
I have so many questions, so many things I want to say, but before I can get the words out, my mom storms up to our table.
Untamed anger burns in her eyes as she grabs my arm and yanks on me, stabbing her nails into my flesh. “Luna Harvey, get your butt out to the car right now. I couldn’t believe it when I drove by. At first, I thought I was seeing things because I thought there was no way my daughter would betray me like this.”
I wrench my arm away from her and scoot back into the booth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her anger blazes as she pounds her fist against the table, knocking a glass of water over. “You do not say no to me, young lady. Now get in that car before I make you. And say good-bye to Aunt Ashlynn because you’re never going to see her again.”
“You mean my sister Ashlynn.” My words carry a punch, and I can see the impact as my mother tenses.
“You can’t make her do anything,” Ashlynn says calmly. “She’s eighteen years old, and she can decide when she’s going to leave, where she’s going to go, and who she’s going to see.”
She points an unsteady finger at Ashlynn. “You stay out of this. You’re not a part of this family anymore.”
“I might not be part of your family, but I can be part of hers.” Ashlynn looks at me. “I’ll be a part of her life as long as she lets me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” my mom snaps. “Luna knows the rules. She knows she’ll be kicked out if she continues to see you.”
“I want to continue seeing her.” My voice sounds small, but at least I got the words out. “And I’m going to. She’s my sister.”
“She’s not your sister.” She targets her rage on me. “She gave up the privilege when she started the fire.”
“You mean the fire she saved me from.” I carry her gaze, even though I’m scared to death. But she needs to see that I know, see that I care, see who I am and what choice I’m making.
“Her bad choices are what started the fire.” My mom places her hands on the table, leans in toward me, and lowers her voice. “If you don’t get up right this second, we’re done. You are never to come home, and you will never speak to your father or me again. You have already embarrassed this family enough.”
I hide my shaky hands beneath the table. “I’m staying here.”
My mom fiercely breathes in and out before pushing away from the table. “Fine. You’ve made your choice. Have a nice life, Luna. I hope you can live with your poor decision.” She glances around the restaurant, suddenly aware that every customer is staring at her. She takes a moment to fix her hair then lifts her chin and turns her back on us.
I have a feeling that I might not see her again for a while, and I hate to admit it, but it makes me feel sad. I’m sad things turned out this way, sad she can’t love me enough unless I’m the perfect daughter.
“Are you all right?” Ashlynn asks after my—our—mom is gone.