Lies We Bury(35)

Lily opens the door, and stacks of boxes greet us at the narrow entryway. “Welcome to our home,” she says.

“Bonjour, ma belle!” French rings out from the kitchen; then Bianca peeks around the corner wearing a chef’s apron. Lily had texted that fresh baked goods would be waiting for me, and I knew that Bianca, first as a baker in Portland, then as a culinary student in Switzerland, wouldn’t disappoint. She strides forward and kisses me on both cheeks; I stop myself from flinching backward. The girl who instigated Lily’s disappearance from my life when she suggested they pack up and leave the country has never earned a cozy place in my heart.

“Bianca is super content to see you, if you can’t tell,” Lily says with a grin.

“Oh my God, you did it again.” Bianca moans, shaking wavy brown hair at her shoulders. “Just stick to one language, honey. Or, you know, maybe skip talking at all.”

I hold my breath. Lily gives a feeble cough. “Did what, babe?”

“Thought in French in your head and translated it to crappy English. Only eighteenth-century maids are ‘content to see’ anyone.” Bianca’s smile is cramped, and I wonder if I interrupted a fight by arriving when I did.

“It’s fine—I knew what you meant, Lil.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls away.

“No, Bianca’s right,” she says, her voice hoarse. An overhead light fixture makes her eyes appear glassy. “My American mannerisms and slang have dipped. Being immersed in Swiss culture for five years, speaking French, and learning some German and Italian with Bianca, I went all in, I guess.”

“Of course you did. You were living abroad,” I say.

Bianca glances over her shoulder. “Try living with her now.” She heads back into the kitchen.

Lily rubs her arms and turns her face to the wall.

Is this always my little sister’s life? Or just the tail end of a passing tiff? I touch her elbow, upset by this welcome from Bianca.

“I did go all in; she’s right. The new continent and culture made me feel like . . . like I could escape everything, you know? Create a new identity for myself.” She looks past me before meeting my concerned gaze.

The number of times I’ve wished that is probably in the thousands by now. “Yeah. How successful was that? Did you pick up any wigs or adopt a thick accent?”

The left side of her mouth tips up. The angst pinching her eyes lessens, and some of her normal warmth returns. Her hands find the top of her belly. “I was pretty close.”

We walk into the kitchen to find a tray of a dozen freshly baked muffins cooling on a tile counter. The layout flows into a small sitting room with an L-shaped sofa that occupies the corner, beneath a broad rectangular window. Natural light streams into the space, notably absent of Bianca. Floorboards creak from the neighbors overhead. I pause by the oven and breathe deep. “I’m starved. Can I?”

She nods. I reach for the closest muffin. It’s still hot when I begin peeling back the wrapping, and I wait for it to cool enough to eat. “So why did you really come home?”

Lily tenses, her delicate features tightening. “What do you mean? I told you. I wanted the baby to be close to family.”

“Sure, I understand that. But why now?” I’ve always been direct with Lily. Call it the result of having only a small circle of people to trust.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Lil, I—you do realize this year—next week is—”

A loud crash sounds from down the hall, where I assume the bedrooms are. Lily grabs a muffin and bites off a mouthful, then another, despite steam still rising from the nooks and crannies. She inhales through her nose as she chews.

“You know, I’m so glad you got to see the place. But I think maybe we should grab lunch another time this week. Can we do that?” She plucks another muffin from the tray and places it in my hand. “I’ve got loads of boxes to unpack still.”

“Are you sure? I’m happy to stay and help.”

Lily casts another glance behind me. The apartment is quiet. “Well, we do have a stupid amount of to-go containers to organize. I hate that job.”

“Perfect. I’ll find which top goes with which plastic bowl. Point me to them.”

She limps to a stack of cardboard filing boxes. “Thrilling stuff.”

I settle onto the floor and get to work, separating the round covers from the square ones. In truth, I loathe mismatched plasticware; it’s never apparent which lid goes with which bottom, and I usually toss what comes with my Thai order after I’ve finished eating. But if this eases something about Lily’s tense afternoon, I’m all for it. Lily measures out shelf liner, then begins cutting identical copies for the cupboards.

Once I’ve stacked her three dozen containers according to size, Lily rewards me with the first genuine grin since she announced my presence to Bianca. “Thanks so much, Em. You’re a lifesaver.”

Hearing the nickname she always had for me—my first initial, M—fills me with a sense of home. “I’m happy to help,” I reply, genuinely meaning it.

She walks me to the door. Once I’m at the elevator, I wave goodbye to Lily, who stands beside her potted flowers.

“Tell Bianca I said thanks?” I lift the now-cooled muffin.

Lily nods, too enthusiastically. “Of course.”