Time (Laws of Physics #3)(20)

“You suffer from gross exaggeration syndrome.”

She chuckled. “Fine. Maybe not a hundred times. But I’ve introduced you to people more than once and you never recognize them the next time you meet them.”

“Like who?”

“Like my friend from boarding school who helped me play that prank on you during your graduation.”

A stunned jolt had me reaching out blindly, my fingers connecting with her wrist and moving her hand away so I could open my eyes. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Evelyn? From the newspaper? You’d met her three times before she called you to confirm the “details” of the interview. She was so worried you’d recognize her voice and figure it out, but you didn’t.”

I stared at Lisa, incredulous. “So, you knew her? And she was in on it? The whole time?”

“Of course. What did you think? That I actually pretended to be you and gave an interview to your university paper saying those crazy things?” Lisa smirked, dabbing her brush in the eyeshadow palette again.

But when I said nothing, she glanced at me. She blinked, flinching back, comprehension sharpening her stare. “Oh my God, you did. That’s what you thought.”

“It’s not important.” I twisted my lips to the side.

“Like hell it’s not.” Lisa snapped shut the eyeshadow palette, tossed it to the black case, and placed her hands on her hips, her gaze darting over me. “How could you think I would do that? That would’ve been hugely damaging to your reputation, made you look like a fool.”

I swallowed, but said nothing, sorting through all the assumptions I’d made about my sister.

“Mona, you—” She huffed, glanced over my head, then shook hers.

“What?”

“You are intensely frustrating sometimes.”

“Thank you.”

Lisa made a short growling sound. “Why are you thanking me?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I need to say something and I can’t say, in this economy? It doesn’t make enough sense in this context.”

A reluctant laugh tumbled from her lips and she sat on the edge of the bathtub, her gaze moving over me. “What can I do to make this happen?”

“Make what happen?”

“Prove to you that I love you?”

I bit my bottom lip, reminding myself that I couldn’t cry because I was wearing eye makeup. Surprisingly, it worked, and one of Abram’s statements from earlier floated into my brain.

Cry if you need to, but don’t ignore what the tears are about.

Gathering a deep breath, I cleared my throat, and said, “I don’t want you to prove that you love me.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want—”

“What can I do?”

“I—I want—why didn’t you ever tell me what happened with Abram? In Chicago? That morning after I left.” Whoa. Where had that come from?

“What do you mean?” She gave her had a subtle shake.

“He told you that he loved me.” I didn’t mean for the words to sound like an accusation, but they did.

Lisa met my stare for a protracted moment. “Mona, if you remember, you didn’t want to talk about it. Every time I brought him up, you said you didn’t want to discuss it and would sing “Bohemian Rhapsody” until I changed the subject.”

“But I didn’t know that he told you he loved me!”

Her eyes clouded with remorse. “For what it’s worth, I did try to tell you, a few times. But, you’re right, I should’ve made you listen. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I was such a mess back then. And I honestly didn’t believe him at the time. I truly, truly didn’t. And when he seemed to move on so quickly, I took it as proof that I was right not to believe him.”

My stomach sank, remembering the pictures of Abram and other women I’d found during my initial online searches after Chicago. I rubbed the ache at my sternum. He’d already explained, but still. I was never going to be able to think about Abram with someone else and feel “okay” about it. I wasn’t like my parents that way. I never would be.

“Anyway,” Lisa continued, “Now, it’s clear to me that I was wrong. And I’m sorry I didn’t push you on this, make you listen.”

Frowning, I grunted at my wayward contemplations and silliness. “No. You’re right. I didn’t let you tell me.”

“I could’ve emailed you, then you would’ve read it before you realized what it said.”

“No. I was being a stubborn moron.” I needed to let this go.

Universe, take note: this is me letting this go.

Her gaze moved over me, assessing. “I am sorry.”

“I know. I am too.”

“I’m also sorry I always seem to be making mistakes and doing the wrong thing with you.”

“You’re not.”

She gave me a look, like come on. “Mona. Be honest. I irritate you.”

“No! What? It’s not like that. It’s—”

“What?”

“I want you to—to treat me like—like—”

“Like?”

“Like you like me.” Gah! That sounded trite. Unfortunately, it was also the truth.