Unbreak My Heart(39)

More tears fall, and I keep murmuring, “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Laini loosens her vise grip on me, fixes on a smile, and swipes at her cheeks. “There. That’s done. I’m all good now.”

I laugh incredulously. “You just needed a good cry?”

“I think I did.”

I shake my head, trying to make sense of her. “Who are you?”

She squares her shoulders and adjusts the strands of brown hair that have fallen from her loose bun. “I’m Laini, and I’m the bad sister.”

“Don’t say that,” I say softly.

She smiles ruefully. “I am, and I know it, and I’m so glad you reached out. I brought lunch. You were always a big eater.”

“When I was three?”

She nods. “You could put away a pizza pie then.”

“Ah, so that’s where my love of pizza comes from—a childhood spent adoring it.”

“I hope you like sushi as much.”

“Maybe more,” I whisper conspiratorially.

We sit on the bench. Laini hands me takeout sushi in a plastic container. I pop a piece of hamachi into my mouth, and as I chew, Laini cuts to the chase. “You wanted to know about the time I saw Ian, right?”

“I do.” I take a beat before I say more since I didn’t expect her to be so blunt. But if that’s the style du jour, I’ll continue in the same vein. “It surprised me, Laini. You kind of fell off the map after Mom and Dad died.”

She takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose, nodding. “It wasn’t my finest moment. Or moments. But I didn’t realize it at the time. I was so caught up in my life, and my job, and being a mom. It was hard for me to process everything that had happened. And I was so far away. I think in the back of my mind that’s how I justified it.”

“I guess I can see how that would happen.”

“But then my daughter turned thirteen several months ago,” she says, and holds up her hands like claws then hisses.

I laugh. “Rough times?”

“She’s like a whole other person.” Laini reaches for a piece of yellowtail and chews. “But it has made me more aware of everything I say to her, of every single word. And how important every word can be.” She locks eyes with mine. “That’s why I reached out to Ian. To make peace.” Her voice is soft, contrite even. The tone of it hooks into me.

“But you weren’t fighting with him.”

“I know, but I wanted to do more than not fight. I wanted to make sure I had a chance to tell him I loved him.”

“Was he surprised when you came to see him?”

She shifts her shoulders back and forth, like a seesaw. “Yes and no. Mostly I think he was happy. We talked about my work and my kids, and we also talked about the past. How we felt like we never knew each other as well as we could have, and we missed that. And then I told him I loved him.” She raises her hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I needed him to know that.”

I picture the tuxedo cat card in Ian’s pile of mementos, and the words on it—so glad we did that. “He knew that, Laini. He was glad you visited. He kept the card you sent him after.”

Her lips quiver. “Yeah? He did?”

I nod. “He kept it with some other important mementos I found when I arrived. Didn’t take a lawyer to assemble the clues,” I say with a smile. “He was absolutely glad.”

She lets out a breath. It sounds like it’s one of relief.

I feel a momentary peace thinking about how Laini was finally able to say the important stuff to Ian before he died. That’s a gift, in a way, to be able to have the last thing you say to someone be the last thing you want them to have heard from you.

Ian didn’t need to tell me they had met up. He had found his peace. He had restored another relationship important to him.

He had said goodbye.

I shift the conversation to her kids, learning her daughter is taking guitar lessons and her six-year-old son loves to make his own comic books. Her husband works hard, but plays hard too—he’s taken up badminton for fun since he’s mastered cricket.

“And how are you doing?” she asks. “I send you emails every week, but you don’t say much.”

“It’s hard for me to say much. To anyone.”

“But how are you?” she asks again, pressing.

A bird chirps in a nearby tree as I consider her question. A few weeks ago, my answer would have been empty and numb. Even a few days ago, I’d have said raw and exposed. But none of those are the adjectives I’d choose today.

“I’m better,” I say.

I’m stretching and reaching. I’m grasping for something I can almost touch with the tips of my fingers.

Possibilities.

I don’t think Laini and I are going to be best of friends. I doubt we’ll be the brother and sister who catch up each week over long, friendly phone calls. I suspect we’ll always be merely an item on the other’s email to-do list.

But she’s still my sister, still my family. I drape an arm over her shoulder. “Hey, Laini.”

“Hey, Andrew.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Sometimes that’s enough of a reason to see someone. Most of the time, it’s the only reason that matters.