"She did?"
She nods. "I understand better what happened, how I reacted. Why it happened. I tried the same way, once, when I was a girl. Before I met your father. I thought it was my lack of options. It was. But it always is. It's always the same; that seems like the best option."
"What happened?"
"You want to talk about this now?" she asks.
"Now."
"Okay. But we need tea for this. Put on the chai."
I do.
And we talk until Julie and Dad return from the batting cages. They see us, eyes puffy from tears, cheeks red from laughter, and they trade a look I haven't seen in ages.
Mom and Imogen are up to it again.
We would watch her Chinese soaps, the ones dubbed in Vietnamese, up until she decided we needed to be "normal" and switched to Shonda shows.
But the conversations—
They're an old habit too.
One that was always ours. That Dad and Julie never understood.
For the first time in a long time, I steer the conversation at dinner. I talk about my classes and my ideas for our vacation and my plans for next year.
I walk the beach with Julie. I tell her what happened with Patrick.
All of it.
She pulls out her phone. "I figured it out after we talked. I guess I'd seen it for a while. I knew, but I didn't know. You know?"
I do.
"Then I found your site and I… I don't know. I guess I see why he kept reading. You're a really good writer."
My cheeks flush. From the flattery. And the knowledge my sister reads my site. Every sexual thing. Every ugly thing. Every beautiful thing.
"You haven't checked in all week?"
I shake my head.
"So you didn't see this?"
"See what?"
She shows me a comment on my latest post.
Fair is Fair.
From OneTrickPony
With a link to another journal site.
His.
And it's already filled with entries.