Ryan stood.
“Come on.”
“We’re done.”
“Claire is terrified.”
“Claire can call me herself.”
“She has.”
“She can keep trying.”
At the door, he stopped.
“For what it’s worth, I told her we should invite you.”
I looked at him.
“For what it’s worth, you still attended without me.”
He left.
***
Claire came to my apartment that evening.
I watched her through the door camera before letting her in.
Her eyes were swollen.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside.
For once, she didn’t look like Dad’s favorite child.
She looked like my little sister.
The girl who used to come into my room during thunderstorms.
The teenager who called when she got stranded at parties.
The college student who drove three hours to me after failing organic chemistry because she was afraid to tell Dad.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I waited.
She cried.
I waited again.
Eventually, she realized tears weren’t going to finish the conversation.
“I knew Dad was lying.”
“Yes.”
“Not at first.”
“But eventually.”
“Yes.”
“And you still didn’t invite me.”
Her mouth trembled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She sat on the edge of the couch.
“Everything was already exploding. Dad threatened not to come. Mom was having panic attacks. Ryan said we needed Dad’s connections—”
“Claire.”
She stopped.
“I asked why.”
She looked at me.
Finally, she gave me the answer without excuses.
“I was scared of Dad.”
