“You’re losing it, woman. Jamie, would you care to fill us in on whatever the hell you’ve gotten us into?”

I guess she never told Dad about the “Jamie is imaginary” lie. He probably would have brought blackmail back into the equation. My dad was going to blackmail my mother out of her children.

“Siri,” Mom cries. “Explain!”

Mom’s glaring at me, Dad’s watching expectantly.

I … can’t find the air to speak. I don’t know which of them was more wrong. Why do I feel the innate need to choose a side right now? I feel betrayed in every way by these people who brought me into the world. I don’t want to ever have to choose a parent. They shouldn’t be making me choose. I’m supposed to start our dialogue. I brace my hand against the wall.

The bathroom door bursts open with loud dramatic flair, and Jamie strides into the room. Mom screams and bangs into the wall again. Dad makes a muffled, horrified noise, his face losing color. I push out the stagnant breath I’ve been holding for the last twenty seconds.

“Yeah, so I’m Jamie. I guess you haven’t been following Siri on social media or you’d know we look a lot alike nowadays.” She shrugs.

I frown, watching my mother slowly slide down to the floor. Her pointer finger wavers from Jamie to myself. I meet her eyes. “I found out about Jamie.”

“Siri, you don’t understand.” Mom suddenly looks like a caged animal.

I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

Jamie walks up to me. “Save it, Mara. Take a seat on the bed; we’re going to speak first.”

Dad’s wearing a flabbergasted expression. He looks to Jamie. “What did she do?”

Mom crawls over to the free queen bed and ambles onto it.

Jamie pulls on a smile as she turns to Dad. “Our mother here brainwashed young Siri into thinking that she never had a sister. She told her that I was an imaginary friend conjured due to extreme loneliness, moved to a new house, and got rid of any and all pictures I was in.”

Mom’s desperately shaking her head. “No, Jamie. Siri wasn’t eating, she wasn’t sleeping, she was wasting away. I had to do something to fix it, to help her move on.”

I don’t want to hear it right now. “What did she say about talking, Mom?” Mom’s eyes flit back to me.

Jamie maneuvers herself so that her back is facing the wall opposite the beds, the lecture vantage point of the room. I move to stand next to her.

Jamie crosses her arms. “Long story short, you’ve both been horrible parents.”

“You really do look so much alike,” Dad says dreamily.