Siri nods and turns back to the stove. “Um, yeah, I was hoping we could talk. I wrote you a letter, if you’re willing to listen.”

Papa’s eyes vacillate between us.

I pull out a seat at the table. “Okay … Can we talk after we eat? That smells way too good to delay.”

Siri smiles at me now. She usually projects a dark witch goddess aura with her slight pout … but smiling changes her entire aesthetic. She’s giving off such optimistic vibes. What’s happening?

“We definitely can, and I like your hair!” she says. “The new shade of orange without your gross grown-out roots looks great.”

I bob my head hesitantly. “Thank you?”

Siri serves us beautifully staged plates of Mom’s macaroni grilled cheese sandwiches. Shit, I thought I did a good job with this, but Siri’s version tastes a zillion times better. The bread is thick and toasted to precision. The macaroni is packed to the tenth degree with flavor. The apples are more neatly cut up and evenly distributed. Plus, she made some damn good roasted broccoli to go on the side.

Papa and I help Siri clean after we feast. Of course she’s one of those weirdos who loves doing dishes and refuses to use the dishwasher. As Siri’s wrapping up at the sink, Papa disappears from the vicinity into his bedroom at the end of the hall.

Siri makes her way over to the tiny living room couch/TV area with a piece of paper in her hand.

She motions with her head. “Can you come sit down?”

“Are you giving … a presentation?” I ask.

“Sit down,” she repeats.

I walk over skeptically and sit on the couch.

Siri clears her throat.

“Should I turn on the TV?” I ask. Her eyes flit up to glare at me. I smile.

“Okay.” She blows out a long breath and starts to read.

“Jamie. You’ve been an asshole.” She pauses.

I nod in agreement from the couch, but she doesn’t look up to see.

“Most recently you pushed me, but I’ve caused you physical pain too. The whole canoe thing was pretty bad and I’m sorry. Thanks for being so cool about it. I can’t promise it will never happen again because you’re annoying and my sister, but I’ll try really hard to be better. Starting with forgiving you. For everything. Because … truth be told, I’m still holding a bit of a grudge against six-year-old Jamie. And I know that little girl was misled and she’s not here anymore.

“You ignore me sometimes. You almost, like, subconsciously manipulate conversations away from yourself. You’re problematically obsessed with independence. You actively drive people away.” She shrugs. “I’m not afraid of that anymore. I know you’re human. I’m going to hammer at your stupid walls until I get through because that’s what you need. And I need you.