She takes a big bite out of her omelet and talks as she chews, something I’m pretty sure she’s never done in her entire life. “Sometimes I think— I’ve spent so long trying to be perfect that it’s all I have. Without perfect, I don’t really know who I am.”

“You’re my sister,” I say. “That’s who.”

“A sister who is so not ashamed of you,” she replies, grabbing my hand from across the table. “I showed you how to do your makeup because, if it were me, I would wear it. Because I’d be afraid. But it’s not me. It’s you. And I think if you want to wear makeup, it’s cool. And if you don’t, that’s really cool.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“You stopped talking to me!” she says, a hint of frustration rising in her voice. “I was trying to be supportive, and you were giving me the cold shoulder. I thought you were the one who didn’t want anything to do with me.”

I squeeze her hand. Besides the night Lily did my makeup, this is the only other time I can ever remember actually feeling like I had a real sister instead of a stranger living in the next bedroom.

It feels extremely wonderful.

But I can’t help but feel bad, too. I knew Lily was going through kind of a hard time, and I haven’t been there for her at all.

“I’m sorry I gave you the cold shoulder,” I say. “And I’m really not that brave.”

It’s funny. Lily thinks I’m brave because I’m not afraid to show the world who I am, but I don’t even know who that is anymore.

“You’re braver than you think.”

“Well, maybe you are, too,” I say. “When are you going to tell Mom? About wanting to take a year off?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. I think I’ll wait and see if I get into Yale first. If I do and they let me defer a year, she probably won’t be as upset.”

“I’ll be there when you tell her. You know, for moral support. If you want, I mean.”

Lily smiles. “Thanks, Emma. You should talk to Mom, too. Tell her what you told me.”

“Maybe,” I mumble.

She takes a thoughtful sip of her coffee.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she says slowly, “if I’d spent more time with Gram, like you did, if I would be a little braver, too. Gram was so . . . original, wasn’t she? The long dresses and the parasols and stuff. I always thought it was weird, but now I think she was pretty cool. She wasn’t afraid of what anyone thought.”

“So, why didn’t you?” I ask. “Spend more time with her?”