“Hi,” I said, my voice cracking. Was I going to cry? The answer came in an instant, tears sliding down my face. I grabbed a tissue from the box on Jim’s desk, dabbed it in the corners of my eyes. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

There, on the screen, was my half sister.

She let out something that sounded like a laugh and a squeal. “I cannot believe you’re real!” she said, her Italian accent adding a melody to every word.

We stared at each other on our screens, smiling. Her hair was long, but curly like mine. Our eyes were different; hers were dark brown and wider set. But our noses both sloped up ever so slightly, and there was something about seeing her that just felt comfortable, like coming home at night to a light left on.

“How’s your mama?” she asked, and I could see the concern on her face.

“So much better. Thanks for asking.” I exhaled, releasing my nerves a bit. “I’m so excited to see you,” I said. “I’ve been so nervous.”

“Me too,” she said. And, god, she was beautiful when she smiled. “I’ve been worried about what you would think of me.”

“What?” I leaned back in surprise. “I’m so in awe of you, and all you’ve done. I’ve been following along on your Instagram, and you’ve done so much amazing work.”

“Ah, well,” she said, pulling a curl down and letting it bounce back up, then repeating the gesture. “A client just fired me from a huge job, but I won’t put that on the internet.”

“Shut up,” I shrieked, a little too loudly. “That’s ridiculous. You’re so talented!”

She shrugged. “I’m glad that you think so, because I need convincing a lot of the time.”

I eased into the chair, my back relaxing. “I know what you mean,” I said. “I’m the same exact way.” Maybe it’s genetic, I thought.

“Well, tell me what’s going on with work,” she said. “Maybe all my mistakes can help you.”

Thirty minutes later, after scheduling a date to talk again in a couple of days, I made my way into the living room where my mom was tucked under a blanket, watching HGTV. She’d been home from the hospital for almost a month now, but she still wasn’t back at 100 percent.

Jim was at the grocery store, and I sat down at the opposite end of the couch, wrapping an arm around her socked feet.

“I could hear you in there, laughing,” she said, turning her gaze toward me. “Were you talking to the girls?”

She meant Lola and Cleo, and I just nodded. “Yeah,” I said, and then realized it was now or never.