She missed him.

She loves him.

I can’t do this to her. I can’t kiss him or sleep with him or do any of the things I want to do with Mal. Because I’m leaving, and she is staying. Because she seems lovely, and even if she isn’t lovely, she’s still my sister.

I tiptoe my way to the kitchen without making it apparent that their seemingly friendly conversation is making something in my chest collapse, brick by brick.

“Stay,” Mal snaps behind my back. He doesn’t sound so nice anymore.

I halt, but don’t turn. Kathleen’s obviously got it hard for him, and I want to show her I’m not a threat.

“You guys are…” I start.

“Nothing,” Mal clarifies. “We’re just friends, right, Kathleen?”

She clears her throat, smoothing her dress. My heart is dust in the wind. Poor her.

“Of course.”

What an asshole. Before I know what’s happening, Mal is at my side, plastering his hand at the small of my back. He ushers me into the kitchen, leaving Kathleen behind. I turn my head to her as I go, and she flashes me a tired smile, waving us to move along.

“I’ll just go wash my face,” she mumbles. “Turn the heater off, maybe. I’m feeling a bit flustered.”

I take a seat at the dining table and study the family pictures hanging on the walls with hungry eyes. But there’s no one who looks like he could be Glen. Just Kathleen and her mom, Kathleen and the family dogs, Kathleen kissing young Mal’s cheek while he looks horrified and disgusted to the core, as boys do at that age. Even toddler Mal gives me butterflies. What the hell is wrong with me?

Everything, apparently. He’s just like your dad.

My half-sister serves us tea and shortbread as she tries to make conversation. She explains to me that she studies veterinary medicine and jokes about Mal hiring her when he eventually takes over his family farm.

“Actually, it was Mal who told me I should become a vet. Remember, Mal? The day I tried to save that pigeon? I think it was the Christmas we turned eleven.”

Mal stares at me. “Yeah. Sure.”

He doesn’t remember. Kathleen’s eager smile doesn’t collapse.

“He’s just being modest. You just wait till I graduate, Mal. You have plenty of sheep and cows. You can do so much with them, if you only put your mind to it. Renting out the land to other farmers is a bad investment. I could help.”

“I’m a musician.” He pours half a carton of milk into his tea, staring intently at his cup. “I’ve no interest in farming.”

“You still help the Boyles here and there, though.”

He shrugs. “When they need help, yeah. I also take shits. Doesn’t necessarily mean I want to be a plumber.”

I almost spray the tea in my mouth all over the table. Almost.

“How are you a musician, Mal? You don’t want to be a singer, and you don’t sell your songs to anyone, even when they make you an offer.” Her eyelashes flutter, her cheeks staining pink.