Anneliese begins to boil water for the pasta, the old stove hissing as she turns on another burner. “I think she’s upset that I’m in the house so much. She wants me to go out, find a full-time job, meet people. But it’s hard, you know? I’m not young and sprightly like you. I was never very good at making friends anyway.” She tastes the sauce again and adds more pepper. “But on the other hand, I get it. She’s working all the time trying to provide for the kids, trying to meet a new man, trying to live her life. She was the only one of us who ‘made it,’ in the traditional sense. She has the career, some money. She had the lawyer husband. I think her hostility is her way of telling me she wants me to get more out of life. It’s her way of showing she cares.”

The steam from the sauce and water are starting to make me sweat, my hand almost slipping again as I chop the last of the parsley. “That’s generous of you. Most older sisters I know would be screaming right back.” I smile jokingly as I sprinkle the parsley into the sauce, stirring it in myself.

Anneliese adds salt and olive oil to the water. “Well, it’s not like we had an easy childhood. And I think she felt abandoned by me. I can’t really blame her for that.” She wipes her hands on a dishrag, stopping abruptly before grabbing three spice jars and shaking them over the sauce, seemingly at random.

“Why would she feel abandoned by you? Like you said, she’s so much younger, and there were so many other siblings in between. It’s not like she had no one to look after her while your dad was incapacitated.” I lean against the counter that runs parallel to the stove, waiting for my next instruction.

Anneliese glances at me before lowering the flame under the sauce, fiddling with the dial. I watch the fire leap large and small as she adjusts the gas, hissing restlessly as if it’s taking its last breaths. “She thinks I abandoned her for you. And I did, you know. I left home to work for your parents and didn’t really look back. Not for a long time.” She pauses, settling on a medium flame. “But I don’t regret it. I always loved you better than any of my siblings.”

I’m taken aback, the words resounding sharply as I formulate a response. It’s so raw, such a clandestine thing to say, and part of me is joyful, uplifted, wanting to hug her tightly. But another part, a smaller part, reminds me that, unlike Beth, I hate having enemies. And I don’t want Gabriella to become one.

But we’re saved by the buzz of the intercom.