We’re different, you and me, Elise had said. Special. People like Melody Moon have had perfect lives with nice parents and nice clothes and nice everything. We were different from everyone but we were different together, with our far-from-perfect lives. We knew pain and were stronger for it. That was the story Elise told. Our creation myth of sorts. It’d always been us versus everybody else, never her against me.

Her eyes fluttered open at my prolonged silence.

“I’m lucky?” I was devastated. “How can you say that?”

For a moment, she looked lost. “Wait—”

“And what exactly makes me so lucky? That my parents don’t love me and never did?” I was crying, angry now. “That I have no one?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes wide at my tears. “I’m sorry, Remy. I didn’t mean that.” She pushed her wineglass away from her and sat up straight, shaking her head roughly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m acting like this. You’re right, you’re not lucky.”

What shook me the most was seeing this side of her, knowing how easily she could hurt me. It had to be the wine, I thought, though I couldn’t get rid of the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me.

“But where is all of this coming from?” I just wanted her to talk to me.

“I just—” She took a deep breath. “It’s a weird time for me.”

“Why?”

“This is around the time my mom died three years ago?” she said hesitantly, like it was a question. “And I had to go to her funeral even though I hadn’t even spoken to her in almost ten years.”

It was like plunging into cold water, a shock to the system. Elise was finally, finally opening up. I dried my tears, sitting straighter.

“My mom didn’t like me much either,” she said with a weak laugh. “And my dad, well.” She shrugged, turning away. “And my grandparents. They hated us, thought their precious daughter had married trash. Pretended we didn’t exist for the most part.” Her voice had turned dull, almost monotone. “And now we live in their house and drink out of their glasses and sleep in their bedrooms.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Maybe we should burn it down.” She seemed lost in thought. “Can you imagine, the granddaughter they were ashamed of destroying what they spent their life building? The banished princess returning to burn their castle down?” She laughed. “It’d be poetic.” It was the same word she’d said about Kill Bill—poetic.

I laughed too, but I didn’t really think it was that funny. I was still upset about what she’d said, about how I was lucky that my shitty parents weren’t shittier, but I also understood what she meant about gradations. And she was sad, so I let it go.

“Do you want to watch the second one?” I asked even though I didn’t really want to, hoping it would cheer her up.

“You really want to watch Volume Two?” she asked with a wobbly smile.