Lexi looked around the room, taking in the massive television, the video game still frozen on the screen where Jackson’s character had had his head lopped off, and the oversized leather furniture and utilitarian coffee table. It was definitely a man’s lair. The whole house was, in fact, and I suddenly wished I’d taken Lupita up on her offer to buy fresh flowers or plants to soften the place a little. It had seemed pointless to me at the time since flowers and plants always died.

The quizzical expression on Lexi’s face, the pinch to her lips, and the tiny V between her eyebrows as she tried to reconcile this house as the home of the brother she’d once known reminded me so much of our mother, before everything went wrong, that for a second, I felt as if I’d been cast back in time and my mother was about to read me a story or teach me to tie my shoes. It was jarring.

I fought the memories off, digging into the pain and betrayal of my childhood to ward against any soft feelings that might bubble to the surface. I had no issues with Lexi, aside from not knowing her, not really, but our parents were another story.

“Well,” I said. I wanted to get right to the bottom of her visit, even though I had a pretty good idea of why she was here.

“You look good,” she said. She lifted a hand as if she’d reach out and pat mine, trying to connect. I moved my hand away from the armrest and her hand fell awkwardly back into her lap.

“So you said.” I wasn’t trying to be curt, honestly, but I could think of no reason why she’d be here right now save one.

“I did, didn’t I?” she said with a laugh. It sounded forced and it clanged, a dissonant sound in the otherwise quiet room. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”

“Twenty years,” I said. That wasn’t entirely accurate, but she didn’t need to know that. I had checked up on her over the years, enough to make sure she was well cared for and got a full-ride “scholarship” to the University of Pennsylvania’s School of Design to study architecture. She didn’t need to know that either.

“A lifetime,” she said. Her eyes, one of the many traits we shared, met mine. At one time, she had been my person, my sibling, the only living being I’d walk through fire for without hesitation. Now she was a stranger. I glanced away.

“You look well, too,” I said. My tone was grudging, but I didn’t want her to think I was a complete asshole. My throat got tight when I added, “You look like her.” I didn’t need to say who. She knew.