You’re a taker, June. You’re selfish and inconsiderate. You don’t appreciate all that I do for you, how much I love you. You’re deceitful, manipulative, always trying to get your own way. My mother whipped those character assessments into June’s soft flesh. It’s no wonder June grew up to embody them. I just wish she’d learned that essentially my mother was describing herself, not her younger daughter.

After the fallout, June would attach herself to me—literally. Holding on to the end of my T-shirt so that I couldn’t walk away, curling up at the foot of my bed, pressing herself against me on the couch, putting one foot on top of mine under the dining room table. She did that until she’d been filled up with my love. The quiet kind that didn’t need big words or actions. That didn’t have any terms attached to it. That spread easily by osmosis from the skin of my heart to hers.

I didn’t escape my mother’s cutting character assessments entirely. I was the aloof daughter, closed off, too serious for my own good, no fun at all. I accepted her evaluation, used it like a shield; it was what protected me. At least enough to allow me to take care of my sister when she needed me to. My wounds didn’t go quite as deep as hers.

June suddenly sits up and lunges forward toward my mother’s dresser. With a roar, she wipes everything clean from its surface. Perfume bottles, an old jar of face cream, a hairbrush, and tubes of lipstick fly against the wall and scatter across the floor. She pulls at the zipper of the dress, freeing her upper body from it before sinking down onto the floor, her back against the bed. There are no tears, only frustration and anger in her blazing eyes. It scares me.

I bring myself as close to her as I can, wrapping my essence all around her like a virtual ghost hug. June. What’s wrong? I ask, knowing I won’t get a reply.

She shivers. “My god, May. I wish you were here.”

I’m here June. I’m right here. I say the words forcefully, hoping she can at least feel them if she can’t hear them.

“It’s so fucked up.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears but holding them back. “Mom had an affair.” She chuckles. “But I guess you already knew that. What else did you know, May? What didn’t you tell me?”

She looks up into the room as though searching for me. “So many fucking lies and secrets, May, and you’re not even here to …” Her voice catches and she trails off.