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“Yes. I’ve had my heart broken, Greta. For the first time.”

Greta’s expression softens. “What stage are you in right now?”

“This moment? Sadness.”

“But that can change?”

My sister has obviously never had her heart broken. It’s a new experience for me, too.

“Yes, but it’s happening less and less. I’m more in the resignation phase than anything.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t come back to the office,” Greta says.

“No, I’ll come,” I say, surprising myself. But it feels right to say it. I need to move forward, and my sister wants me in the office, with her as an equal partner. “I can’t avoid Audrey forever.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

AUDREY

When I got home from the restaurant, I spent hours scrolling back and forth through Toni’s social media since Christmas, especially Instagram where she was most active. When we returned home from Aspen, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t stalk her online. What was done was done and it was time for both of us to move on. It didn’t take long for work to take over my life and for my curiosity about Toni and what she was doing to only encroach on my thoughts once an hour or so instead of every time I saw something at the office that reminded me of her. (Everything at the office reminded me of her. A ballpoint pen reminded me of her.) Obviously, I avoided the conference room at all costs.

Toni’s presence was felt despite not being in the office. Longtime employees, and most Fourteener Sports employees were longtime employees, all had Toni stories. Universally funny, oftentimes nerve-racking. My palms would sweat with fear when Ned talked about some of the more extreme stunts Toni pulled as a child, despite knowing that Toni would live through each and every harebrained one of them. There were an almost equal amount of Greta stories. It was an open secret that Toni was motivated to go one step further than Greta to prove herself. I’d never realized that meant that Greta had her own thick volume of athletic achievements, and an equal amount of admiration and respect from her employees. Every day I understood why Willa felt at home here, why she might want to stay.

And how I might have taken that opportunity away from her.

I’m in the kitchen making French toast on Sunday morning, soaking thick slices of French bread in a cinnamon-flavored egg mixture, when Willa walks out of her bedroom.

Her eyes light up. “French toast?”

“Yep.” I pour her a cup of coffee and set it on the kitchen island. She sits on a stool, takes a fortifying sip, and gazes at me over the rim. She surveys the cut fruit, French toast, coffee, and a cute little bouquet of flowers I saw when checking out at Whole Foods late last night. She raises one eyebrow and I’m busted.

“OK, I went overboard.”

“Ya think?”

“Honestly? Probably not. I have a lot to apologize for.”

Willa hums a response, drinks her coffee, and remains silent.

“I shouldn’t have slept with Toni so soon. I handled her kissing me and telling me she loved me horribly, and I’ve been so self-absorbed since I’ve ignored that you’re going through your own stuff and need me to be here for you.”

I exhale, and Willa remains silent. She puts her mug down carefully and says, “Acknowledging all the ways you fucked everything up isn’t the same as apologizing for all the ways you fucked everything up.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Willa. You have every right to be angry with me. You’ve been my rock for so long, supporting me through everything with Shae, always putting me first, that I came to expect it. Not intentionally, because I absolutely don’t think I’m your responsibility. I don’t want to be, and I don’t want you to feel like I am. But, yeah. You’ve been selfless and I’ve been self-absorbed and I’m really, really sorry. I love you more than anyone on this earth, and it kills me to know that you’ve been hurting and didn’t want to come to me about it, that I wasn’t your person. It’s my fault I wasn’t. But I’m here now, and forever. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

“We’ll start with a hug, then French toast.”

I go around the counter and, for the first time in a long time, pull my sister into an embrace. She collapses into me and buries her head in my shoulder. She shakes slightly, and I hold her tighter.

“I’m so sorry, Willa.”

She pulls back and sniffs loudly. Her eyes are red and watery. “Stop apologizing. I forgive you.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened with you and Greta?”

“No, actually.”

“Oh. OK.” The denial stings, but this isn’t about me.