“I know you didn’t,” Lily said quietly. “I should’ve told you a different way. I’m bad at stuff like that. I thought if I made you something nice first, you’d… I don’t know. Like me first. Before you found out.”
“I already liked you,” Annie said. “I thought you were weird. But I liked you.”
Lily laughed. It was a wet, broken little laugh.
Entonces Annie cruzó la sala de estar, y Lily se bajó de la escalera inferior, y se abrazaron. Dos niñas de dieciséis años en medio de mi sala de estar a las seis y media de la mañana, una en pijama, una en el cárdigan de un hombre muerto, sosteniéndose y llorando.
Teresa covered her mouth with both hands.
And I sat on the bottom step and watched my daughter hold a sister I never knew she had, and I felt like the floor was tipping out from under me.
