Chapter 21 - Ashley and I rebuild
My sister and I did not become best friends immediately.
For a year, conversations stayed practical.
Kids.
Mom.
Dad’s case.
Studio repayment.
Then Ashley asked:
“Do you think I wanted Dad to forge you?”
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“I think you wanted the loan badly enough not to ask questions.”
That hurt more.
“Yes.”
“Do you think I hate Noah?”
“No.”
“Then why do you act like—”
“I think you resented me through him sometimes.”
Silence.
She sat.
“At the party?”
“Yes.”
“Before too?”
“Yes.”
She started crying.
“I was jealous.”
There.
“Of what?”
“You had one kid. Stable job. House. Divorce that didn’t destroy you. You could pay for that stupid giant cake like it was nothing.”
“It was four hundred dollars.”
“That’s a lot for cake.”
Fair.
She continued:
“Every time Emma needed something, I had to calculate.”
“So you started acting like Noah’s comfort was indulgence.”
“Yes.”
She whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
That apology mattered.
Not because jealousy excused.
Because it named the fuel.
I said:
“I resented you too.”
“For what?”
“For needing everybody.”
Her face changed.
“I thought Mom and Dad loved being needed by you more than they loved me being competent.”
Ashley stared.
Then laughed bitterly.
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
“And probably true a little.”
Also yes.
Sisters.
Old hierarchy.
May you like
New generation.
Money had been one language for all of it.
