Free Follow Her Home by Steph Cha

you that. You went behind my back.”
    I smirked. “Well, gee, Iris. Why the hell would I go behind your back when you’ve been so up front with me?”
    She turned on the faucet to splash more water onto her face and let the water run as she squinted at my reflection. We were only minutes into the fight and I already felt the wear of battle. “Don’t be bitchy, unni. You have no idea what I’m going through.”
    â€œYou’re right. You haven’t told me fucking anything. Every time we talked in the last—I don’t even know how long—you’ve been lying to me.”
    Her eyes glassed over with malice and she turned off the faucet with a hard twist. “You never asked. You stopped listening to me. You left me here, and ever since, you’ve been in your own little world and it’s all you ever want to talk about.”
    There was violence in her tempo—she whetted her words so they could break skin. I gasped, but before I could protest, she continued.
    â€œYou went to college and stopped caring about your sad little sister all the way across the country. I could tell. I know I annoyed you, crying on the phone, saying how miserable I was. You acted patient, but I could hear you zoning out. So, obviously, I made an effort. To stop being such a drag. I let you have my ear, and I listened to every detail of your new life, wishing you were here instead.” Her voice dissolved, shaking with tears.
    I remembered those long phone calls. Hours and hours of comforting Iris, knowing that she was, consciously or not, spinning her resentment into veiled guilt trips because I had left her for college. I couldn’t deny that on occasion, I found her tiresome. I never admitted it to her, but sometimes I dreaded her calls, a few times even ignored them. After some of the more frustrating conversations, I complained to Luke and Diego. About my downer of a sister.
    â€œDo you ever listen to yourself when you talk about Diego? You go on for days. I know all about his family, I know how hard he works and how sweet he is—I know what he eats. When did I have time to talk about Paul or anyone else? After we’ve been on the phone for half an hour and you remember to ask, ‘How’s Mom?’ and, ‘How’s Paul?’ all in one breath? I didn’t tell you about Paul because I wasn’t sure you gave a shit anymore. You were relieved that I stopped talking about my problems.”
    Tears stung my eyes, and for several seconds I was too stunned to defend myself. Iris waited, watching me struggle in the mirror.
    When I slumped over to embrace her back, she didn’t protest. “Of course I gave a shit. You’re my sister. I’m sorry if I was distant, or self-absorbed. I didn’t realize you felt like that. You should’ve said something.”
    â€œI couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t force you to care about me, and I didn’t want to make you pretend.” Her weight was still resting on her palms, and she trembled like the struck string of a violin.
    â€œBut we should be able to talk to each other about everything. I can’t believe you felt this way for months. And now, you can’t tell me what’s going on in your life? How can you have been pregnant without me even knowing who the father was? It wasn’t Paul, was it?”
    She shook her head. “Paul and I never slept together.”
    â€œWould you have told me if you had?”
    She nodded. “But I’m not saying anything else.”
    She wriggled out of my arms and hurried out of the bathroom, her fingertips dripping water.
    *   *   *
    I arrived in less than five minutes and parked on the street. I walked up a flight of white wooden steps to the front door of Diego and Jackie’s one-bedroom. They lived in a complex with four or five units between two stories, all of which looked out onto a shared lawn that shone