Micayla bristles at the affectionate name Margo used for their father. Once again, the painful reality that Micayla had never had that kind of relationship with the man who raised them, if you could call it that in Micaylaâs case, was blatantly obvious. âThatâs for sure.â she bites out, trying desperately to keep the wound that has never really healed in her 33 years of life, from opening up and dragging her back into that dark place of insecurity and doubting her worth. âIf there was one thing he taught me, it was that sentimentality isnât something you should waste your time on.â The bitterness she still felt towards how he made her feel all those years very easily seeped into her words. It was clear that he had never shown any sentimentality towards his youngest daughter.Â
Despite the obvious conflict between the two, it sometimes took Micayla by surprise how similar they still were. Their similar love for books a small reminder that they were in fact sisters with a whole part of their lives as shared history. Micayla slid her hands down her back, honestly just looking for something to do at this point.Â
âBusiness has been good.â she responds, nodding a head a bit as if thatâs actually what Margo asked about. Sheâs unable to force herself to talk about her personal life with someone sheâs known her whole life yet still feels so uncomfortable with. But then her older sister is apologizing and Micayla is torn between wanting to let Margo know exactly how she felt about not only the radio silence from her sibling - not that she would have reciprocated any communication, anyways - but her moving to Paris as well, and just about their relationship in general. But the Harris sisters didnât only share their love of books, they also shared their need to at least appear like they had everything together. And Micayla wasnât about to go into all that here, surrounded by hundreds of strangers. Instead, all she offered was a simple, âYeah, I suppose weâve both had pretty hectic lives since coming to ParisâŚâ her voice trailed off, leaving room for the fact that there was so much more either one of them could have said in that moment.Â
The edge in Micaylaâs voice wasnât lost on Margo, and if she was being honest, she didnât blame her sister for her feelings. Their father pushed the both of them in opposite directions in order to craft the future he so desperately wanted. Margo wondered, for a moment, if he knew just how much damage he would leave in his wake. She wondered if he knew that he was crumbling whatever relationship his daughters might have had with one another. If only Margo had the words to tell Micayla she wished things were different. That she wished she had never been the âgolden childâ, with all those expectations crushing down on her.Â
The only thing she could do was blink at her sister. âCome on, Mic.â She said with a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes slightly in exasperation, instead of lamenting with her sisterâs opinion like she should have. âDonât be like that. Can we have one pleasant conversation, please?â That was, perhaps, asking a lot, but perhaps she had something to do with that as well. Margo and pleasant werenât exactly always synonymous.
Margo nodded encouragingly. âThatâs good... I mean it, Iâve read about your place. Nothing but good things.â Had she just admitted that she had been watching her sister from afar? Constantly keeping her eyes on her, but never actually reaching out. She frowned at her words. âHectic or not, weâre sisters. I should be better about checking in on you." Her phone buzzed loudly in her purse, probably a call from work, and as much as she itched to answer it, her eyes stayed glued to her little sister. âLook, I know this probably isnât the best venue for this, but Iâm... Hereâs my business card.â She said, pulling it out and holding it for her to take. The nice stationary and deep embroidered gold âHarris Enterprisesâ was bright as day. âYour business has been great, but if you need anything, just ask. Your last name is still Harris last I checked, so itâs yours anyway as far Iâm concerned.â It was only after the words left her lips, that she had probably said the wrong thing. Again.