“Are you girls ready?” I ask my sisters, looking at them from over the kitchen island. “I haven’t made pancakes in a while, and I’m not sure I got the mix right.” I walk over to the dining room table and set two plates loaded with banana pancakes in front of them. “Go easy on me.”
Summer pokes her fork into the thick pancake. “These are huge,” she says. “I’ll never eat all this.”
I pull a chair out for myself and sit with them. I’m nervous.
Winter has yet to really look at me. Last night, at dinner, she wouldn’t even say a word to me. Have I lost my baby sister? I don’t know these two young women. I’ve been so immersed in my own pain in the last decade that I’ve missed them growing up. How many parties did I ruin? How many Christmases? I’d show up drunk with whomever I was living with a
