The People We Choose by Katelyn Detweiler (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📕

It occurs to me, sitting here in silence with Marlow, that this is where I first met Max. This is where it all began. I’m not sure what this conversation will be—if it’s some kind of beginning, or another ending.

“I should have come talked to you,” I start, “but I was selfish, caught up in my own drama with Max. And it also didn’t feel right, intruding in your world like that. But I’m glad you’re here.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Just rocks, her feet only hitting the ground when the chair swings forward.

“Max was really upset earlier, you know. After you left. He wouldn’t say why.”

“Yeah. I know.” My family, he’d said. My mess. What would he say about Marlow sitting here with me? “It’s just… difficult right now. I want to still have him in my life. But I shouldn’t have come over today. He needs to do his own processing first.”

“He loved you, you know. Really loved you. I never saw my brother like that before. It was weird. Kind of gross. But nice, I guess, too. To see him so happy.”

“Well,” I say, my throat swelling up tight, “I really loved him, too. I’m just trying to rearrange that love. Not erase it. But make it into a different kind.”

“Is that possible?”

“I want to believe it is.”

“I mean, if someone told me my mom wasn’t my mom and I had to stop loving her like she was, I don’t think I could do it. I couldn’t stop loving Max like a brother either.”

“You wouldn’t have to stop. Ever. I love lots of people like family that don’t have my blood. It’s the being in love that makes it messy. Regular love is easier.”

“Yeah? Regular love with my dad isn’t so easy. I want to love him. I should love him. Because he’s my dad and all. But he makes me so angry, I—” She stops. I turn to her, and her cheeks are shiny in the sunlight. She makes no sound as she cries. I almost wish she would be loud about it, thrashing and raging. The quiet unsettles me.

“You’re allowed to be angry,” I say. “And sometimes I think you can love your family even if you don’t always like them. If that makes sense.”

It hits me suddenly, the full weight of this conversation. This first real moment with my little sister. Half sister. Donor sister. Whatever the proper terminology might be, it all feels the same right now. I’ve maybe felt like a big sister to Ginger sometimes, but this—it isn’t the same, not even close. Anything I say to Marlow today will matter. It will define how she sees me. Our relationship from here on out. If we have a relationship at all.

“I’m sorry that my digging around made a mess of everything. For you. For everyone. I’ve had such a great life with my moms. It shouldn’t have mattered, really, who my donor was, because I had everything, didn’t I? But I’m glad I did dig. Because we had to know this. As terrible as it might feel right now, it would have been worse if it stayed buried.”

Marlow doesn’t respond. Doesn’t give any indication that she even heard me.

There’s a long moment of silence. Too long. But it doesn’t feel like my turn to talk.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do or say now,” she says finally. “Or what I was looking for when I came here to talk to you. I started walking into the woods without really thinking about it. I feel so… confused. Because who are you and what does it mean that my dad is kind of like your dad, too? Is that a good thing? I mean, I always wondered what it would be like to have a sister. But what do we all do now? I don’t know.” She shrugs, frowning. “I guess I just needed to say something to you. Everyone at home’s making this all about Max. But I’m here, too, right?”

“You’re here, too.”

She gives a little indignant hmph, crossing her arms over her chest. The tears on her cheeks are drying. I feel hopeful. The old Marlow is coming back. Or maybe not the old Marlow, at least not the one I thought she was. An altogether different Marlow. One I never bothered to really see before now.

“You didn’t seem to like me much,” she says, side-eyeing me for a moment before staring out at the trees. “You never tried to talk to me or get to know me. Never asked me to hang out with you and Max or to show me the neighborhood. Not that he ever asked either. He was kind of a crappy brother, too, this summer, if I’m being real with you.”

“I didn’t not like you,” I say quickly, my cheeks burning. “Honestly? You seemed too cool for me. I was intimidated.”

Marlow laughs. A real one. Bright and chirpy. It’s a good sound. I want to hear it again. “Please. You were scared of a little thirteen-year-old girl? What could I do to you? You’re like this wholesome forest-goddess girl who seems like she’s never felt out of place in her life.”

Now I’m the one to laugh. Loudly. “Forest-goddess girl? And you’re way wrong. I feel out of place. All the time. But I guess it sounds silly now. And it’s not that I was scared of you. You just seemed so miserable here.”

“Well, it gets lonely, you know, only having friends you can text, and they’re always together, busy doing fun things all summer long. They still invite me sometimes, but it’s too far to go much, and I know they’ll stop sooner or later. Bye-bye, Marlow.” She gives the trees ahead a sad little wave.

“I doubt that. And you’re not that far. You can visit. They can come here.”

She shrugs. “Not the same. Do you forget being thirteen? You’re old but not that old. I