We sat in the living room. Owen brought out coffee. Nobody had wine, which might have been a choice or might have been circumstance; it felt significant either way.
Claire went first. She had, apparently, prepared something to say, because she had the slightly too-organized quality of someone who has rehearsed.
She said she had made a decision that was unfair. She said it had come from a complicated place, not a simple one, and that the complicated place involved years of feeling like she was the little sister who was being managed rather than loved as an equal, and she had let that feeling drive her to do something that hurt me, and she was sorry.
I listened. I didn’t interrupt.
She said she understood if her apology didn’t immediately resolve everything, but she wanted to say it clearly: she wanted me at her wedding. Not because of the money. Because she was going to marry Owen in six weeks and she wanted her sister there.
Owen was quiet through all of this, letting Claire say what she needed to say.
When she finished, I sat with it for a moment.
“I accept your apology,” I said. “And I want to say something, too.”
She looked at me.
“I know that I’ve handled things in our relationship in ways that weren’t always respectful of you as your own person. The job contact thing, years ago — I should have asked before I arranged that. And I’m sure there are other examples. I’ve been the older one who handles things, and I think sometimes I’ve handled you when you wanted me to just be your sister.”