Chapter 18 - Amanda And Me
Amanda and I never became daily sisters.
We lived seven hours apart.
Different politics? Avoid. Different personalities.
She loved busy social life.
I loved quiet.
But we stopped using Mom as messenger.
If Amanda wanted something:
She asked me.
If I said no:
She complained sometimes, then accepted.
If I wanted visit:
I asked.
No triangulation.
Once she asked if her family could stay at my North Carolina house for a long weekend while I was away.
My body reacted immediately.
“No.”
She paused.
“Okay.”
Then:
“I knew answer. Thought ask.”
Good.
A year later I invited them while I was home.
They came.
Madison slept guest room.
Cole on pullout.
No one reassigned kids.
Amanda brought groceries without being asked.
She saw my home.
Not fancy.
Comfortable.
She said:
“Mom really told people you were barely making it.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you correct?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Right.”
Then:
“You probably make more than Brett and me combined.”
“Not quite.”
“Still.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I know.”
She looked around.
“I think I needed you poor.”
“What?”
“If you were doing better, then all Mom’s help to me looked like...”
“Help.”
“Dependency.”
I nodded.
She hated.
Then:
May you like
“I’m working on it.”
That sentence was enough.
