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Going to See Kim
She takes the time to change back into her own clothes before she goes upstairs. Fairy tale dresses, she has decided, are very lovely in book illustrations, but rather less than practical for everyday wear.
She doesn't exactly rush.
She also stands outside her sister's room for a long moment, turning the key Kim left over and over in her hand.
And then she squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and knocks firmly on the door, two sharp raps that sound ridiculously loud to her, in the empty hallway.
She doesn't exactly rush.
She also stands outside her sister's room for a long moment, turning the key Kim left over and over in her hand.
And then she squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and knocks firmly on the door, two sharp raps that sound ridiculously loud to her, in the empty hallway.
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A pause.
"Anyway, he's hardly the point."
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The way she's holding herself, the steadiness to both voice and stance, makes it look as if she's waiting for something.
Or perhaps bracing herself for it.
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Meg's tired of having to do that.
So she doesn't.
Not this time.
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"... The thing is." She glances absently to one side, as if looking for something, then returns her attention to her sister.
"The thing is, Meg -- this isn't up to me. I'm not leaving it up to you to fix, though; that's not what's going on."
"It's that I can't think of anything I can say, any explanation I can give, that will be good enough for you. Whenever I've tried, you've refused to listen, or returned letters without reading them, or told me I was crazy, or that you wanted me to leave."
Tension shows in her body, but not in her tone. Kim just sounds tired, and resigned, and not a little sad.
"So when I waited instead for you to be ready, for it to be time, for -- I don't know, for something to be right -- then you blamed me for not trying, not pushing, not...."
She trails off there with a shrug.
"I'm not perfect, we both know that. I've done a lot of things for reasons that seemed right at the time that maybe I could have done differently, and that might have gone better if I had. But you could have done some things differently, too, Meg, you know?"
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"I've listened to you say a lot in the intervening year and a half. I've listened to your friends say a lot.
"And apparently your idea of waiting for me to be ready is to move to a foreign country and not tell me until your apartment is practically empty? To abandon me -- terrified and trapped -- at the end of the universe when you knew I couldn't leave until I was ready? To come here week after week and not make any effort to get in touch with me when I had asked you to? To make every conversation, every communication, about you and what you felt and what you wanted and what you needed to do?"
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"I didn't tell you about moving to Glastonbury until I was certain it was really going to happen. They could have denied my entry visa, you know," she points out. "And then I kept delaying, because I wanted to tell you in person, and I wanted to do it right-- which obviously didn't work-- because I was afraid of how you'd react."
She tugs at a lock of white hair, then pushes it behind her ear. "I had to go, Meg. I can't change that."
"And I've just told you why I didn't say anything, what I was waiting for. As for making things all about me, don't you understand that's not what I was trying to do?! You'd already told me that I didn't get to assume anything at all about what you thought or felt, so how could I even try to explain anything except by putting it in terms of comparison so that you could see why I was thinking what I was!"
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"And that I don't need to know what you think is important, or what you feel you have to do? I only need to know about things that matter much to you when you actually do them, not when you decide when you want to, or decide they matter, only when you know they're possible?
"I'm not going to say that I would have been thrilled with the news that you were moving to England, Kim. It's a long way. But I wasn't mad because you moved. I was mad because you lied about, for months.
"You have to let me react, not anticipate the reaction and try to avoid it.
"And whether it was what you were trying to do or not, it's what you did. As for knowing how I felt . . . at any point, you might have asked."
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She sighs in frustration.
"I have asked. I've told you time and time again that I'm interested, that I want to hear, that I'd like to know things, that I care, and you keep telling me you don't know if you want to tell me, you don't know if you can risk it, you don't know if you want to say. Gods, Meg, just-- I can deal with you rejecting me if I've got to, the Weaver knows I've lived with things just as awful, but don't stand there and say I'm not asking, that I don't care."
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And "gods" is blasphemy.
Meg sets the key on the closest table.
"I'm not rejecting you. I'm just too tired to go through all this again.
"I'm back. And I'm fine."
She starts for the door.
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"I'm glad you're back. And I'm glad you're okay," Kim says to Meg's back.
"Parker is too, right?"
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"Thank you for asking."
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A beat.
"Good night, Meg."
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