The Difference Between Getting and Needing

f o r t y - t h r e e

It was the money shot. Between Koa's side of the family and ours, it was so on-brand.

"What are you guys up to today?" I asked after I tore my eyes away from the pictures. "Did I interrupt anything?"

"Not at all. I've been trying to make my own Kalua Pig all morning," he said casually. For the last five or so years that I'd known Koa, I could catch onto his Hawaiian terminology and slang pretty well. Other times, it just completely stumped me. At my vacant expression, he explained, "It's like Hawaiian pulled pork. It's so 'ono, you should stay and try it if it comes out! But I do know why you're here and don't let me distract you. I'm locking myself in the kitchen so it'll be like I'm not even in the house. This is between you two as sisters and I don't wanna get involved."

With a shake of my head, I chuckled, "What did Sutton do to deserve you?"

He just sent me a knowing smile and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "She's in the living room. She might not act like it, but she'll be happy to see you."

That was my cue. I sucked in a deep breath to stabilize myself because I wasn't about to let this be a repeat of two weeks ago. Regardless of what Sutton had to say, I was leaving her house with no regrets. I came to talk, to clear the air, and to hash things out until we came to some sort of middle ground.

Koa disappeared into the kitchen just like he said he would, so I wandered down the hall to the back of their house where the living room was, passing more portraits of the Makana's, their friends, and their family. Seeing myself in a number of those snapshots reassured me that I was doing the right thing by being here.

The first thing I saw was a young Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore on the flat-screen TV against the wall, and I automatically knew Sutton was watching 50 First Dates. It was her feel-good movie, the one she always resorted to whenever she was beside herself. When I rounded the gray suede couch and took in her appearance, I hardly recognized her.

A tattered, oversized sweatshirt swallowed her willowy figure, her arms were clutching her legging-clad limbs, and her sandy locks lacked their natural wave and shine. Her sunken eyes were dead set on the movie, not even sparing me a glance to show me how irritated she was with my presence. No amount of makeup could hide her pasty complexion or dark circles.

Part of me – a very small part – ached to see her this way. This wasn't Sutton. This wasn't my enigmatic sister whose vibrant soul outshined anyone that stood within a mile of her. This was misery personified.

"Hi," I said feebly when I realized she wasn't going to acknowledge me, even though I was standing smack dab in the middle of her living room.

I didn't waste my hopes on her answering me, but she did finally look at me. It was a fleeting, empty glance.

"I know I'm probably the last person you wanna see, but that's too bad," I sighed, approaching the couch with caution and lowering myself into the cushions as far away from her as I could be. I kept peeking at her sideways to see if she was paying any attention to me.

Again, I got nothing on her end.

I unleashed a gust of breath that disturbed the flyaway hairs framing my face. "I wanted to come here to apologize and talk this out with you like adults. I'm not looking for another argument because I know we can both be better than that," I told her, and suddenly I felt like my mother for not wanting to waste any more time.

She still kept her mouth glued shut, her gaze avoiding mine like I wasn't even there. Elsewhere in the house, Koa filled the void of silence between us with the clashing of cutlery, the hum of the gas stove, and a loud sizzling.