I held the papers out again. “You wanted this, right? I got your email a few minutes ago. Figured it was easier to deliver it by hand. A nice, personal touch. Shows I care, don’t you think?” I dared her to respond, my eyes flashing their challenge.
Tilly hesitated and then whispered, “You’re TLC?” I could see her putting the puzzle pieces of my name and the company name together. At least one mouse must have gotten back on the wheel. There was disbelief in her tone, and maybe it was the fact we’d smacked heads a moment before, but I thought I might have seen the Ghost of Impressed pass over her. Tilly had always been so preoccupied with her own activities and commitments that she never really paid much attention to mine.
“At your service.” I gave her a mock curtsy. “So, would you fill that out ASAP so I can get going on your portfolio site? You know, the one you want so you can feature your passion for, what was it again?” I put a finger to the corner of my lips. “Oh, that’s right, contemporary dance.”
Tilly grabbed my arm and hauled me into her room, reminding me never to underestimate the strength of a dancer, and shut the door behind us. “You cannot tell my mother.” Her face was inches from mine, so close I could feel her breath warm on my skin.
“Chill out.” I took a few steps away. I hadn’t meant to scare her, only tease her a little bit. “Why would I tell Helicopter Mom of the Year about this?”
“Seriously?” The look of disbelief was back.
“Seriously. You’re my client, or you wanted to be, anyway. If I tell Belén about you, you lose your portfolio, I potentially lose my business. Probably not the smartest move.”
All the mice regained momentum as Tilly considered my logic. Visible relief draped itself over her cheeks and her shoulders, and she sat down on her bed, much more relaxed than ten seconds prior. “You’re not going to tell her?”
I shook my head.
“But you hate me.” She was matter-of-fact.
“I don’t hate you.”
She put a hand on her hip and quirked an eyebrow skyward, managing to look menacing even though she was sitting and looking up at me.
“I don’t,” I repeated. “I can’t say I always like you”—this made me laugh and made her look more annoyed—“but you can’t deny that we don’t really know each other.” I pointed to the survey. “Case in point. If you and I talked or had any kind of actual relationship, there’s probably a chance you would have told me about your new, um, passion.”
She considered this. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Maybe not,” I conceded. “Look, I’m not going to say anything and I’m not going to ask you about it, unless you want to tell me, but if you want me to do the website, I really do need you to fill out the questions. It helps me do my job.” She didn’t respond, but her eyes tilted down. “Do you still want me to do it?”
“Yes. I need it.” I didn’t know if she meant the website, the dancing, who knows. But I wasn’t going to push her buttons anymore. She was already clearly in distress. It occurred to me that feeling anxiety about keeping secrets from her mother was the first thing Tilly and I had ever had in common.
“All right, then. Get me your answers and I’ll get started.” I gave her a curt nod, opened the door, and went back to my room, still a little baffled by what had just happened. In the course of a few minutes, I’d learned more about my stepsister than I had in years of living under the same roof. And I wasn’t totally sure what that said about me, her, or us.
Back in my room, I sat, holding my new discovery like a brand-new baby; something that needed to be guarded, something delicate and breakable. Partnering with Tilly was a huge risk, for both of us. In a matter of seconds, our entire relationship—thin as it was—had changed completely. It was shocking what uncovering clandestine information could do to one’s outlook on life. One wrong move and the whole web would rip and come crashing down. I hoped she could keep up her end of the bargain. I hoped I could too.
Instinct took over, and I did what I’ve always done when something is trying to burst out of me—I held on to the key in my pocket for luck, still missing my beloved keychain, and I told my best friend.
Ash,
You will never guess what just happened to me!!!
I wasn’t typically an exclamation point girl, but this situation needed them. Lots of them.
My perfect stepsister, Belén’s extra-special snowflake, has just hired me to make her a website fueled by rule-breaking and subversion. I have been waiting for the day Tilly decided to rebel against her mother, and miraculously, it has arrived. She apparently “discovered a passion” for contemporary dance and is ready to tell ballet to take a hike. She’s been keeping it to herself all summer. Can you believe that?!?!? My jaw is still lying on the floor, where it’s been since I found out. I wish you could have seen her face when I told her she’d actually hired me, not some faceless professional like she thought, and that her fate was now resting in her lowly stepsister’s hands. Of course, I haven’t told Belén about my business, so Tilly could tattle on me if she wanted to as well. But I have a feeling she won’t.
Anywho, I had to tell you. Even if you’re still ready to throw me to the wolves, I knew you’d get a kick out of this. And, if you’re not too annoyed with me still, feel free to offer any advice, tactics, or strategies … You know, whatever you can think of. We are in uncharted territory, my friend.
Yours in conspiracy,
Tate
I typed without thinking, without tiptoeing around the elephant that sat firmly between us. When I finished and read it back to myself, I smiled. The old me, the one who cracked snarky jokes and shared secrets with her best friend, was still there; a little damaged, but still there. I hoped Ash could see that, and that the old her, the one who liked conspiring and commiserating, was still there too. I ran my index finger over the teeth of my substitute house key again and smiled.
And, because I was feeling pretty good about myself, I dashed off a quick note to my dad. The weight of our last conversation was hanging around my neck, and my improved mood reminded me I had the power to take that weight away.
Hi Dad,
Just checking in. I feel bad about hanging up on you the other night. It wasn’t my finest hour, but I’m working on it.
Things here are status quo. You were right about my doing a lot of good with my work this summer. Hope you are too. Can’t wait till you’re back.
Love,
Tatum
I was deliberately vague about which work I was talking about, but he wouldn’t know the difference. He must not have been in meetings or doing site visits, because he wrote back in minutes.