Then she handed me the broom.
“Emma, sweep this up before someone steps on the glass.”
I hadn’t been in the room when it broke.
I swept anyway.
“Emma, sweep this up before someone steps on the glass.”
When Chloe brought home a bad grade, Grandma said she was probably tired.
When I got a B, she asked why I hadn’t studied harder.
Chloe got new clothes because she liked them.
I got new clothes when mine stopped fitting.
When I got a B, she asked why I hadn’t studied harder.
At thirteen, I began cooking dinner twice a week.
At fourteen, I was responsible for vacuuming, laundry, and taking out the trash.
Chloe was supposed to keep her bedroom tidy.
Grandma usually cleaned it for her.
At thirteen, I began cooking dinner twice a week.
One afternoon, I found Chloe watching television while Grandma folded her clothes.
“Why doesn’t Chloe have to do laundry?” I asked.
Grandma didn’t look up.
“She’s had a difficult week.”
“So have I.”
“Why doesn’t Chloe have to do laundry?”
“Emma, please don’t start.”
I stood there, holding my schoolbag.
“Why do you always make excuses for her?”
Grandma set down a towel.
“Your sister needs a little more looking after.”
“And I don’t?”
“Why do you always make excuses for her?”
She looked surprised by the question.
“You’re perfectly capable, dear.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
***
At sixteen, Grandma told me I needed a weekend job.
“It’ll teach you responsibility.”
“You’re perfectly capable, dear.”
I started working at a grocery store.
Chloe received an allowance.
When I pointed that out, Grandma said my sister was still young.
“She’s fourteen.”
“And you’re sixteen.”
Chloe received an allowance.
I stared at her.
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
Grandma sighed.
“Life won’t be gentle with you, Emma. One day, you’ll understand.”
I waited for an explanation.
She went back to peeling potatoes.
Eventually, I stopped asking.
I waited for an explanation.
***
Chloe borrowed money from Grandma for hers.
She didn’t have to pay it back.
Sometimes I wondered whether Grandma loved Chloe more.
Other times, I thought perhaps there was something wrong with me.
I wondered whether Grandma loved Chloe more.
Maybe I complained too much.
Maybe I wasn’t grateful enough.
Maybe if I worked harder, she’d finally look at me the way she looked at Chloe.
***
After graduation, I moved out.
My first apartment was tiny.
Maybe I wasn’t grateful enough.
The kitchen window wouldn’t close properly, and the bedroom heater made a clicking sound all night.
But it was mine.
I found steady work, paid my bills, and eventually moved somewhere better.
Chloe went to college, then returned to Grandma’s house.
She said she was saving money.
I found steady work, and eventually moved somewhere better.
Years passed.
She stayed.
Grandma paid most of the household expenses.
Chloe helped with shopping occasionally, but Grandma still cooked her meals and washed her clothes.
I visited every Sunday.
She stayed.
At first, I told myself it was because Grandma was getting older.
I brought groceries.
I drove her to medical appointments.
When the bathroom faucet leaked, I replaced the washer.
When the furnace stopped heating properly, I arranged a repair.
I drove her to medical appointments.
One Sunday, I arrived with two bags of groceries and found Chloe sitting at the kitchen table.
“Grandma says the bills need sorting,” she told me.
“Where is she?”
“Taking a nap.”
I put the groceries away.
“Why can’t you sort them?”
“Grandma says the bills need sorting.”
Chloe shrugged.
“You’re better at that stuff.”
I looked at the pile of envelopes.
She was right.
I was better at it.
So I sat down.
That became another habit.
She was right.
Whenever something broke, Grandma called me.
Whenever a bill looked confusing, she asked me to come over.
Chloe lived in the house, but I was the one who knew when the furnace filter needed changing.
Whenever something broke, Grandma called me.
Once, I asked Grandma why she didn’t teach Chloe to handle those things.
“She gets overwhelmed,” Grandma said.
“She could learn.”
“Emma, don’t be unkind.”
I was thirty-six years old.
I still felt ten.
“She gets overwhelmed.”
***
Grandma died at eighty-four.
Her last illness was brief.
I took time off work to help with appointments and paperwork.
Chloe stayed beside her at home.
For the first time in years, we worked together without arguing.
Grandma died at eighty-four.
After the funeral, we met at the lawyer’s office.
Chloe sat beside me, twisting a tissue between her fingers.
The lawyer explained Grandma’s will.
The house went to Chloe.
So did Grandma’s savings, jewelry, furniture, and almost everything else.
The house went to Chloe.
I listened without interrupting.
I’d known Chloe would probably get the house.
She’d lived there for years.
But I hadn’t expected to be left out so completely.
The lawyer turned another page.
“Emma, your grandmother left you a personal bequest.”
I hadn’t expected to be left out so completely.
I looked up.
He reached beneath his desk and lifted out a battered cardboard box.
It was sealed with brown packing tape.
My name was written across the top in Grandma’s familiar handwriting.
Chloe frowned.
“What’s in it?”
It was sealed with brown packing tape.
The lawyer placed it in front of me.
“Your grandmother left this specifically for you, Emma.”
I touched the cardboard.
One corner had been crushed.
It looked like a box someone had stored in an attic and forgotten.
One corner had been crushed.
The lawyer handed me a small envelope containing written instructions.
“She asked that you open it before discussing the inheritance with your sister.”
Chloe looked offended.
“Why?”
The lawyer shook his head.
“I can only tell you what she requested.”
Chloe looked offended.
I looked at my sister.
She looked as confused as I felt.
Then I pulled the tape loose.
Inside was a small wooden house.
I recognized it immediately.
“Dad made this.”
I recognized it immediately.
Chloe leaned closer.
“What?”
I lifted it carefully.
The little house was dusty, with a chipped blue window frame and a missing section of roof.
Dad had built it from scraps of wood when we were children.
I lifted it carefully.
He’d painted the walls cream and added tiny shutters.
I remembered sitting beside him at the kitchen table, helping paint the windows.
He’d told me to be careful not to get paint on the furniture.
I’d gotten paint on my sleeve instead.
He’d told me to be careful not to get paint on the furniture.
***
I turned the house around.
The back opened to reveal two upstairs bedrooms.
One had a small letter E painted above the door.
The other had a C.
The back opened to reveal two upstairs bedrooms.
I ran my finger over the letters.
I’d forgotten about them.
Underneath the model was a photograph of our parents.
Mom sat on the living room floor with Chloe in her lap.
Dad stood behind me, holding my shoulders.
I was missing a front tooth.
I’d forgotten about them.
***
Chloe reached for the picture.
“Oh, Emma.”
I held it between us.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I noticed a bundle of drawings tied with faded ribbon.
They were ours.
I noticed a bundle of drawings tied with faded ribbon.
A crooked birthday card I’d made for Mom.
A drawing Chloe had done of our family.
A paper flower with Dad’s name written across the stem.
At the bottom of the box were two envelopes.
One had my name on it.
At the bottom of the box were two envelopes.
The other was addressed to Chloe, though Grandma had deliberately packed it in the box she’d left to me.
The lawyer cleared his throat.
“Your grandmother asked that you read yours first.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Your grandmother asked that you read yours first.”
“She didn’t explain beyond the written instructions.”
Chloe shifted in her chair.
“Just open it, Emma.”
I broke the seal.
Inside were three pages in Grandma’s handwriting.
I broke the seal.
My thumb stopped against the edge of the page when I read the first sentence.
Emma, I know you think I loved Chloe more.
I gave you plenty of reasons to believe it.
I read it again.
Emma, I know you think I loved Chloe more.
Then I looked at the woman who had spent her entire life telling me I was imagining the difference.
Except she wasn’t there.
Only her handwriting remained.
I continued.
Except she wasn’t there.
After your parents died, I was frightened. Chloe cried every night. She wouldn’t sleep alone, and I didn’t know how to comfort her.
You were quieter. You helped with dinner. You watched your sister when I was busy.
I told myself you were the strong one.
You were quieter.
I remembered the dishes after the funeral.
The lamp.
The laundry.
All those times I’d been told I was capable.
The more you managed, the more I asked of you.
And because you rarely complained, I convinced myself you were all right.
I’d been told I was capable.
I lowered the letter.
Chloe was watching me.
“What does it say?”
I couldn’t answer yet.
I turned to the second page.
I mistook your silence for being all right.
I held the letter closer.
I mistook your silence for being all right.
I had waited years for Grandma to understand that.
Then I reached the next paragraph.
There is something else you deserve to know.
Several years ago, Chloe came to me and asked why I always expected you to do the difficult things.
I stopped reading.
There is something else you deserve to know.
Slowly, I turned toward my sister.
Chloe looked down at her hands.
“You knew?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
I looked back at Grandma’s letter.
She told me it wasn’t fair. I said you were more capable, and that she shouldn’t interfere.
She didn’t ask me again.
She told me it wasn’t fair.
I stared at the page.
All those years I’d thought Chloe simply hadn’t noticed.
But she had.
And she’d never told me.
***
I turned to the final page.
I’d thought Chloe simply hadn’t noticed.
I understood, eventually, that I’d hurt both of you.
But when it came time to make my will, I was frightened Chloe wouldn’t manage without the house.
So I made the same choice again.
I looked at the cardboard box.
The little wooden house sat between us.
I made the same choice again.
Two bedrooms.
Two names.
Then I read Grandma’s last sentence.
Emma, I can’t ask you to forgive me. But please don’t let Chloe make you responsible for the choices I made.
I folded the letter.
I can’t ask you to forgive me.
Across the desk, my sister was still waiting.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure I wanted to make things easier for her.
I slid the second envelope toward Chloe.
“Grandma left this for you.”
Chloe opened it carefully.
“Grandma left this for you.”
As she read, her expression changed.
“What does yours say?” I asked.
She swallowed.
“That she made things too easy for me. That she never taught me how to manage when something went wrong.”
She looked at the letter again.
“What does yours say?”
“She says the house is mine, but your help isn’t part of the inheritance.”
I waited.
Chloe read the last line aloud.
“Don’t make your sister pay for the choices I made.”
She folded the paper.
“Emma, I didn’t know she was going to leave you nothing.”
“Don’t make your sister pay for the choices I made.”
“But you knew she treated us differently.”
Chloe looked away.
“I asked her about it once.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
I touched the wooden house.
“You could’ve said you saw it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Chloe wiped her eyes.
“I thought you didn’t mind doing things. You always knew what to do.”
“I had my own home and job when Grandma was alive,” I said. “She still called me whenever something broke.”
“She knew you’d know how to fix it.”
“So did you.”
“You always knew what to do.”
Chloe looked down.
For once, I didn’t rush to make her feel better.
***
Three days later, she called.
“The furnace isn’t heating properly. Can you come over?”
I didn’t rush to make her feel better.
I stood in my kitchen, looking at the grocery bags I’d just brought home.
Usually, I would’ve grabbed my keys.
Instead, I said, “Call the repair company. Their number is on the service sticker.”
“But I don’t know what to tell them, Emma.”
Usually, I would’ve grabbed my keys.
“Tell them what you told me.”
She sounded frustrated.
“Emma, please.”
“I can help you find the number if you need it. But I’m not coming to manage the appointment.”
She was quiet.
Then she said, “Okay.”
“Tell them what you told me.”
It wasn’t a comfortable conversation.
But I didn’t call back to apologize.
A month later, Chloe invited me over for coffee. I’d lent her the little wooden house after she asked to look at Dad’s handiwork more closely. It sat on the kitchen table.
It wasn’t a comfortable conversation.
She’d found the missing roof piece tucked inside the folded paper backing one of our old drawings.
“Dad made this?” she asked.
“Yes. I helped paint the windows.”
Chloe lifted the roof.
“I barely remember him.”
“Dad made this?”
“I remember a little more.”
We spent an hour talking about our parents.
Not Grandma.
Not the will.
Just Mom and Dad.
“I remember a little more.”
By autumn, Chloe had started handling the household bills herself.
When I visited one Sunday, I noticed a package of furnace filters beside the hallway closet.
“Need help?” I asked.
“I’ve got it.”
“Need help?”
She set down our coffee and picked up the wooden roof piece.
“Do you remember what color Dad painted the front door?”
“Blue,” I said.
Chloe studied the tiny house.
“I thought it was green.”
Chloe studied the tiny house.
I leaned closer.
“Maybe it was.”
She fitted the roof into place.
Then we sat together and finished our coffee.
She fitted the roof into place.
