He Mistook My Sister For Me On Meetup Day Chapter 06

He Mistook My Sister For Me On Meetup Day Chapter 06

Evan didn’t follow.

He probably needed time to process that he’d held the wrong girl.

I didn’t

That night, I packed my bags.

The navy hardcover poetry collection had always sat on my nightstand.

The day at the airport, when my mother grabbed me, the corner of that book had dug into my chest and left a

bruise.

I set it on the desk. Didn’t take it.

Josie had applied for an artist residency in Claremont on my behalf. I was supposed to leave the next day.

When I came down the stairs with my rolling duffel, my father blocked the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Work.”

“Nothing’s resolved. You can’t leave.”

I looked at him. “They’re your problems. Why do I have to stay and fix them?”

My mother rushed down from the landing.

“Iris hasn’t slept all night. Evan won’t pick up her calls.”

“Go explain it to him. Tell him you wrote the letters, but the feelings were hers.”

I suddenly wondered how many more pieces they could still carve out of me.

The words were mine. The feelings were my sister’s.

The memories were mine. The embrace was my sister’s.

The pain was mine. The happiness was supposed to be my sister’s too.

“Mom,” I asked, “is there anything I have that I don’t have to give to her?”

She blinked

Then her face scrunched.

“Why are you dragging up the past again? Iris suffered so much because of that birthmark. What’s the harm in letting her have this?”

“She suffered, so she gets to steal my life?”

“Steal? That’s ugly,” my father snapped. “We’re family.”

I pulled the door open.

“Then we’re not family anymore.”

They both froze.

I didn’t look back. I walked out with my bag.

Meanwhile, Evan sat in his bookstore all night.

He pulled out all eighty-four physical letters.

The handwriting was neat, sometimes messy.

Every single one was signed Tidecaller.

But tucked among them was an index card I’d written for the staff before the exhibition.

The handwriting matched perfectly.

When Iris showed up, he was on letter thirty-seven.

“Evan.” Her eyes were swollen from crying. “Please don’t ignore me.”

Evan slid the letter across the table. “What was the line I never sent?”

Iris gripped the hem of her dress. “You said… you’d always be with me.”

“No.”

“Then you said you’d marry me.”

“Not that either.”

Evan looked up. Whatever warmth had been left in his eyes was gone. “You never even read the one letter she treasured most.”

Iris shook her head, crying.

“But I’m the one who’s been with you these past few days.”

“You held me. You held my hand. You proposed to me.”

“Was all of that fake?”

Evan was quiet for a long time.

“It wasn’t fake.”

A flicker of hope lit up Iris’s face.

Then he said, “It’s proof I picked the wrong person.”

Iris went white.

My mother showed up and tried again.

“Evan, love isn’t just about a few letters.”

“Lena’s got a dull personality-she’s not even likable. Even if you’d seen her at the airport, you probably wouldn’t have fallen for her.”

Evan asked, “Did she even get the chance to tell me who she was?”

No one answered.

“Where’s the navy poetry collection?”

My father waved a hand. “It’s just a book. Who knows.”

Evan shot to his feet.

The day of the pickup, the bookstore had sent a car. The driver kept the dashcam running to log a parking dispute. The cloud backup hadn’t overwritten it yet.

In his office, Evan pulled up the footage.

On screen, Iris ran toward him in the red dress.

About fifteen feet behind her, I was holding the navy hardcover poetry collection. I took a step forward too.

Then my mother grabbed me from behind.

Her voice came through clear on the audio.

“Just give her half an hour. If you blow this today, don’t bother coming home.”

In the video, I struggled.

“But Evan’s waiting for me.”

My mother lowered her voice.

“You’ve got everything. Iris has nothing at all. Would it kill you to let her have this one thing?”

Evan stood in front of the screen like all the air had been knocked out of him.

So I hadn’t just been standing there, watching from the sidelines.

I’d been holding the book they’d agreed on, standing fifteen feet away.

And after he’d hugged Iris, he didn’t even glance at me.

Then he warned me not to take my sister’s things.

Evan tore out of there and drove to the Tate house like a madman.

My room was empty.

The closet was bare. Half the books were gone from the shelf.

Only the navy poetry collection was left on the desk.

Underneath it, a piece of paper.

[Evan. Seven years are up.]

[Tidecaller won’t be writing back.]