The apartment was silent and empty when Annie got home, just as it was every night. It was so different now than when the children still lived there. There were none of Kate’s clothes on the floor, strewn around the living room. Ted’s TV wasn’t on. Liz wasn’t dashing in and out, brandishing a curling iron, late for whatever she was doing, with no time to eat. The fridge wasn’t full. Kate’s briefly vegan meals weren’t left all over the sink. The music wasn’t on. Their friends weren’t there. The phone didn’t ring. The house was empty, neat, and clean, and Annie still wasn’t used to it, even three years after Kate had left for college. Annie suspected that it was a void she would never be able to fill. Her sister had given her the greatest gift in life, and time had slowly taken it from her. She knew that it was right for them to grow up and leave, but she hated it anyway, and nothing made her happier than when they came home.

She went out to the kitchen and started organizing things for the next day. She had just stacked the good plates on the kitchen counter, getting ready to set the table, when she heard the front door slam and what sounded like a load of bricks being dumped in her front hall. She gave a start at the wall-shuddering sound and stuck her head out the kitchen door, as Kate dumped her backpack on the floor where her books lay. She had an enormous artist’s portfolio in one hand and stood grinning at Annie in a black miniskirt, a black hooded sweatshirt with a shocking pink skull on it, and silver combat boots that Annie knew she had found at a garage sale somewhere. She was wearing black-and white-striped tights that made her look like a punk Raggedy Ann, and her short jet-black hair stood up all over her head. What saved the whole look was her exquisite face. She came bounding across the living room and threw her arms around Annie’s neck. The two women hugged as Annie beamed. This was what she had lived for, for sixteen years.