“You’re running away from something, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.  All I said was that I wanted to move away from this place–from this province.”

“And yet, you can’t tell me why.”

“I have!  I keep telling you that I want to.  Isn’t that good enough?”

Rachel and I sit in my car.  She’s in the passenger seat, whereas I’m in the driver’s.

“I don’t know why you keep lying to yourself,” Rachel tells me, not looking at me.

“Stop acting like you’re Mom,” I say, sighing.

“If I were like Mom, you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

“Rach, you’re taking this too far.”

“I don’t care.  You’re not giving me a good enough answer.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not Mom,” I say, running my hands through my hair.

“I’m happy I’m not.  But I’m your sister. I’m supposed to look out for you.”

Our mom died last year in a drunk driving accident when she was coming home at night from a shift at the hospital.  She was a nurse.

She used to say she always had a calling to be a nurse.  She wanted us to follow in her footsteps, but we never did because we were not interested in science, working in a hospital, or caring for patients.  We knew our mom was disappointed, but she never pushed us to pursue a career we weren’t interested in.

“You need to stop stressing about me,” I tell Rachel.  “You always know I wind up fine.”

“You’re my baby sister.  Of course, I’ll keep stressing–and worrying–about you.”

“I’m only 10 minutes younger than you!”

Rachel smiles.  “I do not care.  Stop trying to get out of your baby sister status.”

I roll my eyes but smile.

Rachel stares at me, then says, “I still think you’re running away from something.”  She pauses.  “Maybe from all this…” She sighs.  “I don’t know.  Negativity?”

I avoid her eye contact because I don’t want her to figure out she’s getting closer and that I’ve been bluffing about wanting to run away, though she already knew that part.

“I just don’t want to be here anymore,” I wind up saying, looking at her.

Rachel sighs, defeated.  “I know you’re hiding something from me.  Maybe you don’t want to tell me, and that’s okay.”  She pauses.  “I just… I want to know where you’re going to go.  I want to make sure you’re doing okay and that you’re safe.”  Her eyes are slightly glossy.

“It’s okay to say you’ll miss me, Rach.”  I give her a weak smile.

“Who said anything about missing you?”

Rachel smiles as tears fall from her eyes.