Nothing's Changed

She stared out the window. Maria would be back soon, and everything would be different. She'd known all along. For weeks, she'd felt the resignation gathering in her spine, and now it pressed her to the chair, sickeningly sweet.

When he called for her, she wanted desperately to ignore him. She wanted to bury her head under something heavy and never come back out. She wanted to be happy, for once, but his voice demanded her and she unfolded herself from the chair to go to him.

They both knew that it would be different soon, and he didn't reach out for her. There were no smiles or laughs or little touches on the shoulder. Before, neither of them wanted to let the other go. And now they were near strangers, again.

"Snowing a lot," she said, standing at the corner of the room. She leaned on the doorframe and peered at him, not wanting to get any closer, hating herself for the tiny fingers of panic that tickled her sweaty palms.

"Yeah," he answered, and his fingers tapped rhythmically against the watch strapped to his other wrist. "It'll be hell to get out of the driveway."

"It's pretty," she said, the words slipping out, forcing their way through all the layers of her anxiety.

"It's a mess, that's what it is," he said, finally leaving his watch alone and striding across the room, towards her. She shrank back without even thinking, and it was so imperceptible that she hoped he wouldn't notice, but he did. She knew by the way his jaw trembled slightly, his fingers curling, his stride faltering. He reached towards her and for a panicked second she thought he would touch her face, but he pulled instead at the curtain near her head and let it drop across the window, sinking the room into near darkness.

She could hear the harsh whoosh of his breathing and she wanted so much to go to him, to hold him tight and tell him it was all going to be okay. But she couldn't bring herself to spit out the lie. Not after all the lies he'd once told her.

"I'll get Maria from the airport," she said, wanting to push back, blaming him for what she couldn't say. He didn't falter as he turned to her, his face organized and polite, so polite she felt bile in her throat.

"No, let me. It's snowing. Your car isn't up to the trip."

"I'll take your car."

"Please, do you think I'm going to entrust my car to you? Remember what happened when we went to–"

He stopped mid-sentence and they both looked at each other, so hidden inside their protective shells that neither felt that familiar sizzle. Of course she remembered what happened. They'd gone to the beach, last weekend, the last weekend before Maria returned. It was an impulsive trip and she'd begged him to rent one of those rickety two people karts that you drove up and down the boardwalk, and then begged him to let her drive. He'd let her, begrudgingly, only after she'd kissed his cheek and promised to be careful.

She'd hit a lamp post and barely avoided running down a grouchy businesswoman on spindly tall heels.

He was still looking at her, now, and she shifted uncomfortably, pressing her palm to the cool wood of the wall.

"Okay," she said, finally, curling her fingers against the wood. "You pick up Maria."

He left around noon and didn't return until eight. In the meantime, she had vacuumed, dusted, and wiped every surface of the house, carefully putting away the cute knick knacks and sweet photos. Maria would want the pillows plumped, the artsy decor returned from their stay in the attic. Maria would want the comfy yellow couch to be back in the basement, the pristine bedsheets tucked in hospital style, the bathroom counter clean and waiting to be heaped with beauty products. Maria would want, and want, and want.

She was cleaning the kitchen for the second time, carefully organizing the spices the way Maria liked, when she heard his car pull into the drive, snow crunching under the tires. She hadn't realized how tense she'd been, waiting for that sound, until she'd heard it, and her shoulders sagged as she stuffed the cinnamon into the last open space, her back aching with the release of tension.

She hadn't really thought he wouldn't come back, had she?

She hesitated before the door. She hadn't heard the car door open yet. She'd wait for them to get closer before opening the door. It was too warm and cozy in the house to let in any cold winter air, really. Of course. And maybe she should turn on the lights. So they could see their way. Yes, that was why. She tapped her fingernails into the pad of her thumb, uncomfortable. Her hand reached out, almost on its own accord, and flipped the light on, illuminating the huge front window of the car, the wipers swishing snow off the glass.

He was in there, and so was Maria. The pain in her back vanished as she felt the sting of tears rise, blurring out his face so that she couldn't see Maria, kissing him, her familiar blonde hair draped over his chest.

She wiped away her tears, furious. Hadn't she always known this would happen? They both did. They knew things would change when Maria was back, if only because Maria wanted him, and Maria–fabulous, beautiful Maria–always got what Maria wanted. Just like how she, the plain older sister, always gave what others demanded.

The door swung open in front of her as Maria burst through, the scent of summer and meadows filling the hallway, contradicting the icy wind which stole her breath. He followed, lugging two heavy purple suitcases, his face shadowed.

"Oh, I've missed you!" Maria squealed, wrapping her in a hug. She smiled politely as Maria kissed her cheek, grinning.

"Welcome back," she said, trying her best to sound happy.

"I'm so glad I could make it," Maria bubbled. "I'd hate to spend the first month of the new year without my sister."

She smiled again, robotically. Yes. Her sister.

"It's cold," he said, for the first time, closing the door. She mentally dared him to meet her eyes. He didn't. He turned away and she could tell that he knew she'd seen him and Maria.

"You're right, darling, it is cold. Let's go to the living room," Maria clapped her hands and extended her arm, waiting for him to help her out of her coat. He complied, silently, his eyes concentrated on the cuffed beige sleeve. "You did light the fire, did you, dear sister?" Maria said to her, all made-up eyes and shiny smile as he hung up her beige coat.

"Of course," she answered, all the while smiling primly, putting Maria's shoes in the closet next to her own.

"You two go ahead. I'll go to the bathroom to freshen up first," Maria said, winking at her before smiling flirtatiously at him.

They walked to the living room together, silent, listening to the sound of the sink as Maria washed off her makeup, undoubtedly to reapply it.

"How was the trip," she finally asked, but her words didn't come out as a question, the way she wanted, but more as a pointed accusation.

"Good," he answered. And that one word response sounded more like a question than an answer.

"Sure," she shrugged, looking away.

He sighed.

"Look, we both knew that this would happen." They were in the living room now, standing just out of sight of the hallway, their faces unbearably close.

"You knew. I didn't," she said simply. "I didn't know. Just like how I hadn't known the first time."

"Are you seriously bringing this up again?"

"Yes, I am! I'm sick of being what you want. What about what I want?"

"I thought you wanted this. I thought you wanted me!"

"I did!" She felt like crying. He just didn't understand. "I wanted you. Even now, I want you. But you're the one who left me, remember? You left me for Maria, and I know we like to blame her because we can, but we both know that she never even knew we were ever together. And then you came back to me when Maria left you. And now Maria wants you back, so you're just going to go back to her."

"I am not going to go back–"

"You left me!" She interrupted, furious now. "You left me, but I waited for you, like the stupid fool I am, because you’re just so good at apologizing! And because I–" She stopped.

"Because you what?"

"Because I–"

The toilet flushed. Their time was almost up. He grabbed her wrists, his face twisted and unreadable, his mouth close to hers.

"What." It wasn't a question. It was a demand, and she was a sucker for demands. She always gave, and she did now.

"Because I love you."

He let her go. They stared at each other. Maria reentered the room, and the smell of her perfume drifted into the space between them. It was a reminder of how close they were standing, their breathing heavy from emotion.

"Maria." He was the first to turn away, settling a hand on Maria's shoulder.

The heaviness shattered.

“So, what have you two been up to?” Maria asked.

“Not much,” she said.

“Nothing really,” he agreed. They shifted away from each other. Maria scrunched her nose.

“You two are so boring,” Maria complained, propping her feet on the couch. “Guess what I’ve been doing this year!”

They guessed. They got it wrong, obviously, and were immediately corrected by Maria, who launched a detailed account of her entire year while they listened silently. They were suffocating, unable to connect or forget or even cry, and even Maria sensed that something wasn’t quite right. She looked back and forth between the two of them, who had spent a year without her while she’d been off having adventures, but she couldn’t pinpoint the strangeness.

"You know," Maria said, finally, when the fire was dimming and her stories had run out, "I almost thought there was something different about this year, this place, maybe you two, when I first came in. It was just...different. Different somehow. But that's just silly, right? Nothing's changed."

She shook her head vigorously, not meeting Maria’s eyes. He took Maria's hand.

Neither of them looked at each other.

Maria smiled.