I close my eyes, feeling my chest swell. “I love you. And I’m sorry. And I missed you.” I’m tearing up again. It’s like crying once tore down what used to be a very architectonically sound dam: in the past month I’ve sobbed while watching My Girl, after Darcy’s teacher told me that my sister is gifted, when Sabrina won her derby meet. I’m a crier now. Maybe I always was.
