She seems puzzled. “What do you mean, what did she tell me? She said that…oh, what’s his name?” Her nose scrunches and she waves her arm at me. “Emilio?” “Yes,” she says triumphantly. “That Emilio asked you to marry him, and you said yes. Although, I will say, I’m a bit put out with you for not telling me about him. I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.” I laugh humorlessly. Of course our mother wouldn’t tell her the raw, ugly truth. With that knowledge, I can’t either. Despite Caitlín’s aura of maturity, the fact remains—she is only fifteen. I want her to enjoy being a teenager without
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