Sister, Sister

CA| NY | MA | November 2025

When you get a call from your sister, and she says,

“I’m going to Mom and Dad’s for vacation. I’m flying in—should I pick you up?”

The answer is yes. Finish the sprint. Pack a bag. Laugh until you snort at her cat-mom antics, make fun of her driving skills merging with her husband’s, and when she yells,

“HOLD THE FRIES!”

As she makes a crazy turn, make those hands quick. Amongst laughs and throwbacks, she’ll muse,

“How long has it been since we’ve been on a little road trip together?”

There’s a pause when you both realize you can’t remember.

Two sisters. Mirrored images. Just a few years apart. Two sides of the same coin—one optimist, one pessimist. Both are equally successful in their chosen fields, having traded countless Mondays for war rooms and arenas.

In that moment, you’re grateful that you looked down at pieces of paper with titles attached to your time and said,

Thank you for the opportunity, but this isn’t for me.

“So you just took the leap?” she asks. She had always been one to peek over the edge before jumping.

“Well, when you called, I decided it’s the Dream, or it’s just not for me.”

She’ll nod in understanding, and the look in her eyes tells you she’s grateful for the time, too.

She shares her and her husband’s favorite band, and you’re surprised you haven’t heard them before. When you tell her,

“Wait! I love it. They’re really good.”

She’ll ask what you think after every song.

~

She’ll tap your shoulder to help sort through their mother’s extensive collection of suits from the old banking days: wool, silk, and velvet.

“Mom… did you have a suit for every day of the year?”

“Well, of course! These are what I wore with the senior executives.”

Built similarly, the only alterations needed were those to remove dated hemlines. When she retired, my mom had already had my sister and me, and we were so little. When a coworker asked her what she was going to do with all of her suits, she said,

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m going to keep them for my daughters one day. Just in case.”

Three decades later, two sisters—with minuscule differences in build and opposite tastes in clothing—will debate which jackets look better on whom.

“Try it with some jeans! Could be cute.”

“I feel like it looks better on you.”

“Should we put it in the maybe pile? I don’t feel that strongly about it.”

“I feel like that’s very New York.”

“What am I going to do with a bunch of suits? I’m a writer.”

And when Mom leaves the room, the sisters will turn to each other in front of a mirror.

“Okay, we have to admit, Mom actually had good style back in the day.”

They’ll chuckle, thinking of how they grew up with a mom who consistently wore sun visors and capris. When one sister asks,

“Do you think she kept any Levi's?”

The other will roll her eyes,

“I wish. I asked her years ago. She told me she threw them away.”

Of all the things their mother kept, that they desperately tried to convince her to get rid of, of course, the one category she readily threw away was the one they would want the most. And then Dad says the magic words,

"Dinner’s ready!"

Beef and Broccoli, Dad’s way—a classic.

I’ll never forget my sister’s aura as she held up one of her baby sweaters,

“Attitude to the max. Attitude, just vintage… For the future child I do not have yet.”

Mom glowed. Inspired by the sentiment, I pulled a few of my own clothes from infantry and whispered to myself,

“For my future baby angel.”

My parents had a nice few years for themselves before bringing my sister into the world. They didn’t have me until 7 years after they got married.

One little girl - sassy with attitude to the max.

One little girl - soft and dainty with smiles to the max

~

It was a day that had been taken during COVID. The girls were not present when their childhood home was packed up.

Across the country, one sister was alone, stuck in a Kips Bay walk-up, in a chillingly empty New York. The other was in an apartment with her future husband. Both were equally afraid of the unknown when their dad fell ill during the first wave, realizing for the first time their parents would not live forever.

When he finally retired, he looked to his wife and said,

“Every day is Saturday for us.”

As they plan to move to their final home, closer to family, the sisters will make the time—ready to show up for what had been taken by forces larger than them. When they ask their youngest,

“Should we keep the ring bearer pillow from Mom and Dad’s wedding? For when you get married?”

They acknowledge the missing member of the family—her future husband.

A Love Letter

Written with Honey