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I twisted my ankle while we were out shopping. My sister cut her finger.
When Gilbert Winfield arrived, he went to her first.
I sat on the chair outside the pharmacy and watched him crouch on the floor, cradling her hand as he dabbed on the antiseptic.
"Does it hurt? How could you be so careless?"
My ankle had swollen too much for my shoe to fit.
Ten minutes later he came over and handed me a bottle of water.
"I'll take your sister home first. Her cut could get infected if it isn't bandaged. Wait here for ten minutes, I'll come right back for you."
Forty minutes passed.
My sister's texts came in one after another:
"Sis! Gilbert's coming to get you right now!"
"Is your foot okay? I feel so bad for you."
"Gilbert's such a good guy. You're so lucky."
I read the three messages and let out a small laugh.
When we were little, on rainy days, Dad's umbrella always went to her first.
The year she was stressed about school, she couldn't sleep, and Mom made me give up my single room for her.
Every time, she'd say, Sis, I feel so guilty.
But the guilt never came with giving anything back.
Gilbert finally showed up.
"Come on, let's go home and ice it."
I didn't move.
"Gilbert, I don't want to wait out your ten minutes anymore."
"…"
He stared at me for a few seconds, then reached out to help me up.
"When you're done acting out, we'll go home. Your foot needs ice."
I dodged his hand and pulled myself up against the pharmacy's glass door.
The second my right foot touched down, a stabbing pain shot up through my ankle. I gripped the door frame, cold sweat beading on my forehead.
Gilbert frowned and bent down to lift me.
That was when his phone rang.
Corinne Matthews's voice came through, thick with tears. "Gilbert, I think my hand's bleeding again. Can you come look at it?"
His hand stopped in midair.
He tightened his grip on the phone, his brow creasing. "I have to go back. Corinne's blood doesn't clot well, this isn't just an ordinary scratch. You know her body is fragile. There's no need to make an issue of something like this."
"I'm not making an issue of it."
I opened the ride app, my voice level. "Go."
He didn't leave right away.
He seemed unused to how calm I was. He stared at me for a while before he said, low, "A minute ago you didn't want to wait, and now you're telling me to go. Faith Matthews, what exactly do you want me to do?"
"Whatever you want."
The taxi pulled up at the curb, and I made my way out slowly, one hand along the wall.
Gilbert took two steps after me. Then Corinne called again.
He stopped short, and in the end he turned back toward the car at the curb and drove off.
Half an hour later, the doctor finished reading the scans and told me the ankle needed to stay immobilized for at least three weeks.
"Is there family with you?"
"No."
The doctor looked up at me. "A torn ligament is no small thing. Stairs will be hard for you on your own. You really should let your family know."
Before I could answer, a voice message came in from my mother.
"Faith, did you have another fight with Gilbert? Corinne called me crying. She said Gilbert was only a few minutes late because she got hurt. Your sister isn't well. What's the harm in letting her have her way?"
Then my father's message.
"Corinne's birthday dinner is tomorrow night. Don't sit there with that face on. She just came out of a relationship and can't handle any stress."
I turned the phone off.
When I got home in the cast, the living room light was on.
Gilbert was sitting on the couch, a spread of food gone cold in front of him.
He saw the cast and shot to his feet. "How did you get hurt this badly?"
I moved toward the bedroom on my crutches. "Torn ligament."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"You were taking care of Corinne."
He grabbed the crutch and lowered his voice. "I went back the moment she was bandaged. The pharmacy said you'd already left. Faith, I looked for you for two hours."
"So?"
"You want me to be moved that you looked for me?"
The guilt on his face faded, replaced by his usual weariness.
"You're too hostile toward Corinne. She's your sister. We're going to be one family, and you can't keep forcing me to choose."
"I won't anymore."
I pulled the crutch back and kept walking.
Gilbert wrapped his arms around me from behind, holding tight.
"After the birthday dinner tomorrow, I'll take you back for a checkup. I got the ring back too. I was going to put it on you again at the party."
Three years ago, on our wedding day, the ring he gave me was a full size too big.
I wore it for three years. It slipped off seven times.
"Don't bother."
His phone lit up on the table.
Corinne had sent a photo.
On that freshly bandaged hand was the wedding ring that should have been mine.
