IR Day 17 - Hey!

“Hey!” you say, numb and shocked.

She laughs nervously and gives you a little wave. “Just dropping the bags off. See you.”

Your head swivels as she walks past and out into the hallway.

“Hi,” she says politely to Ingrid as she goes by.

“Hello,” Ingrid replies, lost.

Kayla smiles and pulls the door shut.

Ingrid assumes a thoughtful expression, crossing her arms and pressing one fingertip to her chin. She looks at you, then at the door.

“Um,” you say, shaking your head. “That’s my sister.”

Ingrid sees the resemblance, but her eyes still widen. “Your sister is here,” she says.

You nod. You’re as surprised as she is. Kayla is eighteen. She just graduated, and last you heard, her college plans weren’t finalized. It’s summer, but… you are so confused.

Ingrid sees that you have hit a runtime error and gotten hung up. She takes your hand and gently leads you into the bathroom. You don’t even notice her taking your clothes off and helping you into the shower.

Kayla is working at FUTA this summer. That’s easy to understand. What you don’t understand is why. You stand there like a zombie while a humming Ingrid washes your body under the steamy water. Soap and suds roll down your skin. Now she’s washing your hair. Why wouldn’t Kayla tell you? Why wouldn’t your mom say anything? Does your mom know? Does your dad know? It doesn’t matter if he knows; everyone’s pissed at him, but right now you’re pissed at Kayla and your mom. Why wouldn’t they say something.

You put your arms around Ingrid’s soapy body and lean on her heavily, resting your chin on her shoulder. She patiently stands there, not making an issue of how you totally interrupted whatever she was doing. Bathing you, apparently. She hugs you and rubs your back.

“Do you fight with your sister?” she asks, doing her best to use her limited English to convey the question.

“It’s not that,” you murmur absently. “I don’t understand her.”

Ingrid doesn’t have a reply for that.

Soon she has you out of the shower, and you’re awake enough that she doesn’t have to dry you off. You can do that yourself. She’s watching you a bit warily, as though unsure what to expect.

She doesn’t look surprised when you suddenly scowl, putting down your towel and going to your bag.

“I can’t let this go,” you say, bending to get clean clothes. And you are not about to text her. Kayla is going to tell you exactly what’s going on. To your face.

“OK,” Ingrid says, looking dazed as you pull on shorts and a tee, then jog out of the room barefoot.