By some kind of telepathy we understood that words were unnecessary, unwanted, even. She could take a joke and tell a joke better than most. All of my…”
“Gwen, I love you. And I blushed, glad that the room lights were dimmed, as I remembered all the times I’d looked at Gwen and thought “if she wasn’t my sister…”. That was fine for both of us, as we’d been each other’s best friends for our whole lives; even though only ten months separated us, she’d been my protective big sister all through school, had brokered peace with my parents when I’d got in trouble and had always been there for me. Quickly. It was a late fall Friday night and, once again, my older sister and I sat in my living room, contentedly full from the dinner I’d cooked, and stared into the cozy fire crackling away in my fireplace.
