1.

KARALANA.

Present Day

I stared down at the bubbling pot of curry goat before me. The spicy aroma of the meal flooded the kitchen and my mind, releasing memories I didn't know I still had.

It was suddenly a nice summer day, and Mum and Dad were packing up some of our things for the annual summer trip to the nearest motel. It wasn't much, but we stayed in a small motel together and visited the neighbouring cafes so we could try out their pastries. It was a cherished tradition and our home away from home for a few days.

At the end of the trip, Mom would make curry goat and rice, which I'd wolf down every time. It was one of the best memories I had of her and one I'd never forget. It was during those moments, gathered around the dinner table as a family, that I felt truly blessed. Those summer dinners were more than just a meal; there was a bond that held us all together that I couldn't shake off.

But then, just like everything in my life, it all came crashing down like a pile of dominoes. Mum passed away, and there were no summer vacations, or trying out pastries at nearby cafes, or making curry goat and rice at the end of each summer trip. She left a gaping hole in our hearts that tears and time could not heal.

In the wake of this profound loss, we grapple with the challenge of moving on, forever carrying the weight of her absence.

Things were hard before her death, but it got harder after. There was no one I could talk to about how scared I was that I would end up just like my parents. Even now, at twenty-five and becoming a full-fledged architect, it still felt like my life wasn't in order.

Despite the accomplishments and milestones I had achieved, an overwhelming sense of disarray still filled my life.

Just then, a shrill cry punctuated the thoughts in my mind.

"What the heck, Kara? You're going to burn this house to the ground!" Sara's voice said, and I was violently shoved out of the way as I was instantly dragged out of my reverie.

The kitchen came into view, and the pungent smell of burnt food filled my nose, an unmistakable indicator that something had gone terribly wrong. I'd been so lost in thought that the food I was making had gotten burnt.

"I had no idea..." I started but was rudely cut short.

"Get out of your head for once, Kara!" Sara said quickly, trying to rectify the mistake I'd made by turning off the cooker. She turned to me sharply. "The world doesn't revolve around you! The sooner you know that, the better!"

I turned to face her swiftly. "Um, I was distracted. I don't think that necessarily means the world revolves around me, Sara."

"Sure," she spat out and moved toward the counter when she was done fixing what remained of the food.

The tension in the room lingered, a reminder that sometimes even the simplest distractions could lead to misunderstandings and heated exchanges. Not that Sara and I have always been on the same side.

It has always been like that with Sara and I. I was ten years old when I heard Mom and Dad arguing one night. They never, ever argued, and so I was surprised to hear them arguing, scared even. I remember huddling in my room, my heart pounding, and I was unsure of what was happening.

The next couple of days, Mom explained to me that Dad had been married and divorced before he got married to her, and I had a half-sister, Sara.

As a ten-year-old, I was excited at the prospect of having a big sister. I didn't care to ask questions or anything, but when Sara came to our home the next week, she wasn't anything like I had expected at all. I had painted an idealised picture of our family in my mind, but none of it fit my youthful imagination.

Sara was a couple of years older, broody and loved to keep to herself. I turned twenty-five three weeks ago, while she is twenty-eight. She had violent outbursts sometimes at Mum and myself, and over the years, I understood that it was residual anger she had for Dad. She hated the fact that he'd left her mother and her and had a family somewhere else. I never understood her anger then, and when I was old enough to understand it, our relationship was unfixable.

I had hoped that with time, we could bridge that gap and develop a stronger bond as sisters, but the scars of the past seemed too deep to heal.

I sucked in a breath, not wanting there to be any more soreness between us. I was always the peacemaker, the one to lend the olive branch, and I hoped she would accept it.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I was just in my head for a couple of minutes," I said to her back as she untied her work apron and set it on the countertop.

"Well, you should be less in your head, Kara. We are no longer teenagers."

I sighed, realising that this momentary disagreement wasn't truly about a pot of curry goat. It never was. Our conflicts always seemed to be a reflection of deeper issues, ones that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. "I'm sure this isn't about a pot of curry goat."

It wasn't. Nothing between us was. I knew that. I'd known that for the longest time, and for the past fifteen years, we'd never had a conversation addressing the passive-aggressive comments we threw between ourselves. Or more like, the ones she threw at me.

Sara shook her head quickly. "I don't have time for this, Kara. I've had an exhausting day, and we need to set the table for dinner before Dad gets back home."

I reached to touch her arm, but she flinched. It was a physical reaction that mirrored the emotional walls she had erected, and it sent a sharp pang through my chest.

"Or, we could pack a plate for Dad and go into my room to talk. You could tell me about your day and..."

"Karalana!" Sara screamed out my name, which shut me up instantly. "Can we please drop this? Can you just stop trying to fix this? Stop trying to fix us. We don't need to have a sister-sister relationship."

I swallowed, taken aback by her words. "But we're sisters," I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse murmur.

"Half sisters." She spat. "And we don't have to be friends."

That evening, standing in our very small kitchen, I felt a profound sense of loss. I've always had a desire to repair the rift between us since we were children, but Sara's words were a reminder that some wounds run too deep to mend with mere words. The ache in my chest mirrored the ache in my heart as I grappled with the reality that our relationship might never be what I had yearned for it to be.

I wiped quickly at the tears that slipped down my cheeks. With a deep breath, I composed myself and forced a smile through the lingering sadness. "Okay. I'll check on the rice in the cooker."

I was about to head to the other side of the kitchen when I heard her voice. "How was it today?"

I paused, momentarily puzzled by her question. "How was what?"

"The search, any responses yet?"

I turned to look at her, taking her in. She looked just like me, or just like Dad, I would say. We had different colored eyes and hair, but I could still see the stark resemblance. She had a short black Afro on her head and gorgeous black eyes. Her nose dipped at the bridge just like mine did, and her eyes formed a squint anytime she smiled, just like mine did. We were alike and yet different all at once.

Her question brought me back to the present. "No, not yet; I checked my mail, and nothing."

She frowned. "I thought we agreed that you would actually go out and search for a job, not sit around applying to firms that won't bother to give you a call back."

Her words stung, but she was right. I had been applying to jobs for a while with no success, and she and Dad had been the major breadwinners in our home so far. The job market was tough to break into. I also knew what she was suggesting I did, but I didn't have the heart to.

"Sara," I started with a sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I have a degree in architecture."

"And I have a fucking master's in Business, but you think I choose to work in a diner that pays pennies per hour?" She turned around and mumbled under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear. "Freaking selfish brat."

The insult was the final straw. The weight of years of tension and unresolved issues came crashing down on me, and I felt a surge of anger welling up inside.

"Selfish brat?" I repeated, my voice laced with anger. "Do you even know how hard I've been trying? Do you know how many rejections I've gotten? I'm trying to pursue my dreams, and you label me selfish?"

"There was an opening at the diner for weeks, and I told you to speak to Rebecca about it, but I guess you're too big to serve waffles and eggs."

I scoffed. "Actually, maybe I am. Maybe I am really selfish because I refuse to give up just like Mom and Dad did and just like you're doing right now."

"Just know that I cannot continue to feed and take care of you with the amount I'm earning. You're no longer a kid, Kara. The sooner you accept reality and grow up, the better it will be for all of us."

"And what's your obsession with me growing up anyway? I'm sorry you didn't have the best childhood and you had to take care of a crack addict, but that's barely my fault, and I think you're the one who needs to grow up and let it go!"

The words tumbled out of my mouth, fueled with anger before I could even stop them. I wanted to hurt her as much as she'd hurt me, and I knew I did by bringing up her mother. I'd gone too far, crossed a line I knew I shouldn't have, and I could see the flash of anger in Sara's eyes as she moved toward me.

The sound of the slap was like a gunshot in the confined space of the kitchen. Her palm connected with my cheek with a stinging force that sent shockwaves through me. For a moment, the kitchen was filled with an awkward and heavy silence. Sara's eyes, still filled with anger, met mine, and I could see the regret in her expression as well.

Before I could even process anything that had happened, I heard footsteps, and Dad appeared by the entrance of the kitchen.

"What's going on here?" His eyes moved from a shaky Sara to me with my palm placed on my cheek.

"Nothing," I responded quickly. "Welcome home, Dad."

Dad swallowed with a curt nod and walked to his room. I could tell he wished for more. More from life and more from the world in general. I knew he secretly wished that Sara and I got along and that everything was all rainbows and roses, but it clearly wasn't, and I don't think it is ever going to be.

"Bring out the dishes and cutlery," Sara started with a shaky voice. "We need to set the dinner table."

With a heavy heart, I joined Sara in setting the table for dinner. We both moved with a kind of mechanical precision, and I tried as much as I could to avoid eye contact with her. The sweet aroma of the meal filled the room, but it was a bittersweet scent that was filled with the memory of my mother and our summer vacations and the bitterness of Sara and I's argument.

We all sat down, said grace, and were about to dig into our dinner when a loud crash came from the front door. It flew open with a violent force, and a group of menacing figures barged into our home. My heart leaped into my throat, and I froze in shock as I took in the situation in front of me.