Spending A Month With My Sister -v.2024.06- Jun 2026

On Day 22, we enact the : from 2-4 PM, we are not sisters. We are coworkers. We do not discuss personal lives. We communicate via Slack, even though we are six feet apart. It is the healthiest thing we do all month.

Morning. Airport drop-off. We don’t do the long hug this time. Just a nod, a “Text me when you land,” and me watching her walk through security until she turns the corner. I get back in the car. The passenger seat still smells like her shampoo—something coconut and expensive. I sit there for a full minute before starting the engine. Spending a Month with My Sister -v.2024.06-

Lena has a garden. A ridiculous, ambitious, borderline-illegal garden in her postage-stamp backyard. Tomatoes. Peppers. A rosemary bush that has achieved sentience. She asks for my help building a trellis. I have the spatial awareness of a golden retriever in a hardware store. But she directs. I hold the nail. She swings the hammer. We do not injure anyone. On Day 22, we enact the : from 2-4 PM, we are not sisters