My Sister's Keeper

16

There are so many things I want to say. There a million ways to start this conversation. 'Thank you. You care. Be here for me.' It's not hard to picture where you want this conversation to go. 'Sometimes I wish life was easier. I wish my family was all alive and thriving and happy. I wish we had better. I wish I was happy. I need you.' The hard part is finding the courage to open your mouth and trusting the person in front of you to be there for you regardless of what you say. And sometimes, no matter how much you trust someone, you still cannot find the words.

Seattle: 2012

Lexie couldn't believe herself standing at his apartment door. This was crazy! What would she say? How would she say it?

He answered the door with a confused expression on his face. His brown hair was wet and uncombed, he was cleanly shaven, smelling of men's body wash. His Stanford sweatpants clung to his legs, and he flexed his bare chest subconsciously.

"Lexie? What are you-"

"Were you planning to tell me that you were here in Seattle? How long have you been here?" She yelled at him. He stepped back in defense.

"Lex, you left me, remember? You left me years ago when we were in high school. Why are you standing on my doorstep now?"

Because we have a daughter. We have a daughter and we can go get her right now from the small, run-down foster home she's in.

Lexie bit her lip. That was what she wanted to say, but what came out of her mouth was much different. "I love you. I've never stopped. There were things that happened..."

I got pregnant with your child and couldn't tell you.

"-That I couldn't deal with. I'm standing here today because I need you in my life."

And it happened like that. He kissed her, pulling her into the apartment, slamming the door behind her. They made their way slowly to the couch, where she collapsed on top of him, their lips still not separated.

She pulled those Stanford pants down to the ground.

Mark Sloan had another kid. So, she had one too. And she was going to get her back.

Seattle: Today

Amber walked into the hospital room, clutching her oversized sweater she had stolen from Alex to her chest.

"You wanted to talk to me?" She asked, eyeballing the woman sitting in the hospital bed. The story had gone that she had been attacked in her own hospital by a patient. She was Alex's best friend. She didn't know what to say or how to act. Meredith motioned to a chair, so Amber grabbed it, slamming herself down in it. She fumbled with her oversized sleeves, avoiding eye contact with Meredith.

"Amber. Look at me please." Meredith croaked. The girl's eyes slowly made their way upwards. The woman's eyes were cold, but warm at the same time. She didn't know how to explain it; there was pain and sadness and grief in her eyes, but also compassion and empathy and love. It was the same look she wore with her own eyes.

There was a piece of Amber that saw Meredith as the potential maternal figure she lacked, the potential mother figure she needed and deserved. She wanted Meredith to open her arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But Meredith looked back at her with her same warm but cold face.

"You're Alex's little sister. Alex is my person. That's a word I don't use lightly. He's my best friend, my other half... I watched him transform from a scrawny rude intern into the compassionate pediatric surgeon he is today that fights for his patients. He was there for me when we were interns; he's there for me today. I will stand by him and support his decision as to how he will deal with this situation."