Letting Go by Bridie Hall

only use the microwave,” she said, covering for her weird reaction.
    “Tsk-tsk, modern girls are all so unimaginative when it comes to food. Barely anyone can cook these days. It’s a shame, because cooking is art. Especially in France.”
    She shrugged. “ If you would’ve told me before I left, I might have paid more attention to what I ate.”
    “You didn’t tell me you were going.”
    “It was a last minute thing.” A friend of Dad’s who knew she loved art and was thinking about studying it had told her about the opportunity. The trip was offered at half the price for high school students with art classes. It included boarding and entrance fees to all major galleries and museums. She couldn’t pass up the chance.
    “ Jamie was hurt that you left him alone over the holidays,” Harper said, watching her.
    “No, he wasn’t,” she countered.
    “If you say so.”
    Was he? He’d said he was fine with her going. He’d always supported her artistic endeavors. He liked her paintings and drawings. But she also sensed that art bored him, that he didn’t understand painting or Isabelle’s passion for it.
    Doubt nagged at her and she had to ask. “Did he say something to you?”
    “No. But I could tell. Every time I called him, he was out with his buddies and he was trying to make up for your absence with booze.”
    “He wouldn’t.” She was incredulous. Would he have kept it to himself if her trip had bothered him that much? Knowing Jamie, he would, just to make her happy. But when did that ever make sense, if his unhappiness screwed up her happiness? Ah, boys.
    “Ask him yourself. Doubtlessly, he will claim that he was thrilled for you and that he was fine staying home alone.”
    Harper ’s words sounded so much like Jamie that she was beginning to believe him.
    “I’m sure his last minute trip to Florida has nothing to do with it, either,” he added, and Isabelle was sure he was trying to irritate her. She refused to play his game, though.
    “Tell me about you two,” she said instead.
    “What about us?” Despite his clueless face, she suspected he knew what she meant.
    “You fight all the time, you complain about each other, insult each other, but when it counts, you behave like true brothers. What happened to you two?”
    “Nothing happened, it’s who we are.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “And I don’t care,” he said as he got up from the chair. He stepped to the bed and gestured for her to move over.
    “The chair’s uncomfortable, ” he complained.
    She hesitated. The bed seemed awfully narrow all of a sudden.
    “What’s y our favorite dish?” he asked and maybe it was the innocence of the question that convinced her to move and give him some space.
    Without much thought, she had her answer ready. “My mom used to make this dish that she called ‘peas and cheese tart’. It was pastry filled with peas and blue cheese and cream. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten. I don’t have her recipe and even if I did ...” Isabelle lifted her hands. “I can’t cook.”
    For a moment, Harper was silent, and then he asked, “You like peas?”
    “Love them.”
    “I love them, too. But Jamie doesn’t.”
    “So? Is that supposed to mean something? Are peas-people supposed to be like ... better, or something?”
    “You don’t have to overanalyze everything, you know. It was just a piece of information that I remembered from back when I cooked for him,” he said, sounding miffed.
    Although his explanation sounded believable, she couldn’t keep quiet. “With you, it’s never just a piece of information,” she said.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” He frowned.
    “T here’s always something hiding behind your words. Double meanings and hints and … It’s tiring trying to always listen for the hidden meanings.” She didn’t intend to sound quite so truthful but the words rushed out. Unlike Harper, she had never been able to tell a lie or keep something