Morgan“Can you pass me a slice of mushroom?” Isla asks from the other side of the counter.
I open the box and place a slice of pizza onto the plate she’s holding out, crinkling my nose at the noxious fungi she insisted on ordering.
I was twenty and away at college when our parents married, and Isla moved into my childhood home. She was seventeen, nerdy, and obsessed with that young adult vampire book series that was popular at the time. It was oddly adorable. I saw her occasionally, during Christmas and spring break, but it was when I moved home for the summer that everything started to change. Isla started to change.
She replaced her glasses with contacts, grew a set of t**s, and ditched the braces. Oh, and let’s not forget her newfound fondness for wearing short as f**k shorts. She w
