Chapter Text
Oona is six years old when she meets her sister.
Oona had come into the world early. Their mother used to say that she was born wide-eyed and smiling, excited to be alive.
Maple was born late. Two whole weeks after her due date. Oona had waited for her as patiently as possible for a wiggly six-year-old.
She spoke to her sister everyday, told her about Paris and Amsterdam and the world. She told her of things she’d supposed she’d like to have known before she was born, curled up in their mother’s bed.
She spoke and spoke until their mothers boyfriend had gotten sick of it. He yelled at her in French, which she couldn’t understand yet, and that only made him angrier.
Despite all this, Oona remembers this time fondly. She remembers how it was snowing outside, when the three of them drove to the hospital. She remembers her sister’s sharp cry when she was born, and remembers how it felt to hold her for the first time.
And sure, the adults in the hospital room are already arguing bitterly, but a nurse holds out a juice box for her pityingly, and Oona clutches her sister close and stares into her big blue eyes.
The nurse looks at her very seriously. “Vous êtes des sœurs. Tu dois la soutenir.” She speaks in that funny way French people talk, and Oona doesn’t really know what she’s saying but she understands anyway.
They’re wheeling her mother out of the hospital, and Oona’s peering out at the garden. There’s a beautiful tree outside, covered in snow. Oona rushes away to inspect it and carefully touches a delicate leaf. She is delighted to find its underside bright red.
“Oona, come back now!” Her mother yells, and Oona begrudgingly bounces back to the doorway. Her mother is clutching the baby, and her face is set in a hard line that tells Oona she’s unhappy.
She hugs herself tight. It's chilly and she forgot to bring her sweater.
“Mummy,” she asks, and she knows she’s playing a gamble. It's better to try to fade into the background, she’s learned, when her mother’s upset. “What kind of tree is that?”
She points a chubby finger behind her, braces for impact, but this time she is rewarded. Her mother’s face brightens.
“It's a Japanese Maple,” She replies, stroking her baby’s cheek. “Did you learn about that in nature school?”
Truthfully, Oona has very few memories from the fancy outdoor preschool her Dutch father had paid for before they left Amsterdam. She nods anyway, and peers down at her sister.
“Maple is a pretty name.” She mumbles, and Maple turns to look at her, like she’d been waiting for someone to call her that since the second she was born.
Oona decides at that moment that she is going to take care of her sister, always.
She doesn't take that decision lightly.
They have a cramped old apartment in Paris and their mother took the only bedroom. Oona sleeps on the pull-out couch, and Maple’s crib is shoved halfway through the dining room.
Maple cries. A lot. She cries and cries. The adults get annoyed at her, but Oona never does.
She cries at night especially, which Oona understands. She remembers what it was like to be afraid of the dark.
Their mother and her boyfriend were always yelling at each other, now. Oona knows enough now to know that means it is getting bad. It was only a matter of time before they moved again.
He’d left and she’d locked herself in their room. Again.
Now it's dark outside, and Maple is crying in her sad, high baby voice, and Oona is curled up in her makeshift bed. She understands why Maple cries, she thinks she understands her sister better than anyone in the whole world.
It’s scary when people yell, especially their mum.
Oona sits up and looks towards their mother’s door. The light is on, and she can hear the TV playing over the thrum of rain.
She shuffles out from under her covers and pads over. Presses her red cheek against the cool wood.
“Mummy?”
No reply. Maple wails. Oona shifts her weight from foot to foot, concentrating with all her might on listening for her mother’s voice behind the door. She hears nothing.
“Maple is crying.”
Oona stands there, waits and waits, until finally she gives up and turns around, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
When she arrives at Maple's crib, the baby is red in the face and her eyes are wet. Oona knows now that crying usually means she’s either hungry or needs her diaper changed.
Oona trains a careful eye on her and decides what her sister needs is a bottle.
She drags a dining chair to the kitchen and climbs on top of it to reach the counter. But now she’s too tall, and has to lean over to pull a bottle from the dish wrack. With practiced, small hands, she carefully measures out Maple’s formula powder, spills some on the counter. Then she fills it to the line with water from the tap, and spills some of that too. Finally, she screws the cap on extra tight and shakes the bottle up.
Back at the crib, Maple’s still crying. Her small, chubby cheeks are red and splotchy.
Oona picks her up carefully, and her small body sags a little under her sister’s weight. She brings her back to the couch, and supports her head just like the big poster at the doctor’s office says.
She brings the bottle to her sister’s mouth and Maple latches on immediately. She stares up at Oona through her wet lashes.
Oona is transfixed.
She was never a still kid, and she got in trouble for wiggling a lot. But now, she doesn't move at all. She stares and stares.
When Maple’s done, Oona presses their foreheads together, kisses her sister's little nose.
“I love you forever,” Oona whispers.
She lays back down with Maple tucked into the crook of her arm. She looks up at the cracks in the popcorn ceiling and finds constellations there.
When her sister gets fussy again, Oona strokes her back and sings softly until she settles.
They fall asleep tucked close together.
The next morning, their mother is furious to find a mess in the kitchen and Maple out of her crib. Oona sits on the couch, skinny knees pulled up to her chest, watching her mother stomp around.
She stops, staring at the mess of dishes in the sink, and puts her head in her hands.
“I’m just an awful mother.” Oona can hear when she begins to cry.
Oona looks over at Maple, tucked into her high chair in the corner, and decides at six years old that she loves her sister a whole lot more than their mum.