She passed her family’s table, saw her parents talking with an older couple, Camelia sitting happily beside them. Crisanta’s purse sat by an empty seat, quiet and lonely, yet calling out to Kalina in her sister’s voice, the way it sounded when she was trying to pretend she hadn’t been crying.
‘She deserves it,’ part of her mind told her, while another tried to convince her, ‘She can’t really -need- anything from it all that badly.’ ‘And if she does,’ the first part replied, ‘all the better.’
She could hear the hand dryer running on the other side of the bathroom door when she approached again, then a mad scramble of feet.
