Hi, hello, good... Nights and happy new very long lists of holidays that passed since the last updated. I has revived.

Ok, I actually never died. I have been working in this chapter since September of last year. I must have changed the first part between 10-15 times, and the second around 15-20, ugh. Plus life overall didn't help, haha.

Super huge shutout to my online pals that helped me with this, especially to Cactuscrow for cheering me on at all times and having so much faith in me ;;. Go check her stuff, she's an amazing writer (L)

Anyway, those that asked about Anita, here you go, 4k words to compensate my absence :^).

Nostalgia, Elsa realized, can come in a little pinch of longing for past, happier times, or as a wave that hits against the chest, floods it until there's no more air left, and it's a conscious effort not to cry.

Most of the time, the latter happened to her.

She supposed it was part of the grieving process. That there existed a logical connection between arriving now at her great-aunt's house and remembering all those times they came here as children, to then visit the park with the pond and its family of ducks, or the natural sciences museum behind it. Or that Anna always insisted on getting the oatmeal cookies from the bakery next door, which if it weren't for the gray-veined tile walls and the outdoor sign, it wouldn't look like one. Or the vacant lot across the street, with tall trees growing in it. Or that her great-aunt always warned them not to touch the plants arranged along the hallway and front patio, when it was too hot to go to play on the terrace.

Her father once told Elsa that there were times she seemed to live in the past, that she always focused on things that couldn't be changed. And though at the time it was nothing more than a typical deflection attempt, sometimes she found herself going back to that phrase.

Sometimes Elsa felt the past was the only thing she had left. That she wasn't whole, in a way. That fragments of her life were stolen, piece by piece. Years, entire periods of time of which she couldn't remember simple things for the fear of falling into those voids. Dark voids full of nothing and ice that burned her lungs, like in her worst nightmares.

Maybe Elsa did. Not in the way he wanted her to believe, but she did. Probably. Definitely.

But if she didn't give him the reason while he was alive, she would do it even less after his death.

It was still hard to believe that three days had passed since Thursday. Every time the idea came back to her, she felt like it happened both an eternity and a blink ago, simultaneously. Having no idea which of those points in time she was the closest to.

It didn't help that everything seemed to stay the same, either. Except for maybe waking up on Friday with a numb arm, after ten hours and a half of sleep when she usually slept six. Or four, if her world went overboard. Other than that, they kept watching movies and dragging themselves to the supermarket to buy groceries and half a kilo of chocolate ice cream with cookies, out of pure gluttony.

Thus, how the third Sunday of February was reached. The first, even if expected, was an ordeal. The second, the events of the first dawned on her while the news settled in. Today was the typical family reunion Sunday. Today was a Sunday to bathe in nostalgia.

Though the atmosphere didn't feel as she used to remember, nor like last Saturday. Perhaps because at the time the news was too new? Perhaps because what she remembered from earlier times was from her childhood, where no one pays attention to that kind of stuff. It was about the apparent tranquility, that ten minutes later unfolded into forced tranquility, where no one can do anything but follow the course of things and pretend everything is ok.

Perhaps it was the fact that they suddenly became the darling girls of the family, with greetings and hugs that lasted longer than normal, and compliments on appearances that neither of them asked for. As if the show was necessary to make them feel better. Like the set of crystal glasses that must be treated with care because it's an inherited relic, and every time you use them there's an anecdote to tell. A gossip. A secret. It didn't even have to be true.

Elsa would rather be ignored than feigning physical contact didn't bother her, even if it was warm and didn't burn. Her sister, overwhelmed since the first minute, began to slowly pull her towards the living room where only their little cousins were. A common attitude from most of the times they saw each other under these circumstances, so they spent the rest of the hour playing board games and getting their arms tattooed with color markers.

Until lunch time came. More turns to the past, being put under the spotlight again.

Elsa swayed her fork among the ravioli with sauce that, as homemade as it was, the heat took away her hunger with its twenty eight degrees of thermal sensation. Even if it was one of her favorite dishes as a child. The topics of conversation didn't help either. If it didn't have to do with her mom or her parents in general, it somehow ended up involving them. In addition to the typical questions relatives ask about everyday life, those that turn a conversation into an interview. Those about school, vacations, possible careers choices, boyfriends (and that's when Elsa had to drown her nausea with Sprite), and all those things that are answered with expectations instead of the truth.

What called Elsa's attention was that the focus was placed on her sister. Because, though Elsa hadn't seen most of her family for at least a year, everyone knew she spent the holidays with her mom and her uncle in Ushuaia, but not that Anna was in Mar del Plata from New Year until mid January. Anna didn't know that they didn't know, either, and the awkward silence lasted for about two seconds, as the topic was switched like nothing.

If such obviousness was noticed by someone other than the two of them, no one bothered to show it.

Anna remained silent the rest of lunch, lost in thought unless someone called her attention. Not that her enthusiasm was great before, but there was an effort to keep up with the attitudes. Now she seemed to make an effort to pay attention, watching from the outside and even with slight nervousness.

Could it be reality settling down for the umpteenth time, playing with the illusions and the confusion of having to constantly use verbs in the past tense? No, that was a slow, unconscious process. Or did it really bother her that a distant relative didn't know about her vacations? Sometimes they made distinctions, or comparisons, which neither of them found funny. But relatives were like that, it was useless to expect anything else.

Something wasn't right, aside from the obvious. Something else. Something that caused Elsa a similar reaction as that something else from before Anna moved out, four years ago. That something else she was terrified of, and made the cold play with her nerve endings while it expanded all over her spine, just in case.

The sensation was so familiar, that for a moment the thought nothing had changed, and at any moment one of her parents would come to pick her up so they could go back to their previous lives.

No, no, no. Forget it, forget about that.

Now with the fear haunting her skin, Elsa couldn't do anything else than watch. To try to find something that would prove she was just exaggerating. If there was something Elsa took pride in, was her ability of perception. Observe the gestures, pay attention to the tones. What wasn't said with words was said with actions, body language. Details.

Dessert arrived. The classic supermarket ice cream and her great-aunt's homemade flan that everyone joked would cheer anyone up, which Anna adored (and was her mom's favorite, but Elsa rather not focus on that). The answer remained absent-minded, low, feigned.

Anna didn't feign, she was awful at it.

It was when her sister locked herself in the kitchen to do the dishes, despite the protests of her aunts and the indignation of her grandmother, that Elsa convinced herself she had to try talking to her. No matter how scared she was of the answers. Like when they were younger and told each other everything. Or almost everything. Maybe it wasn't a big deal. Sometimes Elsa's ideas escaped her mind and speculated alone at two hundred kilometers per hour, and things got worse in a reality illustrated only in her head. She wouldn't know until she took the first step.

So, inhaling slowly, she took advantage of when everyone got distracted with the photo albums to leave the table and escape from collective nostalgia. And trying not to count the tiles so as not to fall for nerve-racking technicalities, she walked the length of the hall to the kitchen. The first room on the left, before the entrance.

The door was closed, so she decided to knock before opening because Elsa was in favor of respecting privacy.

"Need a hand?" she asked, with an almost pretended casualty.

Anna turned around, startled, her mind clearly somewhere else.

"Oh, uh, if you could start drying the stuff that's done, you'll be a lifesaver. Check over the oven, there should be a dishcloth somewhere," she told her, turning around to point at said object with the sponge, throwing foam to the floor in the process. Elsa nodded, closing the door behind her and, stepping firmly in case of more puddles on the black tile floor, she made the three steps to the oven. She recalled that, as a child, this kitchen seemed much larger than it actually was, with minimal space for an L-shaped counter where Anna occupied the longest end. So she was left with the shorter end, with enough space to pile up the dried plates, having to turn a bit to take one thing and put another away.

"You should've told me." Anna looked at her, confused, putting a plate on the slot of the dish rack Elsa just emptied. "Aunt Mari wouldn't have had a problem with giving me extra flan just for you."

You should've told me you didn't want to come, was the full sentence. Her sister gave her a half smile, but Elsa knew she really appreciated it. Maybe because of the idea of conspiring as if they were back in elementary school. Or that there was still a mutual concern. Though she shook her head like nothing, two seconds later.

"Nah, it's fine. You know it would've been worse if I didn't come than I'd show up with this face," said Anna, rolling her eyes.

"At least we're not eating hasenpfeffer." For Elsa, that was enough.

"Ay, don't remind me." She faked a shudder. "I still can't see a rabbit without feeling guilty."

With nothing more to add than a slight nod of the head and a wrinkled nose, they both fell silent, caught up in the momentary routine of cooperating on a simple task. In the background, her cousins fought over what color was the dress of a princess, probably the one who could be heard singing in a shrill voice from the living room, while the echo of conversations and various laughter resounded from the central courtyard of the house.

Was this the moment to break the silence? Should she? Perhaps this was what Anna needed. A moment of peace where no one would pester her with questions or tell her anything. Not that Elsa liked when her sister was quiet, as Anna usually didn't put up well with long silences. And for as long as Elsa could remember, too much silence from her part meant that something wasn't okay but, well, who would be, now? Besides, what could she ask her? That same thing, if she was okay? The stupidest question in the universe to ask right now? Maybe Anna wanted silence. Maybe she had gotten used to it and Elsa took it as a bad sign but she actually didn't know a thing because of the time spent apart. Maybe she didn't want to talk to Elsa precisely, because of everything that happened when—

"Els?"

Maybe not. Maybe she had to stop the speculation and let things take their course.

Elsa breathed through her nose and released it with a simple, absolutely not nervous, "Hm?"

"You're moving south with Uncle Adrien, right?" Anna asked directly. As if she were ripping off the bandaid. Needless to say Elsa wasn't expecting it all, and she stopped short of drying forks.

"Where did you get that from?" she replied, with all the confusion in the world.

Technically, Elsa hadn't moved anywhere yet. She just had the bare minimum and a couple extra things she took with her the last time she went to the house, before the funeral. Her aunt and uncle told her she'll stay with them from the beginning, but she didn't know if it was a saying of the moment or a definitive one. Elsa didn't mention anything either, to avoid uncomfortable conversations.

This was far too precise information and the options of who might have told Anna weren't the nice ones but the ones that caused her to have cold and lilac tinted nails.

"Mom told me about your plans of moving there, at least this year." Anna shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. Elsa didn't really know how to feel about it, because her sister had the right to see their mom whenever she wanted and that was fine. They even brought her alfajores and chocolate-dipped hazelnuts. But they could have let her know. Their mom could have let her know. They have spent more time together with Anna this week than in the entirety of the last year.

However, this wasn't the time to be selfish nor reproachful.

"Mom told you about the divorce?" Elsa tried to sound as casual as possible, grabbing another plate and swallowing any feelings that had nothing to do with the subject.

Something that proved to be quite difficult when her sister looked at her in confusion, then understanding as if she had realized something and ended up with an expression between guilt and nervousness. All in one second.

In her head, Elsa was already taking the cross she had on her neck and begging whoever was above the clouds, that it didn't turn to be true what she was already thinking.

"Oh, um… it was dad, actually," Anna murmured.

The clash between porcelains felt like thunder to her ears, as Elsa set the plate on the pile with trembling hands. She didn't know if it was the anger, or the cold invading her bones, while her stomach frozen into knots and bile danced over her tongue. At least she turned around two seconds earlier, or there would be no excuses.

Of course it was him. History repeated itself.

"Oh, really?" was the only thing she managed to say, more aloof than intended.

"Yeah, we went to that ice cream parlor we always used to go to, a couple days after I got back from the coast." Why? was the first thing Elsa wanted to ask, as if she were twelve all over again, no matter how obvious the answer. So she sank her teeth into the tip of the tongue hard enough to cause pain. She wasn't about to screw anything up. This wasn't about her. "But he only told me about the whole thing of, you know, getting separated and all that. And then mom told me about the moving thing but like three weeks later. Seems like they weren't talking much or something."

Taking a deep breath to only keep the slight feeling of discomfort, Elsa shook her head slowly. Since courts opened in February, they get ahead with all the paperwork, discussions on the division of assets, who they'll stay with on school days, and with whom on weekends. At least most of the time they did it on their own and didn't involve Elsa, as she couldn't fake her answers much longer, to tell the truth.

"They weren't really getting along." Since late November, but that was a detail at this point. What was the point of this conversation, again? Old ideas? Between one thing and the other, it was hard to get back to the original question. "Anyway, I'm not gonna move anywhere. I mean, I'll have to get back next year for uni."

"But there are universities in Tierra del Fuego. Or you can take a gap year and work until you decide on what to study." Again, that shrug only gave Elsa mixed signals. Did she care? She didn't? What was the point? Why was she insisting on a place Elsa just said she wasn't going to move to?

"Do… do you want me to go?" It hurt to ask, but maybe she did. Maybe Anna wanted her to leave. Maybe time and distances made them lose all of the things they shouldn't have lost, and Elsa was interpreting everything the way she wanted things to go, and not as how they actually were. And that's why they still stuck in this nebula of pretending all of this was temporary, and so they never spoke about room organization nor moving house nor any of the important things, maybe—

Her sister stopped short only to look at her like Elsa had an antenna growing on top of her head.

"No, dummy, I'm not kicking you out! I want you to stay, but I don't want you to stay just for me. I mean, five minutes ago you were saying how much you love it there, and that you missed it and I really thought you would like to move because you're basically a penguin. Like, you were born there, you love the cold and with that black and white jacket you used to wear you just need to compress down to one meter," she said, with quick gestures. "What I mean, is that I'm used to seeing everyone once in a blue moon. It'll be fine," Anna finished, busying herself with a couple of dishes left to do and avoiding her sight altogether.

Elsa didn't know what to say, leaning against the counter and trying not to twist the dishcloth too much. Her sister was telling her that if she decided to move over three thousand kilometers away, she'd accept it as long as it made her happy. Could this girl be more selfless? It's not like Elsa deserves such consideration. Not after everything that happened.

But Anna did deserve an answer from her, a sincere one.

"I'm not moving anywhere, Annie. I wasn't lying when I said that I missed you. We… we haven't spent this much time together in ages." Elsa found a loose thread at the edge of the seam, deciding to focus on it and wrap it around her index finger before yanking it off. "I'd love to move to Ushuaia the whole summer, because you know I can't stand the heat, but that's it."

When Elsa raised her head, Anna looked relieved, the corners of her lips turned slightly upward.

"Oh, ok. That's… that's great. Cool." Elsa didn't miss the way that, once the dishes were done, she took a damp cloth to clean the counter with quick, nervous movements. As if she was using cleaning to vent. "For a moment I thought that maybe I was only bothering you and you just wanted to be your responsible self as always or something."

The tone of pretended casualty said it all. Elsa was quick to shake her head and finish with the last three pieces of silverware.

"You aren't a bother to anyone, Anna. Why would you say that?" It was almost offensive, the implication of that phrase. She was her little sister and therefore Elsa had the responsibility of taking care of her, but not in the way she intended.

Anna looked at her as if the answer was there and Elsa was skipping it simply because she felt like it.

"Uh, because mom and dad clearly didn't agree with that statement?" Anna turned around to put away part of the dishes in the cabinet on the adjoining wall, those classic wooden ones that could be found in any kitchen. Even though in one as tiny as this one it only accentuated the feeling of claustrophobia.

That didn't mean she missed the bitterness in his voice.

"Do you have to start with that now?" Words came out faster than she could actually think them. A bit harsher and more reproachful than she would have wanted, too.

"I'm not starting anything, Elsa. I'm just saying the truth." More plates, more clatter of glass on glass. Made on purpose, this time.

"You just said you saw them less than a month ago." She didn't need this. Not now. There would be time for these conversations, as much as Elsa wanted to avoid them at all costs. Now she needed to focus on the good things in both of them, or the furniture would start to fall on top of her.

"Yes, two times in the last three months, Elsa." It was in the increasingly angry tone, or that extra sparkle in her eyes, that made her realize perhaps Anna was right that she wasn't starting anything. It had already started at lunch, with the focus on knowing about her life, because they didn't have a clue. Or even earlier, to that thing of pompous compliments and empty cheek squeezes. Or they could go further back to months in the past. Or travel years in time and find all the motives.

However, one thing didn't take the other away.

"That doesn't mean they didn't love you, Anna." They always loved her. Even though after she left, silences became awkward, tense, and obvious in their causes. That she was barely mentioned and it became this game of pretending Elsa was an only child and Anna actually a cousin who happened to live with them. It was just a horrible way to cope. Hence the reason why her pictures still hung in the frames, or some of her things were still stored at the bottom of Elsa's closet. Or all those times Elsa found her mom staring at nothing, and when Elsa asked her if she was okay, there was a change of subject and a hug.

They did love her, no matter the contradictions. As much as it sounded like empty words of comfort and there was no space to explain the reasons Anna was looking for.

"Quite a twisted way of loving someone." The force with which she closed the cabinet doors startled Elsa. "But if the favorite daughter says it then I guess it must be true, no?"

The slam of the door was even worse. But the dagger her sister stabbed and twisted in her chest just because she was angry at the situation hurt even more. Flooding her chest the same way nostalgia did, but instead of longing for past times, it brought up her guilt for all the things that went wrong.

Elsa wiped away unshed tears with frozen digits. Trembling hands opened the first drawer of the shorter end of the counter, starting to put away the cutlery one by one. It was about focusing on the routinary action, on simple tasks that required mechanical movements, and not on the fact that the room turned cold in the middle of a summer day.

Somehow, her sight ended up on the window, the row of plants in hand-painted pots sitting on the edge. They were all of vibrant colors with patterns of clouds, sunflowers, and daisies. Elsa remembered they painted the majority of them, back at the times of constant stress, as her mom found they enjoyed painting crafts. And two weeks later, it was Elsa, her mother, and a poor but convincing excuse who gave them to her great-aunt for her birthday.

At some point, her sister was right. And as always, it was Elsa who had to take responsibility for it.

...haha, if you want to throw me something: I advice to wait till chapter 7-8. You can do it at my Tumblr tho, Snowmanmelting

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