According to Jane by Marilyn Brant Page B

my eyes at her.
    "I'll go with you," she volunteered cheerfully. "Liam won't mind." She paused. "Well, he won't know about it."
    I reached for Clarke's Childhood's End , grimaced at the novel, which I remembered reading myself in Mrs. Leverson's English class, and scanned it back in. "One of the things I love about you," I told Sarah, "is your unabashed ability to lie to your boyfriend for the sake of the greater good."
    She grinned. "So true. Although, technically, it's not a lie if--"
    "It's a lie by omission. But it won't be required of you regardless."
    Her enthusiasm dimmed. "Aw, c'mon. You won't even consider going? I hear it's a real fun place."
    The next book I reached for turned out to be Austen's Persuasion. I rolled my eyes heavenward, even if it wasn't a sign from Jane. "Okay. I'll consider it," I said aloud. "But I refuse to make any promises now."
    "Good enough. Oh! I almost forgot to tell you." She leaned closer, in full rumor-divulging mode. "Did you hear about Coach Rooney and Frau Weiss?"
    I shook my head. The newly divorced ice hockey coach and the spinster German teacher had been making eyes at each other since September, but this wasn't news.
    Sarah lowered her voice. "Caught by the janitor-- in flagrante delicto --in the copy room over Christmas break."
    "WHAT?"
    She nodded. Then she added sagely, "See. Everyone else is having hot sex, Ellie. Get with the program."
    I almost threw Persuasion at her, but she laughed and ran out of the school library.
    The fact that she was right did not please me, which was my only defense for what happened next.
    I was sitting on the floor of my one-bedroom apartment a week later, three scented candles lit and my favorite Survivor CD playing, when the phone rang. Mom.
    "Diana's back home."
    "Okay," I said. All three of us kids lived within forty-five minutes of my parents' house, so this wasn't really an occurrence of unusual significance.
    "No. Permanently." My mom's voice sounded strained. "She left Alex."
    "Oh, God." Although my sister and I had avoided each other like a viral infection in recent years and were no closer now than we'd been in high school, my heart went out to her. She must've felt so down, so depressed, so confused--
    "She's driving me crazy," Mom said, "and I need your help. You need to do something with her. Take her somewhere and talk some sense into her. She says she wants to meet people."
    "Already?" I sputtered. "How long has she been back at home?"
    "Since yesterday. She says she wants to start dating again."
    "She must be in denial, Mom. Or in shock. What happened with Alex?"
    "She said they've grown apart. That they never belonged together, and now it's over." My mother sighed. "Do you think she's serious?"
    "Um, well, I--huh." I exhaled. How the hell was I supposed to know? But I said, "Has Alex called or stopped by to talk to her? Do you get the sense that he, at least, wants to try to work things out?"
    "He called once, but I didn't hear either side of their conversation. Could you speak to her? Maybe she'll confide in you."
    This, I decided, was my mother at her most Pollyannaish. But it wasn't as though I could refuse. "Sure. Is she there now?"
    "No. She went to the store to buy shampoo, moisturizer and Ho Hos, I think." Mom sounded baffled by the combination. "But tomorrow's Saturday. You don't have any weekend plans, do you?"
    "No," I said, regretting not only that this was the truth but that I had to admit it.
    "Then come by for dinner. Maybe you two can talk or do something together in the evening."
    Di and me. Out on the town. Together.
    Those were three phrases that had never been used jointly in over a quarter of a century.
    "Yeah, all right," I told my mother, then I hung up. I lit another candle, raised the volume on my stereo and, since I'd given up heavy drinking, devoured three Twinkies in rapid succession.
    For courage.

    To better illuminate my adult relationship with my sister, I refer you to one of our typical