You can hear the music from the first floor, they're playing Känn ingen sorg för mig Göteborg by Håkan Hellström on high volume, the voices of the guests are mixed in with the music. I can see Emma in the mirror. She's sitting on the bed and biting her nails, dressed in a blue dress that reaches her knees, with a white cardigan. The blonde hair is up in a messy hair bun. I've helped her with the make-up, it looks natural and beautiful. That's all that is needed. She made sure that I knew that she didn't want any attention under the party, so she could melt into the background.

I straighten out the brown skirt and the yellow sweater. It looks like Emma won't be able to handle most parts of the party.

"If it becomes too much, then you know that you can always come back up here and close the door until you feel you can go down again," I say.

She moves her mouth in a way that makes me think she wants to say something. She gets up from the bed with her hands tightly clasped together. Her whole body looks tense, like she will crack any second. The guest will definitely notice her nervosity, and she'll stand out whether she wants to or not.

I put my hands gently over her shoulders. "Relax, it's going to be fine."

She does not relax, if anything she seems more nervous. I grab her wrist and leads her to the slightly opened door. Emma takes a deep breath, we go down the stairs and into the living room.

Mom and Anders have put a bigger table in the living room, one that holds all eleven guests. The plates are filled with potato wedges and honey-glazed ribs, and in the middle of the table stands two large bowls with salad. Next to one of them there is a vase with white orchids. It was Anders that had bought them earlier today for mom, she had forced a smile when he gave them to her. We associated them – and would probably always do so – with dad. She hadn't said anything, she put that fake smile on her lips and thanked him with a kiss. It was also what she had done when dad died. She smiled and acted like she was okay when others where around. She spoke of dad and the memories they had with love, but never how she felt, or how she dealt with his death. When she thought she was alone I could hear her cry, a few times I had heard her screaming. But that had only been the first weeks.

Emma pokes a potato wedge with her fork, she doesn't want to eat with people nearby. Anton, who is eleven looks strangely at Emma and ask his mother why she's not eating, Veronica – Anders' little sister – gives him a strict look.

Emma ignores them and the rest of the conversations the guests are having. They are talking about all sorts of things, about the unusual hot weather lately, about Veronica's new job and about the new house mom and Anders bought. Emma looks like she wants to disappear. She cuts of a small piece of the potato wedge and slowly moves it towards the mouth and chews it just as slowly.

I join their unending conversations about the weather. I don't think it can get more Swedish than this, the only thing that is missing would be herring and potatoes, or maybe a crayfish party.

I laugh and play along; I smile and pretend that I don't have to put almost all my attention on my big sister. Occasionally I throw a glance towards Emma to see how she looks like. She gets paler for every second, but it seems like she's enduring it.

It's exhausting. If I didn't have the constant need to watch over Emma this would have been child's play. I've never had problems with it before, it's easy to shut out negative feelings if I need to, at least until I'm alone and I can breathe out again. I can't do that now, I have to be on constant watch. Neither can I show them what I'm actually thinking, so I continue to smile and laugh even if the muscles in my face is opposing.

I pour down more cider in my glass when it's empty. I can't drink too much, then I'll lose my control over the situation, but I can't drink too little either.

"Kristina said that you liked raspberry, so I bought raspberry cider. I hope that works for you," Veronica says and smile.

I smile back, it feels exhausting to constantly smile and laugh when I don't have the energy for it. Mom is the same, she laughs and smile without any problems. If we didn't have that conversation last night, then I would believe that what she is displaying now is genuine. She probably sees through me as well, that I smile and laugh because that's what is expected of me.

"Yes, it's really good." I raise the glass slightly before I take a small sip. "You chose well."

I laugh. It's planned down into every detail. It has to be warm, welcoming, but not too loud. Most important, it has to be credible.

Mom takes a sip from her raspberry cider. "You're right."

She smiles so the wrinkles at the edges of her eyes are more noticeable.

I turn to Emma with the fake smile still on my lips. She has put down the cutlery and is staring at the food with an empty stare. She hasn't eaten a lot, three or four potato wedges and barely touched the ribs. She's as pale as a ghost, and her mouth is moving slightly like she wants to say something.

She doesn't have time to open her mouth before Anders starts talking. He holds mom's hand over the table and on her ring finger is an engagement ring. It wasn't on her finger when we sat down, they must have put it under the table to "surprise" us.

I don't smile. If anything, I'm angry. Not because she's engaged, or that she has moved on. I'm angry that she didn't warn us, that this is why we were here. It had nothing to do with a family dinner, this was their way to tell everyone at the same time. I should have figured it out from the start. We had never had a family dinner with Anders family before, even if mom and Anders had been together for a year. I should have known they were planning something. I should have asked.

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"I knew it!" someone says, I can't focus on the voice.

My whole head is buzzing.

"How long?" someone else asks.

They don't get the time to answer. Emma gets up so quickly that the chair gets knocked over, they look at each other for a few seconds. No one says anything until Emma leaves the living room.

"Ah, well..." I think it's Veronica's voice.

I get up from the chair and follow Emma. The living room I leave behind is unpleasantly quiet compared to how loud it was barely a minute earlier.

Emma has locked herself inside of the bathroom, I knock and lean my forehead towards the door. An unpleasant sound is ringing in my ears and a headache has creeped forward.

"Emma," I say towards the door and suck in air between my lips, trying to calm myself. "Let me in."

There is something unpleasant with those words, something I can't really understand. I shut out the thought, it's too much now. It feels like I'm going to explode any second.

I hear her unlocking the door. I take a step back and let her open it. Her eyes are red and glossy, and the wet cheeks has flared up in a pink color. She sits down at the toilet lid with her legs crossed, her arms she keeps around her. I walk into the little bathroom, and I close and locks the door in case mom will try to fix this somehow. In this situation there's nothing she can say to make things better.

Emma pulls one of her shaky hands over her mouth, while the other one holds tightly around her arm. She's leaning forward.

"I want to go home," she says through gritted teeth.

I'm no psychologist or therapist. I work at an office and answers calls about questions that have nothing to do with emotional issues, so far from psychologist that it can be. Yet that's what I try to be for Emma, even if I know that I won't find any solutions for her problems.

I take a deep breath and try to think about something that will solve everything that won't make me feel drained. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever end up in a situation where I don't have the energy to care anymore.

I take a step forward and ignore the sounds in my head. "Emma..."

"Did you know?" She asks; the words are quick and firm.

"No. And I'm just as pissed off as you are."

If not more.

"A year... She's been dating Anders for a year, he was just done with his own divorce and they are already engaged?" She takes a deep breath. "I don't want to..."

She doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't need to, I know what she means. Emma has moved on, she's still stuck on dad's death while mom and I have moved on. That mom is remarrying is the proof of that. I can't imagine Emma in a wedding, it wouldn't work. Mom is expecting her to be there, that she's going to endure it for her sake. It's definitely not time for a wedding when one of her daughters is willingly standing with one foot in her grave.

I push a hand against my face, my head is throbbing violently. "You can go up to the guest room for now, I'll fix this mess."

"No!"

I move my hand down a bit so it doesn't obscure my vision. "No?"

"I'm not staying a second longer."

I sigh and my head is aching. "What are you planning then?"

"Home, I'm going home."

"You can't drive home when you're a gigantic emotional wreck," I snarl.

Emma isn't listening. She gets up from the toilet and pushes me aside to get out of the small bathroom, she unlocks the door and ignores mom who's one the other side. Anders isn't with her, he's probably at the table trying to smooth things over.

There's shame and worry in mom's face. She opens her mouth to say something, but I run after Emma before she can.

"You can't be serious, Emma!" I say. Or maybe I scream it.

"I'm not staying her for another second," she mumbles and picks up the shoes in the hall.

It's like something explodes inside of me.

"Okay, go home then! Do so! Because you can't even try! Everything has to be on your terms! I'm so fucking sick of being your babysitter, to attend to your needs every damn second!"

Emma's mouth is tightly clenched and her nose is wrinkled in disgust. The eyes are cold, not the same cold, indifferent look she usually has, now she's angry.

"I never asked you to be my babysitter, Jonna. Nor did I ask you to go after my needs, you have chosen to do so yourself. Just leave me alone."

She doesn't put on her shoes; she takes them with her when she walks out of the front door.

When the door slams shut I feel like screaming, hitting something, doing something to remove this anger and worry. Mom puts a hand on my arm, it's pleading. I already know what she's going to ask. "You can't let her leave like that."

I want to ask her to make Emma stay, I don't want to be some sort of mailman between them. Like usual I don't say anything. I shake off her hand from my arm and I walk to the hall where I put my shoes on.

"Thank you, Jonna," she says.

I don't even look at her when I leave the house. Emma is already sitting in the car, she's holding a tight grip around the steering wheel and hits the side of her head a few times with the other hand. It's been a while since I've seen her have a meltdown. In most cases she could avoid them, at least so that I or mom didn't see them. The last time I saw her like this was a few days after dad had passed.

I gently knock on the car window. She pushes the shaking hands against her head.

"Go away," she mutters.

"Sorry, I said too much."

"You did," she sobs and holds tightly around her hair. "I haven't asked you to take care of me, so please just leave me alone!"

"I can't," I say gently. "Can you let me in?"

She leans forward a bit, the blonde hair falls down her face. She shakes her head and holds a hand over her mouth.

"You can't drive home like this, Emma."

"I know." She takes a deep and shivering breath. "I want to be alone."

"Okay, I'll be out here until you're ready to let me in. You know I can't let you drive alone when you're feeling like this."

"It's cold."

It's not a single cloud on the star-filled sky above us. The day had been warm but now it's colder than I prefer.

"I'm dressed rather warmly." I pinch the yellow sweater. "I'll be fine."

"Do you as you'd like," she says and avoids eye contact.

I'm thankful I decided to have thick leggings and that the sweater is long-sleeved. I sit down at the grass and wait. She has always let me in the few times I've seen her have a meltdown, but never right away. I needed to have patience until she was able to have someone next to her. I doubt it's any different now.

It takes about twenty minutes until a I hear the sound of the car's doors being unlocked, she doesn't open them nor does she tell me that I can come in. She's doesn't need to say anything, that she unlocked the doors is clear enough of an answer that it's okay to enter the car now.

I get up from the ground and brush away grass and dirt from my skirt thereafter I open the door and sit down beside her, her cheeks are red and swollen.

I grab the purse that has been in the car since earlier today. "Do you want water? I have a water bottle in my purse."

"Yes, please," she sobs.