If you asked 11-year-old me to honestly tell you how I felt about my siblings, I would give it to you straight: my brothers were alright, but I hated sister. I mean truly despised her.

Or at least I wanted to.

Christina's five years older than me, and we grew up in different homes for most of our lives. Every summer she would come up from her mom's house in Florida to join us in Massachusetts. And every summer I knew exactly what would happen. Weeks prior to her arrival, I would call her, begging to know when she was coming because I needed to tell everyone I knew that I couldn't hangout too much over the summer, my cool older sister was going to be in town. Once she was here, I'd stick by her side for a few days, share meaningless facts about my life, friends and school and she'd nod with some interest –– but after her first week here, my warm fuzzy feelings would go away.

Over the summer, our cousin, also named Christina, would come stay for a week. Her, my sister and my brother Geoff had a secret club. I mean, there were no blanket forts held up by pillows or some inconspicuous password. But if there was, I wouldn't know it. Her and Geoff were always wrestling and telling jokes that I didn't understand. Other nights, Christina-squared would stay up late practicing dance moves that my younger self didn't know how to do. I couldn't dance the way they did.

I didn't know the same songs or want to wrestle. Wrestling hurt! And my hips didn't know how to move that way yet! I couldn't compete. So I decided not to. I decided to hate her and to watch them enjoy their summer from the other side of the room. Seething in my jealousy. And for the rest of the summer I'd isolate myself, pick fights and scream at her for no real reason. By the end of the summer we'd start to get along enough for me too miss her when she was gone and anticipate her coming back.

But every summer it was the same.

I didn't understand. Why couldn't we be like real sisters instead of the only ones in the world that didn't get along? How was it that for the one time a year we saw each other, we weren't like Tia and Tamera? They did everything together!

Hallie Parker and Annie James didn't meet until summer camp and even they were closer. Christina and I weren't exactly separated at birth, but the distance was there. I could've even been the Rudy Huxtable to her Denise, but that just wasn't the case. Eventually, I gave up chasing the perfect sisterhood. I didn't talk to her unless I had to, and I didn't get my hopes up about summers.

Once I got to high school, something changed. Chrstina and I started talking more –– about real things. She was the first person I started sharing my writing with, and she soon became my biggest cheerleader. We bonded over TV shows from separate states. We spent a winter in NYC and saw an Alvin Ailey production together. I told her most of my secrets and later all of them. She was there for me during my first break up with a girl. We talked about the people we've kissed and the ones that we wanted to. I watched her put on makeup and secretly wrote down the name of her products and begged her to share her jewelry with me.

Now, Christina and I both live in New York, and she's only a train ride away. We talk almost every day. She tells me about the awkward dates she's been on, and I complain about my roommates. We don't paint each others nails, wrestle or pierce each other's ears. I still get on her nerves sometimes, and she on mine. But in a good way. We're completely different people, in more ways than one, but our differences have made us closer. We're like real sisters now, whatever that means.