I stare out the window at the passing trees that melt together into a blur of dull colors. I glance at Anna. I can’t read the emotions on her face. All I can hear is the quiet roar of the car. I can’t believe that she is moving to Portland in a week. After two years of living at our house, Anna will be gone.

As she drives me home from my basketball practice, we don’t talk. Our silence isn’t awkward. Even though Anna’s twenty-eight and I’m only thirteen, she has been like a big sister and best friend to me, not just a cousin, ever since she moved in with us.

I remember last Sunday. I was lying on the couch, watching the “Today” show in my black yoga pants and a tee-shirt. Anna trudged down the stairs in sneakers and a sweatshirt, ready to go.

“Red Cup?” I asked. Going there, a café in Boothbay Harbor, to get coffee had become our Sunday ritual. I knew the answer. I just wanted to make sure.

“You bet,” she replied, as she pulled her dirty blonde hair into a ponytail.

I hopped up from the couch and pulled on my worn and stinky Tom’s, while Anna grabbed her phone from the charger. We headed out the door.

As we strolled down the slanted brick sidewalk in the cool morning sun, we argued about which cars, art galleries, and ice cream shops we liked better. We chatted about the up-coming week. Before I knew it, we were at Red Cup. As I opened the screen door, the bell dinged and warm, humid air surrounded us. There were people everywhere. All the tables were filled with tourists eating breakfast. We waited in line. When we got close enough, I grabbed a mango juice from the refrigerator.

"What would you like?" the women at the counter asked as she was preparing another costomer’s coffee. I slid my juice forward without saying a word.

"The usual," Anna replied, reaching into her wallet.

"Make that two," I added. Anna had her crisp money ready, while I pulled a crumpled five out of my back pocket.

"Coming right up," the worker said. She was Anna's friend, but I couldn’t remember her name.

I went outside to grab the last table, while Anna waited for our drinks. I sat in the sun that was getting hotter by the minute. I shook the table on the uneven sidewalk and pondered about what Anna's new house would be like, or if I would ever meet her roommates or spend the night with her again.

She came out with our drinks then, one iced vanilla latté in each hand. She began to sip hers while I gulped mine like a little kid with a lemonade. It was quiet. We watched a green yacht dock at Brown’s Wharf and a little Boston Whaler fill up with gas. We envied a couple on paddle boards exploring the harbor, and made plans to explore it ourselves. It felt peaceful— a typical, great memory of our close and easy relationship.

Now we’re back in the car together, almost home from Portland. Anna breaks the silence.

"I talked to Heidi today. She’s doing pretty good. They’re coming back in a few weeks," she says with a grin on her face.

"That’s good," I say. Heidi is Anna’s sister, my cousin. Anna goes on about what Heidi’s plans are, when she visits, but I’m not listening. I’m thinking about Anna’s move. And I realize that just because she’ll live in Portland, I can still talk to her and see her, just not as much. It will be like Heidi and Anna’s relationship. They’re sisters, they love and talk to each other, and they live thousands of miles apart, but they’re still close.

I realize that I love Anna enough to make our relationship work no matter where either of us lives. She will always be a cousin, best friend, and big sister to me, no matter what is going on in either of our lives. I recline my seat, listen for the quiet beats of the songs on the radio, and relax.