A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. I scan my spotless apartment one more time. With a Coke and lime ready in the fridge and a vegetarian lasagna bubbling on the stove top, I take a steadying breath.
I yank the door open, finding Ellora standing there awkwardly.
At least I’m not the only nervous one.
Even with her platform black combat boots, she’s still almost a foot shorter than me. Same parents, but we look nothing alike. She’s wearing a black plaid skirt with spider web tights, and a red velvet long sleeve under a black leather…well I’m not sure what it is. It looks like a goth dog harness wrapped around her torso. She notices my stare and huffs in annoyance before marching inside. I close the door and follow behind her.
“So I, uh, made lasagna. I think you’ll like it,” I say by way of greeting, hoping to get off on a good start. Ellora flutters her burnt orange bangs with her finger tips, almost like a nervous tick, as she stands in the middle of my apartment looking around with a scrutinizing gaze.
She whips to me, arms crossed over her small frame. “Well is it a meat lasagna because I’m?—”
“Vegetarian, I know. I made it without meat.” I move to the kitchen to pull the garlic bread from the oven before it burns and honestly, just to have something to do other than stand awkwardly in my open concept apartment that suddenly feels too big, with a sister I barely know.
“So this is your place, huh.” It’s not a question. It feels like it has some underlying bitterness to it, but I try to brush it off as I throw together a small salad.
“Uh yeah, I get a good deal on rent because the owners of the tattoo shop below are like…” I feel my cheeks heat for some reason. Ellora turns from her slow perusal around the perimeter of my space, like she’s checking for exits.
“Yeah, I figured. You can say the wordfamilyaround me, you know. Even if it’s notmeyou’re talking about.” The words are meant to be kind, I think, but as she runs her tongue over teeth I know to tread carefully. Ellora has always had this fierceness to her. Fiercely loyal to our parents. Fiercely volatile with her substance abuse. Fiercely stubborn.
I cut us each heaping squares of gooey lasagna, adding the garlic bread and side salad to our plates. I watch as she silently comes to stand on the other side of the small island between us. It’s less than three feet but feels more like an ocean. This space between us…I don’t even know where to begin to bridge. I grab a Coke and some lime wedges, pouring a glass for her and setting it between us.
She looks down at it, then up to me. A twitch of a smile pulls one side of her maroon-painted mouth. “Thanks.”
I smile back, hoping that the drink is a good ice breaker. “So do you want to eat here at the island, or on the couch?”
“What, no table?” She glances around confused, realizing I don’t, in fact, have a dinner table.
I shrug. “Never needed one.”
Kitchen tables were meant for happy gatherings. Families coming together, making memories, blowing out birthday candles, talking about your day over a home cooked meal. Neither of us had that.
Her gaze shoots up to me, something like commiseration flashing across her face before she gestures to the couch. “There is fine.”
We eat without any small talk, the sounds of our soft chewing filling the awkward air between us. Ellora finishes up the last bite of her lasagna, drains her drink and sets her plate aside on the coffee table, raising her eyebrows in mild shock as she brushes crumbs from her hands.
“So I guess all that cooking did you some good. That was actually really tasty, Dom,” she says, tucking her legs beneath her and smoothing out her skirt. “I wonder what I would have been good at if I had picked up a hobby instead of drugs.”
I feel my body jolt back subconsciously. She says it so casually but the tension in the air ramps up, making me chew my lip and wonder how the hell to respond to that.
“Um, Lor, I?—”
“It’s fine. I know. Sometimes I just say shocking shit and no one knows how to respond. It’s fine. I meant that sincerely though. The food was probably the best I’ve ever had and you would be a total fucking dick wad idiot not to pursue it further.”
It wasn’t the most eloquent sentence, but it was a lot coming from her. Especially directed at me.
“I haven’t seen them, but I’m sure your work on theatre costumes is great. They wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t,” I offer dumbly in return.
“Dellie wants to get tickets to every show I work on.” She fidgets with her fingers, eyes downcast and smiling to herself. Seeing the joy she has from her relationship makes a relaxing breath shoot out of me, easing the tension I’ve been holding. Ellora’s here. She’s trying.
“Well, I’m open to going,” I say genuinely. Progress, slow and steady.
“I want you to come see Mom and Dad,” she says abruptly, eyes narrowed on me after dropping that bomb.
“What are you talking about?” I ask stiffly, wondering where the hell that came from and mentally hitting the brakes on progress.
“They’re getting sober. They’re trying, Dominic. And I know they’d really like to see you.”
I close my eyes and push my palms into them absolutely not wanting to have this fucking conversation again. “Some people don’t change. I have no interest in seeing them, ever again.”
