Sin
Slippery
“When did you become such a dark horse?” My mother’s question is like a clap of thunder that comes right before rain clouds move in and block out the sun.
I didn’t see it coming. I’d been nursing a pot of lamb stew and listening to one of the three audiobooks I had on rotation.
“A dark horse?” I keep my voice conversational and my eyes on the pot of simmering stew I’m stirring and savor the last few moments of the peace I brokered with white lies.
“Don’t play coy with me.” The reproach is accompanied by a smack on the back of my arm.
I scowl at her. In my head, of course.
I may keep secrets from my mother like it’s my job but being disrespectful to her face? That’s rebelling a little too close to the sun for even me. “I’m not playing coy. I don’t know what you mean. I’m just making my mom’s favorite stew.” I keep my gaze trained on the stove while my mind spins with the half dozen things I’ve kept from her and which one she’s likely to have guessed.
“Your sister told us everything. We areverydisappointed. To say the least.”
I close my eyes briefly and swallow my groan of irritation. I shouldhave known. “I’m sorry, Mom.” I apologize despite not knowing which one of my sins I’m taking responsibility for.
“We need you to join us in your father’s study. Now.” She adds that last part with a wide-eyed look of challenge before she leaves the kitchen without another word. I’m almost forty years old, financially independent, with full agency over my life and I don’t want to have this conversation with my parents or anyone. But none of that overrides the fact that I am their daughter and that in this house, their word is law.
I turn the fire off because if I burn this stew, it will add insult to injury.
I pushed a lot of their boundaries in my young adult years but always colored inside the lines. They wanted me to study medicine. I chose to double major in English and History, but I did it at Princeton so they still had plenty to brag about in the letters they sent to family back home.
When I decided to forgo grad school altogether and took a job as a staff writer, I chose the most prestigious newspaper to work for. One that conferred credibility and meant success.
They’d been skeptical about my recent career move and what my return to DC would mean for the rest of my life in New York, and I wasn’t ready to have that conversation with them.
I’ve only been atThe Spectatorfor three months and was hoping I’d have more time to figure out how I felt about my new life before I told them everything.
My sister is sitting at the foot of the stairs when I walk past them on my way to the study where my judge and jury are waiting.
She reaches for my hand and draws me to a stop.
I yank my hand away and glare at her. “You’re on my shit list, Mae,” I whisper, furiously.
“I’m sorry, Sin. I didn’t mean to tell her. It just slipped out. I don’t know why you told me anyway. YouknowI can’t keep a secret. Don’t be mad at me, please?” She pleads with those puppy-dog eyes that get her out of everything and I sigh. “Just tell me what they know,” I say in a low voice.
Not that it matters. Whether she told them one of my secrets or all, my parents are going to have a lot to say.
She blinks up at me, her eyes sorrowful as if she’s the one in trouble. “It was just what you told me that night I found you crying in the bathroom,” she whispers.
“I told you a lot of things that night. Be specific,” I snap.
Her brows furrow and her eyes move away. “Let’s see, you told me you and Stephen broke up.” She flinches at my glare.
“I’m sorry, Sin.” She grabs my hand again and squeezes it when I try to pull away. “She was grilling me about something two minutes after I woke up. I was confused, and it slipped out. I didn’t tell her you said you’re never getting back together because you’d rather be alone than settle for less. Also, you’re not sorry that you’re a cheater because that man made you come six times, and Stephen never could,” she says, her eyes growing wider with each word as if she was shocked to hear herself speaking them.
I close my eyes. “I told you all ofthat?” I swear off alcohol in that very moment. It makes me do stupid things.
“Yeah. I don’t judge you or—”
“Arsinoé Sackey, we are waiting,” my mother’s voice booms down the hall.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, pleading eyes wide.
I roll my eyes.
