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I was the bad mistake.
Elle was a mistake too. My parents were still too broke to raise even me by the time she was conceived. But from the day she was born till the day that she died, she was perfect. She never talked back, rolled her eyes or slammed the doors. She minded her own business but came running if you called her, smiling at everything and everyone. And I hated that. I hated her for proving that my parents were in fact capable of love – they just had none for me. I resented her for making me realize that I did want my mom’s attention.
It wasn’t till I was seventeen that I even started liking Elle. But shortly after, she was diagnosed with leukemia. The bright little girl who was friends with every kid in class, who planted tulips for our widowed neighbor every spring, was suddenly weighed down by sickness and stripped of the childhood she’d have flourished in.
For her, I stopped doing all my terrible shit. I stopped stealing pills. I stopped taking them. I stopped sneaking into college parties just to flirt with boys and pocket their phones. I stopped being pissed about how poor we were and realized that no amount of hocking stolen goods would pay for chemo, or the time my parents would have to take off of work to care for Elle. So I got a job and went to college. I wanted to be a teacher because Elle dreamed of going to school. I helped my mom with bills and did whatever she asked. And the cancer went away. When it did, my mom was done speaking to me again, but that was fine. Elle still FaceTimed me every night so at least my dad would sometimes wave in the background. And by now, I had my students to adore, to shower with the love and attention I wished I could give Elle every day.
“You had their pictures in your wallet,” Abram murmured. I blinked.
“I did,” I realized softly, remembering the school portraits and notes from my favorite students. There were half a dozen shoved into the part of my wallet that most people kept their bills. “I loved them,” I said, a flood of memories suddenly filling my head with full names, birthdates, favorite colors and foods. Silly stories about what the class hamster probably dreamt about at night. I laughed quietly.
Abram glanced at my expression and smiled. “I’d teach if I was cut for it,” he said to my surprise. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
I hadn’t considered it till now. “I think so,” I replied. Back at the school, my class had become my life – the kids my kids, their parents my parents. They were the substitute family I had in Elle’s remission and I would happily sacrifice my mother’s love for my sister’s health.
Not that we didn’t become a family again, when the cancer returned a few years ago. My mom started calling again, picking me up to go to the hospital. When it became clear that Elle was struggling to hold on, she took my emotional support. She even held my hand one night, for an entire hour.
But then Elle died, we were all a mess and my mother cruelly blamed me.
She reminded me of the job she’d been fired from for being too dazed at the office, distracted by the worry I put her through as such a bad child. If she’d never been fired from that job, she would’ve climbed the ranks over the years and been paid enough to get Elle the best doctors in the country. Everything would have been different if I hadn’t been expelled that week when Percocets fell out of my bag. “I could’ve done more for her but you wasted my energy. I wish He took you instead but who can blame him for wanting Elle.”
The last words she spoke to me.
They pierced my heart again when I said them aloud in the car – the explanation Abram had asked for. He was quiet for a solid minute when I finally finished. I noticed his grip on the wheel had changed over the course of my story. When he started, it was a lazy forearm draped over the top. Now, his long fingers were wrapped tight around the leather. “I’m sure you know it wasn’t your fault,” he finally said.
“I do,” I replied, trying to sound light. I did know that. But it didn’t stop me from wishing that I could’ve died instead. It didn’t stop me from picturing the girl Elle fantasized about being, and how that girl would’ve grown into a wonderful woman that the world deserved to meet. She would’ve gotten a job to serve others, loved all the right people and made differences I never could. My mom actually hadn’t been wrong. Between the two of us, it should have been me. Elle was just a better person. So I considered a morbid fantasy of killing myself to bring her back. Pills would be appropriate but my mind always gave me a gun. I figured if I prayed to the universe hard enough, it could happen – she’d return or at least reincarnate somewhere close to my parents. And if she didn’t, well, at least I wouldn’t be around to know.
Those were my dark thoughts. They came less frequently these days so I tried to give Abram the censored version, leaving out the suicide part so he wouldn’t think I was crazy. Still, when I was done, he wore a deep frown on that torturously handsome face. “Everyone changes as they get older,” he said. “She would’ve grown up to be just as good a person as she was before she died, but she would’ve made mistakes too. We just idealize people who went too early. I know.”
I saw the glint of pain in Abram’s eyes – the way he quickly furrowed his brows to get rid of whatever thought he was having. I wanted to ask him then about his brother but suddenly, my phone rang. Startled, I answered the call just to stop it from buzzing. “Hello?”
“Isla?”
Damn it. Holly. “Hi.” My stiff tone had Abram eyeing me.
“Isla. Hi. Um… are you in Long Island? Your mom just called me asking if it was me who was with you. At the cemetery.” She went on befor
e I could answer. “Isla, if you’re here you might as well meet me. We clearly have a lot to talk about and I do have your jacket. Evan gave it to me to give to you.”
I winced at the sound of his name off her lips. “I don’t know if now’s the best time – ”
“If you’re at the cemetery, you’re twenty minutes from my house. You’re already here, Isla, just come meet me at our usual place. Please. I know you think you hate me right now but I also know you’re alone and that you need your best friend. If for nothing else, you should want to meet me for the jacket. Don’t pretend you don’t want it back.”
I did. I hated that it was in Holly’s possession. The fact that she and Evan had touched it made my skin crawl because I had planned on putting it on Elle’s grave today. Through my silence, Holly heaved a sigh that hurt my ear.
“Isla, I know you’re upset about your life right now but I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to ask that you – ”
“Holly.” I stopped her before she could say something to change my mind. “I’ll meet you. I’m coming now.”
When I hung up, I stared out my window. Abram let me stew for a minute of silence. “Where are we going?” he finally asked. I gave him directions and on the way over, I explained every last thing about Evan and Holly.
chapter fourteen
I met Holly at Lillian’s, an overpriced wine bar in our little hometown. She was wearing her sunglasses at the bar, despite the fact that she was indoors and it was getting dark out. The place was casual but she wore a jeweled cocktail dress and platform heels. I spotted my bomber jacket tossed haphazardly onto the bar stool next to her, half dragging on the floor. My heart pounded furiously at the sight but I clenched my teeth and made myself calm down. Abram was waiting for me in the car and despite the fact that he was on the phone, I knew he had an eye on me at all times. I didn’t want him to see me looking like an instant mess, so I took a deep breath and approached the bar.
“You look beautiful,” Holly breathed the second she saw me. It felt insincere but maybe it was the sunglasses. They didn’t come off until we’d ordered drinks – a gin and tonic for me, a Cosmo for her. “Oh, and bartender, one more,” she wiggled her ringed hand at him. “A vodka Red Bull, too, please.”
I froze, cocking my head. “Why are you ordering Evan’s drink?” I asked slowly, dread building in my stomach.
