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“Fuck it, have some candy,” Denise interrupts and I stare at her with wide eyes. We both agreed not to swear in front of our children, a feat that’s hard to accomplish most days, but I’ve slipped up more than Denise has.
The girls rush inside and when I hear something fall, followed by Penny yelling that everything’s okay, I wonder what the hell Denise is about to harass me about.
“I heard from Peter,” she starts, and I sigh as I plop down on one of the patio chairs. How could he snitch on me? “He said you guys got into an argument and he needs to cool off. But he wanted me to come check on you and the girls to make sure everything is okay.”
Maybe he hadn’t snitched.
“But in all the years I’ve known Peter, I’ve never even heard the man raise his voice. So, I’m here to find out what the fuck is going on.”
Maybe my sister is just a nosey bitch.
She sits on the chair across from me, crossing her legs and leaning to the side, as if she’s waiting on me to speak. And, hell, if I’m already telling Miley and Peter, I owe it to the one person who’s been my partner for the largest part of my life.
But she isn’t like Miley.
She isn’t going to brush it off with jokes about hot sex. She’s going to wonder why I never told her. And how can I say that I was too busy trying to save us to be the sister she wanted me to be. I was too busy trying to be strong and perfect and unaffected. And in doing that, I missed out on the opportunity to bond with my sister over something that likely would’ve brought us closer?
How can I blame her troubled past, her miscarriage, on why I couldn’t be honest about my pregnancy?
So, I start where I can, right at the innocent beginning. I take my time through the sinful middle and make my way to the sordid ending.
All while I tell her, I try to gauge her reactions. But sometime in the last few years, maybe since becoming a mother, she’d finetuned her poker face to rival my own.
Reliving these moments through sharing with her, without her interrupting me, I’m able to dissect my own journey. I’m able to see my mistakes as well as his. I’m able to acknowledge that though our time was short, it was more than impactful. It shaped me as a woman.
The thought of our time together is a balm on every bad day; a memory of a time when I felt freest.
When the recollection is done and I’ve said all I can say, I expect words from her, even questions.
Denise was mistakenly under the impression that I’d never experienced heartbreak and therefor couldn’t tell her shit about Gavin.
I’m more intimate with heartbreak than she’d ever know. It’s been in my bed as I slept, lathering up against my skin in the shower, and embracing me as I have a morning cup of coffee.
Now that she knows this, will she think of me differently?
She uncrosses her legs and leans forward, pushing her hands through her hair and staring at her feet.
I almost wonder if I broke her. But then she finally speaks.
“You need to talk to Abraham,” Denise whispers, looking up at me, her body still bowed. I see the strain in her eyes, the hurt.
But she’s wrong.
The person I need to speak to is Peter.
