AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When she had relieved herself of a long night’s worth of cranberry vodkas, I helped her back down to the asphalt. “You’re insane,” I informed her. “Absolutely clinical.”
“And yet you love me. What does that say about you?”
“Nothing good,” I muttered.
“Shut up. Say it. Say you love me.” She made kissy faces at me and, when I refused, she tickled me in the spot under my ribs that I’d hated since we were little.
“Fine! Fine! I love you!” I shrieked.
Only then did she relent.
“Good. I love you, too, Em. You’re the stars to my moon. Never forget that.”
Then, just for good measure, she mooned me. We laughed—her laugh and mine, two sides of the same coin, filtering up and out into the night beyond.
I never imagined a life without her. I never thought I’d have to.
* * *
I’m not Sienna; I’m not going to pee on Ruslan’s fifty-thousand dollar couch. And, as of three years, six months, and four days ago, she’s not here to do it for me.
With a sigh, I turn and slump out.
It’s a long subway ride from gleaming Midtown to my dirty, cramped apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen. When I get there, it’s a long walk up the four flights of stairs because, of course, the elevator is broken yet again. I’m almost literally sexually aroused at the prospect of a REM cycle—but when I open the door, I realize with a molar-grinding horror that sleep is a long way away.
My apartment is an absolute disaster.
Beer bottles are scattered everywhere. The kids’ clothes are mildewing in the wash. The kitchen sink is stacked high with dirty plates.
I don’t have to look far to find the culprit. Ben, my sister’s widower, is passed out in the corner armchair. A half-finished cigarette dangles from between his fingertips and the other hand is clutching the dregs of a lukewarm Bud Light. I march over and pluck both from him, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray and hurling the beer into the recycling bin. He startles for a second before sinking right back into an open-mouthed snore.
Ben.The bane of my existence, no pun intended. There’s a reason he’s not on the lock screen of my phone. A reason I try not to think about him whenever I can help it.
He took Sienna’s death hard. That’s no surprise; we all did. When someone is that bright of a personality, it’s hard not to feel like you’re living in the shadows once they’re gone.
But the kids and I have soldiered on, no matter how much it hurts.
Ben, on the other hand, is wallowing in the mud. He was fired from his job, so now, all he does is drink and smoke and mutter to himself around the clock—which he doeshere, since he couldn’t afford the mortgage on their house with no income. When he deigns to parent his own children, he does it like a fairytale ogre, all spit-flecked bellowing and flying off the handle at the least little thing. He made Reagan cry the other day because her scrunchie snapped while he was trying to do a ponytail for her. As if that washerfault.
I keep telling myself to have grace. He’s going through a dark time. He’ll come out of it.
At least, I hope he will. Truth is, I was never a huge fan of his in the first place. I found ways to tolerate him for Sienna’s sake, because there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for my sister.
Without her, though… it’s harder.
I shake my head. It’s not good to let myself dwell on these ruts. Nothing good will come of wondering why this is the hand I’ve been dealt. I just have to do the work. Silently and unthanked, sure. But the world isn’t built to be kind to people like me.
So I drop my purse, roll up my sleeves, and do what I can to make it kind to people like Josh, Caroline, and Reagan.
Beer bottles go in the trash. Clothes go in the dryer. Dishes get scrubbed and toweled and put back in the cabinets, and little by little, the mess dwindles. In the corner, the clock hand ticks past 1:00 AM. I need to be back at Bane by quarter to six. With crosstown traffic, that means I’m looking at three hours of sleep max before I have to be up and running again.
By the time I finish, 1:00 AM has become 2:30. I zombie-walk my way down the hall. My room beckons, but before I can succumb to sleep, I have to check on the littles.
The girls’ room is the first one on the right. I open the door and peek in.
Caroline is asleep on the top bunk. Her hand is dangling down, so I tiptoe across the thrifted pink shag rug and tuck it back up on the mattress so the monsters won’t get it. I pause and listen, but her breathing is practically imperceptible when she’s K.O.’d. The first night I had her under my roof, I was terrified that she’d died in my care.
When I’m satisfied she’s comfortable, I crouch down to peer at Reagan. Her hair has fallen over her eyes. I smooth it away. Unlike Caroline, she’s a snorer. She’s got a realhonk-shoo-honk-shoo-mimimipattern to her sleep breathing, like one of Snow White’s dwarves. My little angel. Those cherry apple cheeks are so pinchable. Just like Sienna’s.
