Breathe in. Breathe out. “What the hell, Winona?”
“What?”
“It’s been more than six months, and you didn’t think to call me a single time? And don’t tell me any bullshit about not having my number because you could’ve easily got it from Dad. And why the fuck did you leave in the first place? I know you and Mum fought all the time, but how could you just go without telling me or even saying goodbye? I know you don’t talk to Mum, and it’s to punish her in some twisted way, but why didn’t you talk to me? Why do I deserve the silent treatment, too? You can’t just leave and go about your life like your family doesn’t exist. Do you know how hellish living at home has been? We moved to regional Victoria, did you know that? To some random town. And now that I think about it, I’m so mad at you becauseyou deserved to be expelled. You deserved Mum getting angry at you because all you ever did was wind her up and act out. You’re a bitch. You’re actually a bitch.” I’m running out of air, and my voice goes small and defeated. “How the fuck could you just leave like that?”
Winona doesn’t reply for a long while. Then: “I know you’re serious because you almost never swear.”
A choked sob escapes me. “Don’t joke about this.”
Her next words are soft. Guilty. “Sorry.”
I inhale deeply through my nose. I’m not sniffling. I’mnot.
It was a good idea to come out to the park. I was yelling at one point and I’m glad no one was around to hear.
“You’re right, Jude,” Winona says. “I have done a lot of stupid things, and I purposely did destructive stuff to piss off Mum. And I wish I could say I’ve done all this reflection and have become a better person, but I don’t think that’s the case. That’s a big part of why I haven’t called. It’s better just to avoid thinking about it, you know? Pretend it never happened. Because then I’ll have to actually admit to myself that….that I am a bitch and a terrible sister and a terrible daughter and that I suffered through almost thirteen years of schooling just to screw things up at the last minute, so now I don’t even have my diploma.”
“Can’t finish high school online?”
“Yeah. Maybe. One day,” Winona says. “Um, anyway. I know it sounds like I’m making a million excuses, but I’m not. I know I’ve been shitty. I just don’t like thinking about it because it makes me hate myself. And I know I should, like, do something. Like go to a therapist or whatever. Which I will when I get rich from my manicure-slash-lash-extensions business. But for now, um.”
“What?” I ask when she doesn’t continue.
“I’d like to hear about your life.” She says it in the same small voice she used when telling me she ate the last Paddle Pop in the fridge or the time she accidentally sat on my Lego rocket ship that took me six hours to build.
I kind of want to laugh. Then I end up weeping because the wind has picked up alot,targeting my eyes and making them water. I tell her about Easton Grammar and R and Aaron and the party. And when we were younger, it used to drive me insane that Winona was reluctant to give me advice, but now I appreciate it because it’s nice to have someone — to have my older sister — just listen.
19
Aaron: A Movie By Its Trailer
Earlier this week, I was pleased when Mum gave me a day off on Saturday to relax after Mimi’s party. Now I wish I did have work because at least it would be a distraction.
The house is empty since Mum and Dad are at the shop. I wish they were here, wish there was some noise, at least, instead of dead silence. I turn on the TV for some background noise and sit on the couch, eating leftover lasagna as I watch a football game, barely paying attention to it. I pick up my phone, open my email app, and then put my phone down again. I’ve done that about a hundred times today. Every time I think about emailing Jude,I’m sorry,orcan we talk?I convince myself otherwise. I should give him space. Let him have some time for everything to settle. Then I’ll try to explain. I so desperately want to make him understand, to fix things. I want to be together like we were before, but if he doesn’t want me, Aaron Wynn, then I have to accept that.
Honestly, I don’t expect him to want me, but I don’t want him to despise me. I want him to understand my motives. To see that I wasn’t intentionally cruel.
The doorbell rings. I wearily get up and peek through the living room window. It’s Ethan.
He rings the doorbell again. “I know you’re home, Aaron,” he calls out. “Your parents said so.”
Well, shit.
I drag myself to the front door and open it. Ethan stands there, wearing trackies and a puffer jacket. His arms are crossed — he must be cold in the wind — and I feel a twinge of guilt for leaving him outside for so long.
“Hi,” I say. “Come in.”
He does, and I close the door behind him. We stand there for a moment, neither of us saying anything.
“You want anything to eat or drink?” I ask.
“You have any coke?”
“No. I’ve told you, my parents never buy it because they think it rots your teeth. And you still ask every time.”
“Sorry,” he replies with a grin. “I’ll have water then.”
I lead him to the kitchen and give him a glass of water. Unbidden, the memory of Jude at Ethan's house, searching for cold water, comes to me. Everything was different back then. I hadn’t met him in the closet yet.
