That’s a good word to ponder. What is trust? I’m not talking philosophically, either. I mean, what is trust, and how vital is honesty in a romantic relationship?
Rhetorical questions aside, I’m drawn out of my thoughts by Sam, who says in a gruff voice, “Open up, Colette.”
My sliding door isn’t locked. But I’m not about to tell them that. Instead, I yell, “Go away.”
My sisters aren’t deterred. Why would they be? Nothing discourages them from their goals, especially when they work as a unit.
The unknown element is Sam. What could he possibly gain from joining forces with them? I certainly see what my sisters get out of the deal. Since they’ve been standing there, Carla hasn’t taken her eyes off the man as Connie reaches for the handle of the sliding door. She appears to be the most determined to breach my home.
“I mean it, Colette. Open this door.”
See what I mean? She’s like a dog with a bone.
“No.” I shake my head. And instead of waiting around for them to try the door, I saunter … that’s right. I saunter toward my bedroom like I own the place.
I don’t. I rent, as I mentioned earlier.
I’m two, maybe three steps from my bedroom when I hear the telltale sign of the sliding patio door opening.
“Colette. Get your ass in here right now.”
God. I’m sick and tired of them telling me what to do all the time. No matter, I turn and walk back into the living room. The three of them are standing near my desk with their hands on their waists. All of them. Like they’reCharlie’s Angelsor something.
Trust me, not a one of them looks like Farrah Faucet. I’d say Connie looks a bit like Kate Jackson with about twenty pounds added. But that’s as close as they’re gonna get. Behind them stands Sam. I guess in this little scenario, he’d be Charlie.
Except he doesn’t enter my place. Instead, he turns and takes the three steps down off my deck. Before he disappears from my view, he glances back at me. His expression is solemn and for some reason, I feel it right smack dab in the middle of my chest.
Looking back at the threesome, I place my hands on my hips to mimic them, I ask, “What?”
“You look like shit.” Candy looks around my place and scrunches up her face. It’s not a good look. “It stinks in here, too.”
“Gee, thanks, Candy.” I roll my eyes, but the comment bites still.
Carla asks, “Where have you been? Dad’s been asking for you.”
I look down at my feet. “I’ve spoken to him.” I called him yesterday. He was too tired to talk for long, but I had to check in.
I’m not a monster.
“You need to visit him. He just had heart surgery, for fuck’s sake.” Why is Candy so angry with me?
“I will.” I just don’t know when. “Seriously. I’ve been sick.”
The room is silent for several painful minutes. With a dramatic sigh, Candy pulls out my little desk chair and sits. “It’s too bad you don’t have grown-up furniture in this place. We couldallsit down and talk this out.”
I point to the loveseat in my living room. “Seating for two more right there.” And I can’t believe I’ve just invited them to sit.
“The thing is, sweetie,” Connie says as she takes one of the two seats on the little couch. “Candy’s right—”
Of course she is.
“—it’s time you stopped making everything aboutyou.”
Where did that come from? I don’t think I make everything about me.
“We let you get away with that for too long. I mean, when Chris died…” Candy stopped talking and looked at my other two sisters. When her eyes meet mine, they get small and angry. “Ever since Chris died … well, we’ve tiptoed around your feelings.”
“That’s ridiculous.” And hopefully untrue.
