Candy makes a scoffing sound. “You acted like you were the only one who lost him. Mom and Dad lost their son. We lost our brother, too. Hell, Mom and Dad didn’t even have time to mourn because you demanded everyone’s attention.”
“He was mytwin.” Christ. And they weren’t even living at home. All three of them were already married. Candy and Connie had children of their own. It was just me and Chris. It was just the two of us.
“You weren’t the only one who lost him that night, Colette. He wasourbrother, too,” Carla repeats Candy’s earlier comment.
“I know.”
It’s Connie’s turn to add fuel to the fire. “That’s why we were afraid to tell you about Mom and Dad. We knew you’d react this way.”
“And what way is that?”
Candy seems to be the harshest, especially when she answers my question with, “Like a petulant child.”
A petulant child?Is she serious?
“To be completely honest with you, dearest.” Carla’s looking at me so seriously, those two lines between her eyes look about two inches deep. “What happened between Mom and Dad is none of your business.”
She didnotjust say that. “But it’syours?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s why we’ve known for all these years and haven’t told you. It wasn’t our place because it has nothing to do withuseither.”
Don’t you just love how they’re such a cohesive unit? They’re all “us” and I’m just me. It’s the way it’s always been. Except, I used to be part of an “us.” But my partner in crime is gone.
Feeling sad and defeated, I drop my hands to my sides. “You’ve all had years to process all of this. I’ve had less than a week. I just need time—”
“Dad doesn’t have time,” Candy says, angrily. “I, for one, am sick and tired of the Colette Show.”
“The Colette Show?”
“We bend over backwards for you. We’ve tried our hardest to help you navigate life, but I’m done.” Candy stands up from my little desk chair. “Get over yourself.”
Get over myself…?
I’m not sure how to accomplish that rather abstract concept, so I’ll have to think about it. Alone. “Well, this has been great. You can all see yourselves out.” I turn on my heel and march to my bedroom. Shutting the door, I twist the lock on the knob and crawl into bed. My sisters’ voices can be heard through the door, but it’s mumbled, which is good because I’m positive I don’t want to hear what they’re saying about me.
I’ve heard enough for one day.
****
By day six of my self-imposed sick bed, I feel better. A lot better. And not just about the flu. I’ve given thought to the things my sisters said. Don’t get me wrong, I fumed for a good twenty-four hours after they left. Then, on one trip out to the kitchen for something to eat, I grabbed one of our family photo albums from the shelf and took it back to bed with me. The cover creaked as I opened it to photos of Chris and me on the day we were born. I laughed at the image. God, we were ugly.
Leafing past that page, the next few were filled with Mom, Dad, Candy, Connie, and Carla taking turns holding each of us. They all looked so happy. There wasn’t a frown in the bunch. I watched Chris and I grow a little bit more on each new page. The one constant was how happy everyone used to be. Even Candy. Hell, she seemed to be the happiest especially when she was holding one of us.
Except, when I leaned in and really examined the pictures, she was almost always holding Chris.
Don’t worry, I’m not hurt by that. Chris was an awesome baby. According to mom, he was always smiling and giggling which doesn’t surprise me because even as a teen, my brother was a happy guy.
On the second to last page, I pull out a birthday card that I’ve seen a million times. It’s from Candy to Chris on our seventh birthday. I remember the day Chris stuck the card into this book. When I asked him why he wanted to keep that card, he just shrugged and said, “It’s cool. I like it.”
Carefully, I open it. Inside, it says, “Chris––I hope you have a wild birthday!” But that’s not the part I focus on. It’s what she wrote below that. Line that catches not only my attention, but my breath.
“Chris. I hope you know how much I love and adore you—you little monster. Before you came, my life was ordinary. You make everything better and I can’t wait to watch you grow to see what you’ll become. Perhaps you’ll finally achieve your dream of becoming a real tiger. Love you sooooo much, squirt. Candy”
I laugh at her reference to Chris becoming a tiger. When we graduated from preschool, our teacher took our picture in a red cap and gown like a real graduate. She had us hold up signs that said, “When I grow up, I want to be:” Mine said “I want to be: a cash register lady.” (Don’t ask.) Chris’s said: “When I grow up, I want to be: a tiger.”
God, we laughed and laughed about that.
Even now, it cracks me up.
