“She was still yelling about it at the hospital today. ‘Don’t touch my goddamn letters.’ Who knows? Maybe they’re love letters from twenty-five years ago from my father who loved her so damn much that he abandoned us,” she said dryly, shaking her head.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Liv,” I said, meeting her gaze as it shyly lifted back up to mine.
“Kind of used to it,” she whispered. Then, she gave a little gasp. “I’m sorry about what you’re going through, never mind my mother’s stupid choices in life.”
“Rather not discuss it,” I said, grinding my teeth.
Her gaze once again dropped to her feet, and she nodded her head, “Yeah, I understand.”
No, she didn’t. Nobody did.
“I wouldn’t even know what to say if you did want to talk about it,” she sighed, and looked back into my eyes. So innocent and wide, unblinking. “I really think that there are just some situations where the right words just haven’t been invented yet. Grief is too small a word for what you’re going through.”
Quickly, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m so sorry that he’s gone.”
Her words, her warmth, her actions grabbed at my windpipe and squeezed. Her body melted around me. Instantly, my eyes closed. Soft, gentle, her body embraced me—the thunderous drumming of her heart—pounding fast against mine.
I needed to step back, step back—untangle from her body—and change the subject before I embarrassed myself.
But I held on for one small eternity longer, breathing her in.
She slowly let go first, pulling away with a sad smile.
“So, your mom?” I asked, voice cracking
“My mother is my mother,” she said, raising her shoulders.
“I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve never seen that woman act like a mother to you.” My words make her look away quickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that…it’s not right. I’m not in a good frame of mind to—”
“No worries,” she smiled. “I completely agree with you. There’s just nothing I can do about it.”
“Here, let me help you drag this thing in,” I offered, pointing to the mattress. Before she could refuse my help, I hauled up a corner and tried to actually smile at her. “Come on, it’ll be quicker than you wrestling the damn thing all day.”
Together, we easily pushed it through the front door and dragged it up the steps to the second floor. The house smelled sterile—bleach on top of bleach, stinging my eyes.
By the time we were done, both of us were full of sweat and gulping back icy bottled water in the kitchen with bright, red, teary eyes. “You need to open all the windows in here,” I said, lifting the kitchen window and watching the screen bust open in my hand, “Oh damn.”
“Yeah, this house seems to be held together with tape and despair. It’s okay,” she said, her voice sharp.
I breathed in the cold breeze and eyed a stack of crumpled papers on the countertop. “Hey, are those the papers you’re not supposed to touch?” They didn’t look like anything important. Maybe they were coupons for more booze.
She glanced over at the counter and rolled her eyes. “Probably, I’ve been too busy trying to rid the house of the smell of piss and whiskey. I haven’t even looked.” She sat down on one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table. Its fake leather cushion was ripped along all the sides, and when her weight pressed down, white stuffing fell out of it. Another flush of color spread from her collar to her cheeks when she noticed. She recovered quickly with a deep breath and a polite smile.
“So, where’d did you run off to after college? Or before college? I don’t even remember when you left,” I asked, trying to change the subject to something more general.
“Wow, great impression I made on you,” she chuckled as the color in her cheeks deepened again.My God her skin told all her secrets.
“You were five years younger than me. When I went to college you were, what thirteen? It would have been illegal for me to be impressed by you,” I said, casually. I knew where she went though. I always asked my sister about her. She’d been part of my family, and I cared for her.
“Yeah, I know,” she murmured, looking down at her hands before clearing her throat. I went away to the University of Vermont and then, I just stayed there.” She stood up again and dumped her empty water bottle in a clear bag in the corner. My eyes followed her to find at least a dozen of those recycling bags filled with empty liquor bottles
“Wow,” I said, pointing to the bags.
“I had to empty a lot of them. She didn’t drink all that,” she said quickly. She was still trying to make the situation not as bad as it seemed.
“You know if she did, Liv, that’s not your fault. It was her choice.”
“Yeah, I keep telling myself that,” she said softly, folding her arms across her chest. She tilted her head and sighed, “Look at us, both stuck in a horrible place, because of other people’s shitty choices.” She glanced at me without an ounce of pity in her eyes, just a strange understanding. “I did keep a few unopened bottles of wine though, want to have a glass?”
