“What a fucking asshole,” Cori whispers as she watches the same scene. “I don’t know what your sister sees in that guy. And his mother is such a bitch.”
“Where do you think he gets it from?” I scan the yard, and don’t see his mother anywhere. “She thinks she’s better than us, and so does her stupid ass son.”
Soon, I hear footsteps. Sylvie joins us and leans against the railing. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself.
“Why are you three hiding up here?” she asks. Then, she sighs. I can’t see her face, but I bet she rolled her eyes, too. “You guys still haven’t grown up.”
I don’t respond, and neither do my friends.
“I thought since you ran away to the big city, you would have matured by now, Eden. Isn’t that what you said? That you needed to grow. Yet here you are. Back to the small pond you couldn’t wait to leave.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I hear Selene whisper under her breath.
“What is your point?” I ask. She’s made snide comments like this over the years when I visited, but after the first few times, I decided not to engage with my sister. I love her, but she’s challenging to be around.
“And Mom says you’re buying a house here. I guess that means the big city wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Hey, how’s Gavin?” There’s a smugness in her voice with the last question.
“I said I never wanted to be stuck here,” I respond.
“Yeah. Like with an asshole husband and a bunch of kids,” Cori says with a dismissive snort. My sister and Cori have never gotten along, and that started the first time Cori came over for a playdate and Sylvie tried to boss us around.
Sylvie flares her nostrils at Cori’s words. Crossing her arms, she turns away.
“Why aren’t you down there enjoying Micah’s big day?”Please get the hell away from us, I think to myself.
“He’s napping. I just put him in the crib.” The crib in my old bedroom, instead of hers. “You never answered me about Gavin.”
“I don’t know how he is, Sylvie, nor do I care. We broke up months ago.”
“Well, it must be nice just to walk away. When you’re married with kids, you can’t do that so easily.” Her voice is still hostile and a bit accusatory, but for the first time in a long time, I hear something else in it. I hear a bit of wistfulness.
“Thankfully, we weren’t married. And you’re right. I was able to leave and not look back. I suppose people who choose to get married aren’t always free to leave, but that’s a choice they make. We all get to choose how we live our lives.”
“My aunt was married with five kids and left her lying, cheating ass husband,” Selene says. “You know who tried to talk her out of it, Eden?” I already know the answer. “Her brother, who so happens to be my father, the reverend. He told her how she had to sacrifice and that God had called on her to be his wife and the mother of his children, and how he was a weak man, and she had to be the strong one.”
I roll my eyes, and Cori throws two middle fingers up.
“Well, it takes a strong woman and sacrifice to be a wife,” Sylvie says.
“My aunt cussed him out good and asked why God can’t call on her husband to be faithful and to hold down a job. Why is it always up to the woman to sacrifice and take disrespect? I’ve never seen my father struck speechless before. She told him he and her husband could kiss her ass, and she filed for divorce.” Selene chuckles at the memory. “Aunt Lydia is my favorite person in my family. Her kids are grown now, and she’s remarried to the sweetest guy. Her ex-husband blames her for everything.”
“I don’t know how his going to prison for fraud was Lydia’s fault, but whatever,” Cori says.
“My dad says that when she left him, his life spiraled, and if she had shown him more grace, that—”
“Please, don’t make me puke,” Cori says.
“Well, we can’t all be selfish all the time,” Sylvie says.
“What is selfish about leaving a man who cheats on you?” Selene asks, but my sister has no answer.
“Why can’t we be selfish?” I ask.
“Right? Men do it all the time,” Selene says.
“What do you three know about marriage?” Some hostility eeks out of my sister’s question.
“I know I’m not looking for someone to treat me like a slave, their mother, or secretary,” I say with my own dose of hostility. “Nor do I want him to treat my kids like shit and swat my hand away if I reach over to touch him,” I add, to twist the knife.
