Our youngest sister, Tammy, had been conceived two years after our dad had died. “I was lonely, and he offered comfort,” Mom had quietly explained later that day to thirteen-year-old me and to June when Tammy was out of earshot. “I never expected a relationship. He was passing by here as part of his work, and we got to talking. I think he was married. I’m not sure. But anyway, when I found out I was pregnant, it was too late. I don’t regret that because we have September.” Our mother had a way of treating even serious situations and issues with complaisance.
Growing up, I had sometimes secretly criticized my mother, too, though we shared many traits, and I even looked the most like her. It had taken me only nineteen years to find myself almost in her same situation, and I realized that life had its own way of teaching you lessons, and that every mother makes mistakes.
June had probably never made a mistake in her life. She was too calculated.
And now I had to get over there, lay before her my latest mess, and ask if I could move into her studio apartment for a while.
At the sound of the bell, June turned. “Oh.”
I chuckled. “Oh to you, too.”
A smile that I might define as professional spread on her lips. “Hi, January.”
“Congratulations! This place looks great!” I said, looking around and avoiding eye contact. “It’s very … organized.”
“Thank you.”
I approached the wooden counter, thanking the deities for being the only one in the shop. “So, are you mostly here now?” I asked small-talk style.
“For now. My … um … employee is in the Riviera View branch. I just know the clientele here better.” A rose-colored blush appeared on her cheeks.
I felt like hugging her, sensing that my sister was a fish out of water here, like me. A bottom cleaner-type fish that swam with gold fishes.
This gave me courage to open with, “Listen, June, I won’t beat around the bush. I need to tell you something that I haven’t even told Mom or September.” I paused.
“Go on,” she said, her face remaining expressionless.
“I was evicted from my apartment in January. I lived at Sandy Hills, but they needed the room. I found another place, but it’s temporary. You know I have debts. And now the boys’ tuition and upkeeping. Can I stay with you for a while until I find a more permanent solution? I’ll make sure you’ll feel like I’m not there. And I’ll clean and cook in return.”
I could see the emotions that played on her face—shock, pity, judgment—although all she said was, “Oh.”
I pursed my lips. ThatOhdidn’t convey good news.
“Wow, I’m really sorry to hear, January,” she said after a pause. “If you need to stay for a few days, of course you can. I would have lent you money, but I took a loan myself to open this place.”
“Oh, no, no, thank you. I don’t want a loan. I could never pay back another loan.”
I was deeply ashamed. My problems were out there for everyone to see, which was why I tried to hide them from as many people as possible. This look on June’s face was exactly what I didn’t want to get from my family and friends.
“How long do you think you’ll stay?” she asked with the counter between us, probably realizing that a few days wouldn’t cut it.
“Um …”
“Never mind. Will two weeks be okay?”
“It’s a start.”
“Three weeks?” She waited for me to answer.
I didn’t.
June then said, “You have to tell Mom.”
“What can she do about it except worry herself to death? It’s not like there’s room for me at Tammy’s.”
“Mine is just a studio apartment.”
It might have been small, but at least she owned it. I would have switched places with her in a heartbeat. “I’ll work shifts that will ensure I’m not in your way.”
