“I think you should see this.”
The book is pushed down a canal of space between the dirty plates. I pick it up. Read.
I know one day, I’ll have to tell Natty what I’ve done. And I hope she’ll forgive me for it. At the very least, I think she’s happier now than she would have been. And if there’s one thing I want, it’s for her to be happy. For her to come out of all the shit we’ve been through and stop pretending her feelings. Pretending to be happy or to like whatever or to care about whatever. And just fucking live, you know? One of us has to figure out how to do it, and I don’t think it can be me.
I fight the swell in my throat and then allow the tears to fall.
“Do you think you could do that?” Dimple asks.
“What?”
“Let go of your anger. Try being happy,” she says.
I sigh, try to prize a few ossified fingers off the guilt I’ve been holding on to so tightly. A little falls away. “I think so.” I consider the small relief that smooths out Dimple’s forehead lines. “But you have to try, too.”
Dimple frowns, nods. “I guess that’s fair.” And then smiles. And it’s one of those unburdened smiles. Honest smiles. When she smiles like this, her whole face lights up, eyes beaming a pure warmth. And in these moments, I can’t help but think,Joy.
She looks back at the journal. “Mind if I borrow that after you? I understand if it’s too much to share it, but…Well, I’d like to get to know her.”
I consider the journal and consider Dimple. “I’d rather tell you about her, I think. If that’s okay. From what I’ve seen, she’s writing at her worst. I want you to know her at her best.”
Dimple considers this. Nods an acquiescence. “I know there’s trust to rebuild—”
“On both sides—” I concede.
“—but I want to know you, too.”
The bathroom door clicks open. My mother’s footsteps echo down the corridor. Her eyes spot her empty glass.
“I suppose you’re waiting for me to die of thirst, then,” she says.
A little of the camaraderie leaches back into Dimple and me as we catch each other smothering smiles.
“Joy was just about to refill your glass.” And at the sound of her name out of my mouth, she gives me one of those radiant smiles again.
In truth, I don’t know if we’ll ever completely heal what this thing is between us, but I’m ready for us to start.
Dear Care,
I’m sorry that the choices I made mean you’re not here to see me do the work. Learn how and why I’ve chosen to walk the path I have. Learn how to forge a new one.
I’ll admit I’ve been angry with you. Very angry. But when I forced myself to reflect on why I was choosing to feel that way, I had to admit that it was to push out the guilt. Easier to be mad than feel that pain. It’s taken more work, but I can feel the guilt falling away slowly. I know what happened to you was ultimately his doing, not mine. I can’t pretend there will never be a small feeling of culpability, but I’m no longer worried it will break me.
You’ll be relieved to know that I have a new therapist. Not a secret blood relation as far as I know. She’s good. I like her. I think you would, too. Speaking of, I’m trying my best with Joy. She’ll never replace you, I hope you know that. But I think you’d like her—she almost killed James, after all.
Thank you for how ferociously you loved me. Thank you for looking after me when I didn’t know how. I know some people might say what you did was monstrous, but if there’s anything these past few weeks have taught me, it’s that we all have a little monster in us. Some people are just better at hiding it than others. To be human is to be complicated, to live in the dark and the light. And if I’m being honest, I understand what you did on a cellular level. I’d kill for you, sister.
Love you, always,
Natty
