Sara
IT’S AMAZING HOW, despite all the years that pass, some things remain exactly the same.
My feet seemed to go on autopilot when I stepped off the train at Penn Station and transferred to the subway. I was thankful Lisa wouldn’t let me drive as I didn’t remember most of the four-hour ride from school. My mind replayed years of memories, the loss and hurt accompanying them, stinging so badly it crippled me. Why was I mourning parents I hadn’t seen in almost a decade—parents who made it clear they never wanted anything to do with me or my daughter? Every year I’d send them Victoria’s Christmas picture in the ridiculous hope they’d call and ask to see her—see us. That call never came, and now that they were gone, it never would.
Trudging up my old block, I was transported back ten years to the last time I was here—the last time I’d ever see my parents alive. My father remained stoic as my mother lashed out at me as she always had, but with a grim finality in her tone. I left their house all alone in this world other than the tiny pea growing inside my belly. Even with all the anger I’d felt, I never stopped wishing for their forgiveness. I grieved their death and the hope I never could let go.
When I arrived at my old house, spying the same silver 1776 adorning the top of the door, my heart hammered against my rib cage. I climbed the outside steps with shaky legs and pressed the doorbell with a quivering finger. My demons would always reside here, regardless of what world my parents were in.
The swift clicking of the locks accelerated what must have been an acute panic attack. I grabbed onto the wrought iron rail framing the porch as I tried to slow my quick and shallow breaths. I wished I prayed. Who I was praying to or what I was praying for escaped me, the only thought echoing through my troubled brain was “please help me.”
When my eyes popped open, I was tackled with a hug. I fell back onto the railing I clutched for support and dropped my bag. A tall and slim mess of black curly hair cried and whimpered into my shoulder, and all I could do was lean my head against hers and weep along with her.
“Hey, DeDe,” I whispered in her ear, making her sob harder. “I’m here.”
I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back, studying the little girl I was forced to leave ten years ago. Did we always look this much alike? She could be my twin other than all the dark waves surrounding her face, as my hair was always pin straight. Even as a child, she was the emotional and sensitive one. She needed my comfort after countless sad books or movies or even commercials. My mother would regard her with an annoyed grunt or mutter a “suck it up,” but I always loved that about my sister. This house and everything that went on here turned me into an emotional iceberg at a young age. Denise still had passion and fire and wasn’t afraid to show it.
Fire and ice.
I missed Drew so much, I ached. But I couldn’t call him when I was upset anymore, could I? Even though he was the only one in this world who could make it better. I blinked away the second wave of grief and focused on Denise.
“You got tall, baby sister.” I cupped her cheek. “And so pretty.” The bashful glint in her eyes reminded me of Victoria. Everyone who came in contact with my daughter found her easy to love, and she inherited that from her aunt. I sucked in my bottom lip and straightened, ignoring the impulse to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness for not finding a way to see her all these years. We had a ton to catch up on, and I had loads to make up for.
“I missed you so much,” she sniffled. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked as she squeezed my hands. “I’m so sorry you couldn’t come back before this.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t find a way to see you. I should have answered your call on Christmas Day. I’ve been a terrible big sister, but I intend to make up for it starting now.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. “You had a baby by yourself. And Mom and Dad were so awful about it. I just wish—”
“I wish, too.” I cut her off. “I wish for a lot of things, but that won’t help us right now. Right now, we need to get through the next couple of days. We can hash all that out later.” My tears slowed as the caretaker in me came to the surface. It was always easier to focus on taking care of others and ignoring my own needs. I guessed it was a coping mechanism, but I embraced it for the moment. I’d worry about the lasting effects of burying parents who disowned me later.
“Come in,” she whispered as the same brown eyes as mine pleaded with me. I didn’t realize I froze for a beat, tension seizing my body before I crossed the threshold.
“Right behind you,” I croaked as she yanked me inside by the hand. The sour scent of lemon furniture polish assaulted my senses as soon as I stepped through the door, the familiarity thickening my throat.
I studied the living room with an odd anxiety bubbling in my gut. My mother was dead, yet I was expecting her to run out of the kitchen and scream at me for being here. There was nothing like the sinking feeling of being a trespasser in the home you grew up in.
“You’ll stay here, right?” Denise’s voice was small. “Your bedroom is still empty. Please, Sara? I can’t be here alone for another night.”
I’d booked a hotel for tonight, unsure if I could sleep in this house, much less my old bed.
“Yeah, DeDe.” I pulled her into an embrace, her weary head falling onto my shoulder in relief. “Of course, I’ll stay.”
I trudged up the stairs, bracing myself for the memories that would flood me at the top. The ugly brown rug still covered each step and the entire second floor. Bracing myself, I tiptoed to the door, still somehow afraid my mother would come out of the woodwork and throw me out. My old room was the same. Same sheets I remembered, same curtains, my personal effects gone long before my parents cut me off. I plopped on the bed and let out an audible sigh. This wasn’t my room for many years, but I remembered every second I spent in here, itching to be old enough to go out on my own. But I was never really on my own. I remained tentative and careful—other than the night I took a stranger home and conceived my daughter. Did I ever really feel free of this place?
The answer came to me in a quiet yes. When I found someone to love me for who I was, but I pushed him away.
“Hey,” Denise called from the doorway. “You don’t have to sleep in here. My bed is big enough for both of us. You must be tired. What do you say we order Chinese and head to bed?” She wrapped her arms around her torso, her nose scrunched up exactly as when she was a little girl—the little girl I loved and never meant to desert like I had.
“Sounds good.” I rose from the edge of the bed and dropped a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not leaving, DeDe.”
“No,” she sighed. “But you will. And that’s okay. I’m glad you’re here now.”
I squeezed her hand and swung it back and forth like when she was little, and we’d walk together. “I’m glad too.”
“I found out something today,” Denise said as she fixed her eyes on the ceiling. She still had the glow-in-the-dark stars along the rims of her ceiling fan blades. I remembered standing on her bed and almost falling off numerous times, trying to get it just right. They still worked and illuminated the entire room.
“What’s that?” I mumbled as I fought against my heavy eyelids.
“Mom and Dad got married a year later than they said they did. I noticed when I was searching through their papers for an insurance policy.”
My head jerked to hers. “A year later? When was their real wedding date?”
Her chest shook with a laugh before she turned to me. “Two months before you were born.”
My mouth fell open in the darkness. That was one hell of a missing puzzle piece.
“She was only twenty. That’s probably the reason Dad was always so checked out and Mom was always so bitter. They had to get married.” Mom saw me as her missed opportunity, her burden. That stuck with me for my entire life.
“Well, no one has to, Sara. Everyone has a choice. Although, I think her parents were super strict and made her feel like she had to. That’s probably why we only knew Dad’s parents. I miss them.”
“Me too.” Our grandparents’ home was our sanctuary until they passed away, and the only memory of love I had as a child. Maybe my mother’s parents did the same thing to her when they found out she was pregnant. My very existence was a large thorn in my mother’s side, and I was beginning to understand why.
“But again, who really knows? It’s not like they were ever straight with us. I guess I was a big oops after the fact.”
“Stop,” I scolded as I nudged her with my elbow. The bed was big enough for both of us but didn’t have a whole lot of extra room. “And whatever you were to them, you were my gift.” Her head fell on my shoulder.
When they brought her home from the hospital, swaddled in pink and already with a tuft of black hair piled on her head, she brought joy to an otherwise sullen house. Mom didn’t smother either of us with love, but she spared Denise of the malice she always directed toward me. I guessed my sister wasn’t a breathing reminder of the detour her life had to take. I had the same reminder, but she was my blessing—not my downfall. I pitied my mother in that moment for never enjoying her daughters like I enjoyed mine.
“Tell me more about school.” Denise yawned as she cuddled closer to my side, assuming the same position she always had during a thunderstorm. “Any boyfriends?”
“Nope. Not anymore. It’s . . . all still new. I don’t want to talk about it right now, DeDe. Let’s focus on one tragedy at a time.” I patted her arm.
“Me neither. My friends think I should go into therapy. I always pick the assholes I know will break my heart. It’s like my own insurance from getting too invested.”
“You’re twenty. Dating assholes is a rite of passage. I dated my fair share.”
“Like Victoria’s dad?” She turned on her side and propped her elbow on the pillow.
“No, he actually turned out to be a nice guy. I didn’t know him long enough the first time we met for him to be an asshole.”
We shared a laugh. “Toniann even made an appointment with her therapist for me next week.”
“Toniann is still around?” She was always a cute kid, even if she was Queens’ answer to Full House’s Kimmie Gibbler.
“Yeah, she’s still herself,” she snickered. “But she was always someone I could talk to. When you left . . .” She trailed off. “I was pretty lonely. I think I’m going to go. Just the once, at least.”
“Good. Now go to sleep, sis. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
She fell back on the pillow and nodded. “Okay. Goodnight, Sara.”
“Goodnight, kiddo.”
“I love you,” she breathed. My eyes drifted to my sister, out cold already.
I smiled into the glowing stars on the ceiling, an odd peace drifting in with my turbulent thoughts for tomorrow.
“I love you, too, baby sister.”