35. A Troubled Mind – Stella
Tires crunch on my drive and when I look out the window, a thrill runs through me when I see Evie’s car rolling up. Gracie scratches at the door and when her car stops, I let her out, following close behind and watching my twin kneel down and scratch behind my dogs ears.
“What a good girl, Gracie! You love your aunt Evie, don’t you?”
Something about that hits me deep in my gut. When Riggs and I broke up, I thought any chance for a family of my own and, in turn, Evie being an aunt to my kids was gone. But suddenly, the warm glow of the future isn’t so far anymore.
“Hey, sissy,” she says, standing up and walking toward the porch. “Got time for a coffee with your favorite human on the planet?”
“Is Reed here?” I ask jokingly, looking behind her. She rolls her big eyes and slaps my arm before walking past me and into my house. Gracie and I follow her, and I find her at my coffee pot, the cabinet where I keep my syrups open.
“What kick are you on today?” she asks. “Peppermint mocha? Caramel?”
I move to follow her, sitting on the stool at my kitchen island. “Neither.”
She stops moving altogether and stares at me, eyes wide. I fight a laugh.
I’m so glad she came over today. This is exactly what I needed, my sister picking at me instead of my mind continuing to wander and replay the events of the last few weeks over, dissecting them until I start to find faults in the beauty of it all.
“Sugar cookie,” I say, letting her off the hook with a laugh. “It’s hidden behind the rest because I’m obsessed and don’t want it gone.”.
“Well, now I know, what if I use it.”
“Please, do. I’d love you to see how much better it is than your zero calorie sweeteners and skim milk,” I say, giving her a look. “And mom won’t come ragging in, somehow sensing it.”
“Stella—” she says, her voice tense.
After my argument with my mother, after everything went down, she called me to tell me no matter what our mother says, she’s not going to cut me off. It would be like cutting off a limb. While I’m pretty much at the breaking point with our mother, it’s harder for Evie to cut free from her. Every molecule of her self worth is tied with approval from her.
It worries me, but I won’t tell her that.
“A latte, please,” I say, skipping past that conversation.
She stares at me for a moment then nods and makes our drinks in silence.
In the summers after college and after school in high school, we both worked at the diner so she knows how to make a solid latte. Still, back then, I always held a grudge over my sister, who was often told she would get paid if she missed work for any of the mother-approved activities she was signed up for.
I never got a free pass because all I ever wanted to do was sit in the woods with Riggins and write music, and that was absolutely not on the approved list.
Ironic, really, considering that after all those years of competitive cheer and dance and taking etiquette classes between pointe classes and tumbling days, she went to college out of state and fell in love with journalism. Music journalism, to be exact.
“What brings you to my humble abode today?” I ask her as she sits at the island, sliding a mug to me.
“I’m in between assignments, so I have some extra time on my hands. I wanted to see what the uglier twin was doing.” I glare at her, and she smiles wide, the dimple I once was so jealous about popping up. I ball up my napkin and toss it at her, hitting her between the eyes.
“Why are you like this?” I ask.
“Because we didn”t fight nearly enough as kids. Feels like a right of passage we missed.”
“What childhood were you living?” I ask, with a laugh. “I feel like all we did was fight.”
“No, we argued about whatever bullshit mom was making us battle over. We were children forced into a gladiator arena, begging to survive.”
I tip my head to the side and don’t argue because she’s not wrong.
“Anyway, obviously, I came here to ask about last night.” I avert my eyes, suddenly very interested in my drink. “Well, how was it?”
“How was what?” I lift my drink and take a sip at the worst moment.
“Fucking Riggins. Your husband. How was it?” I choke on my drink as she laughs, standing to grab a paper towel and handing it to me.
“How did you—” I ask once I catch my breath.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m your twin sister, Stella.”
“Does that mean you have a direct line to my vagina?”
She screws her face up in disgust. “God, no, you weirdo. I just can see you’ve got that freshly fucked happy face on.”
I stare at her, trying to decide how to answer. It only takes a moment to realize there’s no getting around it, so I just spill. “It was good, Evie. Like, oh my fucking god, toe-curling, better than I ever remembered, meant to be kind of good.”
“Meant to be kind of good?”
I shrug. Lying to Evie is like lying to myself: there’s no point in it. “I don’t know. It’s all very messy still. We’re very messy, but… it feels natural, being with him again; it feels right. Like a part of me has returned back to my soul. Like I’m whole again.”
“You seemed it,” she says. “At Beckett’s party. Happy. I haven’t seen you that happy since…” her words trail off but I know the answer. Since the last time I was with Riggins and the guys.
“Yeah,” I say. “By the way, where did you go? You ran off, and then I never saw you again. I only knew you were alive because I checked your location.”
“You checked my location?” she asks with a squeak.
Weird.
“Well, yeah. I saw you were home this morning.” Her shoulders ease and I file that away for later, something to try and pick apart and understand. She clearly doesn’t want to be on that subject, so I change it away from all things Riggs and Atlas Oaks.
“So, what’s going on with work?” A few months ago, Evie got hired at one of the biggest music magazines in the country, writing articles about the industry. “What did you just wrap up?”
She rolls her lips into her mouth to hide a proud smile and looks at the table, before putting her mask on again and looking at me.
That? That I recognize. I perfected it long, long ago, hiding the pride of something I felt I accomplished because our mother would see it as a weak spot, something for her to pick at and tear apart.
Got a 96 on a test? What are you an idiot? You could have gotten a 100.
Soccer team won? Fine, I guess, but did you make any goals personally?
“Evie! What is it?”
“Headlining article,” she says, no longer able to hide her excitement. “A cover deal. 10-page spread. About Rainy Daze.” My jaw drops.
“Everest! I cannot believe you didn’t tell me! Shut up! Congrats! That’s huge! Is that where you were last month?” Her smile widens, and she nods.
“I didn’t know if they were going to go with my angle because it’s something new, I thought up, but it was a blast. I also didn’t want to tell you because.. well… you know.”
I do, unfortunately. For years, Evie has tiptoed around all things music industry around me, especially if it’s someone I ever once knew in a personal way in another lifetime.
“I know, but who cares? I’m so mad at you for not telling me,” I say.
“I’m doing more,” she says, her words low and nervous. My eyes widen.
“More?” Her smile widens and her mask shatters and I know… I know she’s been dying to tell me all about this, but was too nervous it would send me spiraling.
“It’s something I pitched, inspired by… well you. And the guys. And the diner. How they’d come there after local shows and eat breakfast hungover to decompress. You said they did it on the road, too.” I nod, because we did. We’d go to some local diner hungover and eat breakfast together no matter what. It was a ritual I missed when I left. “I’m going on tour with a band for a month, and every Sunday, we’ll go to a diner, and I’ll get to interview them.”
“What about the rest of the month? Or is it just Sundays?”
“I’ll see how they spend their free time, how they get ready for a show, how they interact with fans. A full, in-depth article about life on the road with whoever the magazine sends me to talk to.” My mouth drops open with shock.
“Why… Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, and the betrayal is clear in my voice. I wish it wasn’t, but I can’t help it.
“Oh, Stell,” she says, reaching over and grabbing my hand. “I didn’t…” There”s a pause before she squeezes my hand, and her smile turns sad.
God, I hate that look.
“I’m fine, Evie,” I say, trying to reassure her. “You’re my sister. My twin. I want to know when something exciting like this happens!”
“I know. I know. It was shitty of me. I meant well, I was just… nervous.” I nod, understanding. She’s seen what my episodes can look like and how memories can trigger them. “But now it feels… it feels like everything is falling into place.”
I can’t fight the smile that pulls at my lips again when I nod.
“It does. It feels like everything is where it should be. Like the universe is righting itself. I’m…” I hesitate to explain, to confess, scared that saying it out loud will jinx it. “I’m happy, Evie. I feel like a part of me is back.” She gives me a small smile and squeezes the hand she’s still holding.
“Are you scared?”
I almost answer instantly, almost reply with a no, and then almost jump in with a yes, but then I stop and think. I let it bubble in my belly, let the question really penetrate.
“Of Riggins?” I ask, clarifying so I can give some modicum of a real answer. The one person I’ve never in my life lied to is my sister, and I don’t want to start now.
She nods. “Of Riggins. Of starting things with him. Or continuing them. Are you scared of being… together again?”
Saying yes feels like a betrayal to Riggs, a betrayal to everything he’s done and all the progress he’s made.
But saying no feels like a betrayal to my soul, a lie of the worst degree.
Am I scared?
I use my sister as a sounding board, bouncing ideas and thoughts off of her.
“I…. Yes. And no? I’m not scared of his sobriety. I’m not scared that he’s going to hurt me again with that.” Her face softens like she’s happy with that answer, and I am, too, because it’s not a lie.
Not a single part of me doubts Riggins’ sobriety or his commitment to it. He’s clean, and he seems completely content with that. It’s clear the band is heavily supporting that effort.
But while that was a big part of why things went to hell, it wasn’t the only thing.
“But I don’t know where I fit,” I whisper, suddenly anxious and uneasy. I feel weird saying that out loud and telling my sister that. Admitting it. It feels childish and selfish. “He’s Riggins. He’s a rock star. The band is monumental, and I just feel… I’m just Stella. I don’t know where I fit in there. I think I struggled with it then, too, but now that I’m older, I can’t just ignore it.”
“You fit with him, Stell. You fit with Riggins, and you fit with the band. It was clear to everyone then, and it was even clearer at Beck’s party.”
“You think so?” I ask, hope blossoming in my chest.
“You know it’s true. You just have to take the jump and believe it, too.”