Chapter Forty-Eight #2
“I will,” she vows. “I just haven’t seen her, and it’s not something I want to do over text. I’m having lunch with her on Thursday, and I swear to God I’ll tell her then.”
“You better. Because I can’t keep this up.”
I get home from the pub by eleven and FaceTime Mila, but I’m tense and quiet on the call.
She tries a joke. “Did you end up in second place on the leaderboard or something?”
I want to laugh. To smile and tease her back. To celebrate what we did today. But I can’t. I feel like I’m pretending the entire time, and I hate it. Now I know exactly how she must have felt when she had to twist herself into a pretzel to keep someone else happy. “No,” I say. “I’m just tired.”
The excuse is old and weak, and she knows it. After an awkward silence, she says, “Well, I guess I’ll let you get some sleep.”
“Okay,” I say, even though I haven’t slept right since Friday night.
“I love you,” she tells me softly.
“Love you too,” I say.
When we hang up, I rub my face with my hands.
If it were anyone other than Gabi who’d asked me to keep something from Mila, I would have said hell no. This is torture.
My sister gets two more days.
Thursday morning, I head over to my mom’s to scavenge some breakfast—and run into my sister doing yoga on the back porch. At least, I assume that’s what she’s doing. Her hands and feet are on a mat and her butt is up in the air, her arms and legs straight. My hamstrings scream just looking at her.
“Morning,” I say, climbing the steps.
“Morning,” she returns, without coming out of her pose.
Inside the house, there’s coffee in the pot and a plate of blueberry muffins on the counter.
Sticking a muffin in my mouth, I pour some water for Merlin and reach for a banana from the fruit bowl.
I’m about to peel it from the stem when I remember what Mila said about monkeys.
Curious, I flip it over and try peeling it from the other end.
It easily splits and comes apart, revealing the fruit beneath.
“What do you know,” I say, laughing a little.
“She was right.” I break it into pieces for Merlin, and he eagerly digs into his snack.
After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I steal another muffin off the plate and head outside.
My sister is now belly-down on the mat, but her chest is pressed up.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, dropping into a rocker.
“She had an early doctor’s appointment.” Gabi shifts into a different pose, her butt resting on her heels, her arms outstretched, palms on the mat.
“Did she fill out the application for the fitness membership at the waterfront complex yet?”
“No,” she says, her voice muffled by the mat. “I actually don’t think Mom wants a membership.”
“Why not? She keeps bringing that place up.”
“I know.” Gabi picks up her face. “I think she wants to live there.”
“Live there? Like, buy a condo?”
“Yes. A place without stairs or so many rooms to keep clean.” She lowers her head again. “Can she afford it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’d have to talk to Sam.” Sam is the financial manager who helped me straighten out the mess our dad left when he died. “We’re still paying off some of those shitty loans Dad took out.”
“That’s what I figured.” She comes out of her pose and sits cross-legged on the mat. Reaches for her water bottle and takes a sip. “Plus, who’s going to live in this monster?”
“Um, I just moved you in. Don’t even tell me you’re leaving. My back still hurts from getting your dresser up the stairs.”
“I moved in temporarily, mostly to help Mom. Or at least keep her company. If she leaves, there’s no reason for me to stay. I don’t need all this house. It was always supposed to go to you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need all this house either.”
“Maybe you should have some kids.”
“Maybe you should have some kids.”
She sighs and leans back on her hands. “Poor Mom. She wants grandchildren so badly.”
“You don’t ever want kids?”
Gabi shrugs. “I guess I’d never say never. I just have more things I want to do first.”
“Yeah.” I take another swallow from the mug.
“What about you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always felt like it was something really far off. But lately, I’ve been thinking more about it.”
“Because you’re thirty, old man?”
“That might be part of it,” I say, flipping her off. “But there are other reasons.”
“Does one of them have blue eyes and red hair and a name that starts with M and rhymes with tequila?”
“Maybe.” I poke her leg with my boot. “Which is why I hate hiding something from her. You’re telling her today, right?”
“Yes.” She holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
I sip my coffee. “She’s going to move back.”
“Is she really?” Gabi’s face lights up. “That’s huge.”
“I know. I’m not taking it lightly.” I lean back in the rocker, setting it in motion. Looking out over the yard, I try to imagine myself as a father. Doing summertime things. Playing catch on the lawn. Filling a little plastic pool with water. Letting them squirt me with the hose.
Teaching a little brown-eyed boy how to identify the calls of birds. Bait a hook. Prune a cherry tree.
A little blue-eyed girl how to ride a bike. Tie her shoes. Swing a bat.
I think about collecting autumn leaves and ironing them between sheets of wax paper. About cozy winter nights—pillow forts, popcorn, movies, cuddling under the blankets. Bedtime stories. Christmas mornings. Footie pajamas. Hot cocoa.
Mila by my side. In my arms. Safe and warm.
The paint might be peeling, the windows might rattle, and the hallway is definitely still tilted, but it’s ours. And it’s nice, this life.
It’s so fucking nice.