Chapter 15 #2
“You have nothing to apologize for. You were twenty-two, and lost your first love. Of course you were devastated. I only wanted you to know that you didn’t have to deal with your pain all alone.
” A sob escapes her before she continues.
“I just hope you didn’t think I was trying to offload you onto a therapist because I thought you were a burden. I promise that was never my intention.”
My eyes well up. “Of course not. And I’m sorry I made you feel that way.
I think I was just embarrassed because you had to take care of me for months.
I’m sure you didn’t mind—but I did. You’re my little sister, and you’re always the one looking out for me.
You’re the one who has it all together, with the dream job and the serious relationship.
I know I shouldn’t compare our lives…but I did, and I felt like such a mess. ”
Christy’s quiet for several seconds before she starts crying again.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. This time, her sobs don’t sound happy.
“I’m the real mess,” she nearly whispers through tears.
My brow furrows. “Huh?”
My sister takes a ragged breath. “I may have a dream job—but the serious relationship? Not so much. I, um…broke up with Kyle.”
“Oh, no!” I gasp. “I’m so sorry. And shocked…
honestly.” Christy and Kyle have been practically glued to each other for eight years.
They did everything together. Exercising, and cooking, and shopping for groceries.
They were like an old married couple. I always imagined they would be, one day. “When did this happen?”
Christy sighs. “About a month ago. ”
“Wait…what?”
“It might be closer to five weeks now, actually.”
I shake my head, perplexed. “But wasn’t he with you the other week, when my video went viral?
You said you’d just shown it to him, and he liked it.
And every Sunday, when we talk, you tell me you and Kyle are about to go running in Central Park.
I don’t get it. Are you broken up, but still living together? ”
Christy sniffles. “Not exactly.”
“I’m so confused right now.”
She sighs. “I’ve been lying to you. Kyle moved out after I ended things. We haven’t spoken since.”
My jaw drops.
It was one thing for Christy to sneak peeks at my journal when we were in high school. That kind of behavior is to be expected among teenage sisters. But to lie to me about her breakup, at this stage in her life, doesn’t make sense. Why would she keep it a secret?
She starts sobbing again. “The truth is…”
When she doesn’t finish her sentence right away, my heart sinks.
Did Kyle cheat on her? Did he gamble away their savings?
What if he’s not the man he says he is? My mind races, thinking of every episode of Dateline I’ve ever watched, while Christy remains quiet (except for all the sniffling).
What is this truth my sister’s so reluctant to tell me?
“What is it, Christy?”
I brace myself to hear something shocking.
“The truth is,” she continues, “I… really …hate running.”
“You hate…ru nning?”
“Yes. More than hate. I despise it. And it’s all Kyle ever wanted to do. He had every day of our lives mapped out, and it was all running, and marathons, and the same lackluster protein shake every morning, and it was just so…so… boring , Jenna!”
I stifle a chuckle. I always found Kyle a little boring, too—but I never told Christy that, of course.
I always figured his predictability was part of the appeal for my sister.
I mean, it’s not like she’s a wild child.
For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been a planner.
In high school, she inventoried her entire closet, made a list of outfits, and wore them on rotation, so she never had to think about what to wear.
But maybe she’s changed. Or maybe I don’t know her as well as I thought.
“I couldn’t take it anymore,” she continues.
“My life was flashing before me, and I knew exactly what it looked like. There were no surprises. Saturdays were for groceries and meal prep, and Sundays were for long runs, and on Mondays we folded laundry, and on Tuesdays we ate turkey meatloaf, even when I wanted tacos—and he even scheduled sex , Jenna!”
“Oh,” I say, my cheeks warming. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Christy say the word “sex” before.
“He’d only sleep with me on Fridays, because he didn’t have to be at the hospital early on Saturdays.
And, quite frankly…it wasn’t enough for me.
But god forbid I try to get in his pants any other day of the week!
I mean, would it have killed him to be a little more spontaneous?
It’s not unreasonable to want to have sex on a Wednesday, every now and then, is it? ”
“Not at all,” I assure her. I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror over my dresser, and I’m beet red. It’s not that I mind Christy opening up to me—I want her to. I’m just not used to hearing her talk this way.
“I had no idea you were unhappy,” I continue. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You and Kyle were together for so long…I can’t imagine it’s been easy keeping these feelings bottled up.”
“I wanted to talk to you about it,” Christy admits.
“But my issues with Kyle seemed trivial compared to what you went through with Hunter. I guess I didn’t feel right venting to you, because you were still in so much pain.
When you told me you started therapy, though, I figured it would be okay. You already sound so much better.”
Now I’m the one sniffling. “Your breakup isn’t trivial. It’s your life, and you’re my sister. I want to be here for you whenever you need me—no matter what I’m going through. That’s what family’s for. And…I love you, Christy.”
When the words come out of my mouth, I realize how infrequently I say them to her. My heart stings with regret, and I vow to do better from now on.
“I love you, too, Jenna,” she whispers.
For a minute or two, it’s just blubbering and sniffling and nose-blowing, before either of us can speak again.
“So, how are you doing with the breakup?” I ask.
“I was relieved to begin with. I mean, no more protein powder and twenty-mile runs—what could be better than that? I’ve already gained five pounds, and I couldn’t be happier,” she says with a chuckle. “But now…I think I’m beginning to freak out a little. ”
“You’re lonely.” It’s a feeling that’s practically defined me—until recently.
“Exactly,” she says. “And dating in New York City feels impossible. There are too many people. Too many options.”
“Then come here,” I tell her. “Chicago needs literary agents, too.”
She laughs. “Yeah, but how long will you actually be living there…”
She’s not asking, so much as telling me she wouldn’t uproot her life and follow me to Chicago, when there’s no guarantee I’ll be here long-term. I get it—I’m “Runaway Jenna,” after all.
Or, I was.
“Something feels different here, in Chicago,” I say. “For the first time in my life, I’m starting to put down roots. I have a great therapist, and I’m painting again, and making new friends, and I’m even?—”
My heart flutters thinking about Charlie, and our plans to hang out again today.
“What?” my sister asks. The excitement in her voice is unmistakable, and it fills me with pure joy. She knows where I’m going with this.
I smile. “I’m dating someone. His name is Charlie. He’s my new neighbor, actually. I literally crashed right into him when I was walking out of the elevator.”
“Sounds like the perfect meet-cute,” Christy says.
“It definitely felt like a scene from a movie,” I tell her. “When our eyes met, something sparked between us. I know it sounds crazy. Maybe it was just lust, but…sometimes I wonder if it was lo ve at first sight.”
“Oh my god.” She sounds choked up. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say something like this.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, on the verge of tears again, myself. “But don’t get your hopes up too high, yet. Charlie and I have only been out a few times.”
“Just knowing that you’re open to loving someone again…it’s the best news I could wish for,” she says.
I wipe my eyes. “You’re the sweetest sister in the world. And I know you’re going to find someone special. So, don’t worry, okay? If things don’t work out in New York, just come here, and I’ll be your matchmaker.”
“You’d really want me to move to Chicago?” she asks after a beat.
I nod. “We haven’t lived in the same place since I went away to college. It’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“I’ve always wanted us to be closer,” Christy says. “Not just geographically, but…”
“I know you have,” I tell her when she trails off.
“And I feel terrible that I spent the last eight years pushing you away. It’s only because you could see right through my act.
You knew that I wasn’t okay, but I didn’t have the strength to face it yet.
But all that’s changed now. And I promise to do everything I can to fix what I broke between us. ”
“You didn’t break anything,” my sister says. “Maybe just a small dent, but nothing’s broken. Our relationship is stronger than that. I need it to be, Jenna. Because Mom and Dad…”
“What about Mom and Dad?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. As far as I know, Christy gets along great with both our parents. Or as well as one can, given their personalities.
“They kinda suck,” she says.
I throw my head back, laughing. “I had no idea you felt that way, too! I mean, Mom is Mom…she’s not super involved in either of our lives. But I always thought you and Dad got along.”
Christy sighs. “He’s less of a jerk to me, I guess…
but I’ve never been a fan of the way he treats you.
He never supported you in anything you wanted to do, whether it was art, or cheer.
He snubbed his nose at it, because he didn’t think it was impressive enough to brag about to his friends at the country club.
Meanwhile, he boasted about my academic achievements like they were his own, even though I was the one who did all the hard work. Well…fuck him.”
I lift my hand to my mouth, overcome with an unfamiliar sense of validation. Also, I’m stunned, because I’ve never heard Christy say “fuck.” We Andersen girls don’t swear much.
“I’m sorry I never spoke up to Dad about it,” she continues.
“I should have told him he was being unfair to you. It’s selfish, but I was afraid he would turn on me, too.
And then I’d have no one. Because you’d go away to college, and Mom would keep being Mom.
Dad was actually engaged in my life, since he was Dean of my school.
It wasn’t the father-daughter relationship I dreamed of having… but it was something.”
“I understand,” I tell her. “And it doesn’t matter. You were a kid, for one thing. You shouldn’t have to teach your dad how to parent. Besides, he never would’ve listened to you, anyway. He’s far too stubborn.”
Christy lets out a little laugh. “That’s true. ”
I pause for a beat. “Do you think Mom would consider therapy if I told her how much I’m benefiting from it?”
Maybe all my mom needs is someone who cares enough to find her help—the way Vanessa did for me.
“It’s worth a shot,” my sister says. “I don’t think Mom is beyond hope, the way Dad is.”
“I’ll talk to her about it. I’d rather do it in person, though…so maybe over Thanksgiving. Are you going to come home?”
“Absolutely, if you’re there. I’ll help you talk to Mom. After Dad retires to his study,” she adds, and I can practically see her eyes rolling back in her head.
I chuckle. “Okay, great. And after they go to bed, we can stay up watching movies, and drinking wine, and eating leftover pie. Whaddya say?”
Typically, after Thanksgiving dinner, I’d meet up with old friends from high school who are in town. But, this year, I’d much rather hang out with my sister.
“Count me in,” Christy says. “Sounds perfect.”
“It really does.”
I brush a happy tear from my cheek. If I’d known that going to therapy would have the added bonus of helping me get closer to my sister, I may have gone sooner.
But better late than never. I’ve always longed for us to have a relationship like this.
I just thought we were too different. Now I think we may be more alike than I thought.
“I love you, Christy,” I say again.
“I love you, too, Jenna.”
As soon as we hang up, I walk straight into my art studio and set a blank canvas on my easel.
Before I pick up my brush and palette, my gaze travels across the six paintings I’ve done so far, all in a row, leaning against the wall.
Like the self-portrait I painted in Tati Marie’s class, which is first in line, the pieces that follow all focus on the subject’s eyes—like a zoomed-in photograph that starts just below the hairline, and ends right above the chin.
Staring back at me are my mom’s olive-green eyes, which are identical to mine, except for the faraway look she always has.
My dad’s stern, disapproving gaze is next to her.
Then Hunter’s ocean-blue eyes—no longer dark and stormy, like the image that haunted me, but placid and peaceful, like I want to remember them.
After him is Charlie, and the wonder in his gaze when we first met.
And finally, Esther, my most recent portrait—her kind, thoughtful gaze inviting me to heal.
It hurts my heart that I never thought to paint my sister until now.
They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and maybe that’s why I couldn’t do it before.
Because I hardly knew her. My buttoned-up, perfectionist sister, who seemed to have it all together, has always been a bit of a mystery to me.
But the wall between us is crumbling now, and I’m starting to see Christy for who she really is. Someone who’s followed the rules all her life, and is yearning to break free. To experience the joy, and pleasure, and adventure she’s denied herself for years.
Whose eyes are full of hope…and maybe a hint of mischief.
I pick up my paintbrush, and that’s where I begin.