4. Marie
4
MARIE
SECRETS AND SHOTS
“ H e dumped me,” Lisa sighs with dramatic flourish as she launches herself on my bed, face down. Her maxi dress flows around her like a halo of wool and chiffon.
Twenty years of sisterhood, yet she still grows more theatrical. I’m pretty sure she’ll use her pregnancy as an excuse now to be even more dramatic. She’s gonna be insufferable. I roll my eyes but a little smile tilts the corners of my mouth up. She’s one of a kind, my sister.
Then my heart pinches as I remind myself that she’s got cancer and refuses to treat herself because the life inside her is more precious to her than her own.
“What do you mean he dumped you?” I ask, then glide my fingers through her long silky hair, soothing her with scalp scratches like we’ve done since we were old enough to have nails.
“I can’t find him, Mimi. Hugo left, I’m fucking sure of it. I texted him that I’m pregnant and?—”
“You texted him?” I ask, mouth agape.
“What was I supposed to do? Ask him to drive me to a secluded place and then tell him? What if he killed me?”
“A little late to be worried about that, don’t you think? You’ve been alone with him all the fucking time, that’s why you’re pregnant.”
“That’s not the same,” she whines. “I’ve heard horror stories of girls telling their boyfriend they’re pregnant, only to get beaten up.”
I know she’s not sad, just disappointed. It’s the first time someone isn’t doing her bidding and I’m sure she thought Hugo was eating in the palm of her hand. He was eating alright from what she told me.
Lisa moves her head to rest on my lap and I continue to soothe and cajole her. I was born two minutes before her and for some reason, I’ve taken the role of the older sister seriously. Considering we’re the babies of the family and treated like ones more often than not, it’s the only moment I really feel like an adult, like I can control something, even if it’s just my sister’s emotions by giving her what she needs.
“What are you going to do?”
Lisa doesn’t answer for a long moment. I keep my attention focused on her breathing while my eyes drift to her bedroom through the open doors of the bathroom. While the walls are a soft eggshell, the rest reflects the contradiction of who we are. The high thread count sheets of her bed are black but the pillow cases are bright purple.
Her nightstand is full of stuff—keys, a strawberry chapstick, her retainer in its purple plastic box, a metallic purple bottle of water with a night sky design, a green notebook and its fluffy purple pen—and mine is devoid of any clutter. I use the drawers like a normal person, thank you very much. Yes, they have organisers in them but that’s because it’s easier to find my shit this way.
I love the familiarity of her clothes peeking out of her open wardrobe.
“I don’t know. I’m scared,” she finally says, her throat clogged with emotion.
“Of what?”
“Of dying.”
I nod though she can’t see me. I’m scared of her dying too. More than anything I’ve ever been afraid of before. More than when our sister Lana left for her loveless marriage and I watched her sparkle snuffed out by a vile man. More than when our mother was in the hospital for her kidney stones. More than when Daddy was shot.
But I can’t tell her that. I’ve always been her rock and that’s not going to stop today.
“Whatever you decide, I’m here, Lili,” I tell her softly.
“I know, but I’m scared anyway.”
“You want it.” It’s not a question. She already said it at the doctor’s office.
“I want her ,” she says with renewed fervour.
“Okay.” Determination pours out of me and Lisa tilts her head up to look at me. Her eyes shine with hope and love. I’d do anything for her.
“Okay?”
“How do you want to approach this?”
Lisa sits up. “I don’t want to tell anyone until the last moment. For both situations.”
“Lisa! You won’t be able to hide a pregnancy forever!” I whisper-yell. I’m sure there aren’t any microphones in our bedroom but what she’s asking is down-right stupid, and impossible.
God, I need a fucking drink. Or three. The clawing sensation is sudden and takes over all the other sensations. I can almost taste whiskey on my tongue. Smokey and warm exactly how I like it. I’ll have to wait until Lisa falls asleep to retrieve it from its hidden place under the sink in our bathroom. My sister loves a mess so much she never checks what’s inside all the filing boxes I use all around our space. The number of alcohol bottles hidden in there would raise even her brow.
“I don’t want everyone to hover over me,” she explains.
I can understand that. We’ve been kept far from the mafia life our family is leading to the point where we’re just in a golden prison. Lana is always pestering us with university choices and our future, hoping to ship us as far away from this life as she can. Our parents aren’t much better.
Lisa has found her little rebellion in the arms of her bodyguard, and I at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. It never quenches the thirst for more and the bone-deep sensation of not belonging anywhere, but the temporary relief has become a part of my routine. I can’t go a single day without a drink.
Who am I kidding? I can’t go without a hit of the warm liquid burning my throat every four hours or so. It relaxes me, gives me a modicum of control over how I feel, because at least it’s my choice.
I know that I have everything anyone could ask for. A loving family, a sister I adore, money and opportunities. But I’ve never been welcome anywhere. At least that’s how it always felt. Rejection and isolation have been constant for as long as I can remember.
When Lisa and I went to school, kids wouldn’t play with us because of the reputation of our father and the danger of associating with the Moretti name. As we grew up, our parents and sisters kept us far away from the business side of the family, all their meetings happening behind closed doors in hushed tones. Lisa has been taking this isolation much better than I have.
I’d rather be numb with alcohol than feeling how unwanted and disconnected I am from the people who are supposed to love me most.
“Girls?” our mother’s voice travels from the hallway as she makes our way to our bedroom. “There you are.” She frowns when she sees Lisa sprawled on top of my legs.
“Lili, what’s wrong?” she asks.
“Period pain,” my sister answers without missing a beat and I bite my lips not to laugh. Of all the excuses she could have used…
Our mother comes to sit on the bed next to us. Her dark green eyes, the same colour as ours, shine with love but the slight grey undertone under her eyes betrays the late hour, as well as her silk golden pyjama.
“Your sister called. Giulia’s coming for Christmas with her new husband and his brother.”
“And she couldn’t tell us herself?” I ask, petulant and a little hurt. Lana’s at the head of the family now but I hoped she’d still take time for us. After her ordeal this summer, and her meeting her soulmate, she’s been busy and I don’t dare ask for more of her attention. But I want it all the same.
“She did, picculina . You’re not answering your phone.”
Sure enough, I have three missed calls when I look at my phone. I’ve left it on silent again. My cheeks heat with embarrassment, both at being caught not answering the phone and at being mad at my sister while she already gave me what I want. Suddenly, that drink becomes a necessity. I need to forget how much of a wretched person I am, how needy and unfair. How desperate and unkind.
“I’ll call her back,” I tell my mother who smiles softly at me and swipes a lock of raven hair behind my ear.
“Do it tomorrow, picculina . It’s late. And when Andrea and Nico get here, be nice. They’re family now.”
It’s hard to forget that my cousin Giulia’s husband, Andrea, and his brother, Nico, are also my sister’s husband’s cousin. Yeah, the mafia can be fucked up sometimes, marrying within a small pool of families, but they took the cake. And I didn’t forget that Andrea forced Giulia to marry him in exchange for rescuing my sister Lana from a human trafficker.
“I mean it, baby. Don’t be mean to the Capaldis,” my mother insists while she closes the door behind her.
I roll my eyes and Lisa chuckles softly. “I bet you a grand you’re gonna be mean to either one within two minutes of them arriving at the mansion.”
“Shut up!” I laugh and push her away from me, getting to the bathroom to get ready for bed. And drink from the miniature whiskey bottle I got under the sink. The 12-year maturation Scotch isn’t my favourite in taste but its format is perfect to hide everywhere. I drink the 50 mL bottle in one gulp, then brush my teeth and use mouthwash to hide the scent.
When Lisa gets to the bathroom for her twelve steps skincare routine, I get another bottle from my nightstand and drink that one too, chewing on gum before my twin appears on the threshold of the bathroom.
“I never understand how you can chew gum just before you sleep,” she says, then gets under the covers next to me. We might have separate beds and bedrooms but most nights, we sleep in the same bed, at least part of the night. We don’t care if it makes us weird. None of us can get decent sleep without the other. It’s always been this way.
A nice buzz warms me up by the time she gets into bed. My muscles have relaxed, and I take a full breath in then out, leaning into the sensation of my body being held by cotton candy. Falling asleep with alcohol in my system always feels both right and wrong at the same time. It’s unnatural, but it’s also when I fully feel like myself. Under the cover of darkness, I don’t have to hide how much I hate myself or pretend that I’m a quiet person, not the wretched one with a secret addiction.
Even if I’m the only one who knows. Maybe it’s enough.
Come morning, I’ll remember it’s not.