Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Macchiato
Dominic
As the weather begins to cool down from the weekend into the new week, I pull out a few extra blankets and drape them over the couch.
I’ve been scrubbing every particle of dirt from my apartment for days in nervous anticipation of having Ellora come over into my space.
In childhood, we were mostly separated into different foster homes.
During the few times we did live together it felt more like a shelter for lost children than a home.
As we grew up we kept tabs on each other.
But that never required us to actually hang-out let alone in one another’s spaces, and certainly not hosting dinner for each other.
It all feels so surreal. Ellora had moved to the east coast as soon as she could after her second rehab stint, wanting to put distance between her past and her sobriety.
I commended her for that, especially knowing how much she wanted to keep supporting Mom and Dad.
I was the opposite. As soon as I could cut ties from my parents, I did.
I know they live fairly close by, but I haven’t spoken to them in years.
There is no reason to. They have picked drugs over me every time, and I recognized it early enough to put distance between us, emotionally, and now that I am able to, physically.
A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. I scan my spotless apartment one more time. With a Coke and lime ready in the fridge and a vegetarian lasagna bubbling on the stove top, I take a steadying breath.
I yank the door open, finding Ellora standing there awkwardly.
At least I’m not the only nervous one.
Even with her platform black combat boots, she’s still almost a foot shorter than me.
Same parents, but we look nothing alike.
She’s wearing a black plaid skirt with spider web tights, and a red velvet long sleeve under a black leather…
well I’m not sure what it is. It looks like a goth dog harness wrapped around her torso.
She notices my stare and huffs in annoyance before marching inside. I close the door and follow behind her.
“So I, uh, made lasagna. I think you’ll like it,” I say by way of greeting, hoping to get off on a good start. Ellora flutters her burnt orange bangs with her finger tips, almost like a nervous tick, as she stands in the middle of my apartment looking around with a scrutinizing gaze.
She whips to me, arms crossed over her small frame. “Well is it a meat lasagna because I’m—”
“Vegetarian, I know. I made it without meat.” I move to the kitchen to pull the garlic bread from the oven before it burns and honestly, just to have something to do other than stand awkwardly in my open concept apartment that suddenly feels too big, with a sister I barely know.
“So this is your place, huh.” It’s not a question. It feels like it has some underlying bitterness to it, but I try to brush it off as I throw together a small salad.
“Uh yeah, I get a good deal on rent because the owners of the tattoo shop below are like…” I feel my cheeks heat for some reason. Ellora turns from her slow perusal around the perimeter of my space, like she’s checking for exits.
“Yeah, I figured. You can say the word family around me, you know. Even if it’s not me you’re talking about.
” The words are meant to be kind, I think, but as she runs her tongue over teeth I know to tread carefully.
Ellora has always had this fierceness to her.
Fiercely loyal to our parents. Fiercely volatile with her substance abuse. Fiercely stubborn.
I cut us each heaping squares of gooey lasagna, adding the garlic bread and side salad to our plates.
I watch as she silently comes to stand on the other side of the small island between us.
It’s less than three feet but feels more like an ocean.
This space between us…I don’t even know where to begin to bridge.
I grab a Coke and some lime wedges, pouring a glass for her and setting it between us.
She looks down at it, then up to me. A twitch of a smile pulls one side of her maroon-painted mouth. “Thanks.”
I smile back, hoping that the drink is a good ice breaker. “So do you want to eat here at the island, or on the couch?”
“What, no table?” She glances around confused, realizing I don’t, in fact, have a dinner table.
I shrug. “Never needed one.”
Kitchen tables were meant for happy gatherings. Families coming together, making memories, blowing out birthday candles, talking about your day over a home cooked meal. Neither of us had that.
Her gaze shoots up to me, something like commiseration flashing across her face before she gestures to the couch. “There is fine.”
We eat without any small talk, the sounds of our soft chewing filling the awkward air between us. Ellora finishes up the last bite of her lasagna, drains her drink and sets her plate aside on the coffee table, raising her eyebrows in mild shock as she brushes crumbs from her hands.
“So I guess all that cooking did you some good. That was actually really tasty, Dom,” she says, tucking her legs beneath her and smoothing out her skirt. “I wonder what I would have been good at if I had picked up a hobby instead of drugs.”
I feel my body jolt back subconsciously. She says it so casually but the tension in the air ramps up, making me chew my lip and wonder how the hell to respond to that.
“Um, Lor, I—”
“It’s fine. I know. Sometimes I just say shocking shit and no one knows how to respond. It’s fine. I meant that sincerely though. The food was probably the best I’ve ever had and you would be a total fucking dick wad idiot not to pursue it further.”
It wasn’t the most eloquent sentence, but it was a lot coming from her. Especially directed at me.
“I haven’t seen them, but I’m sure your work on theatre costumes is great. They wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t,” I offer dumbly in return.
“Dellie wants to get tickets to every show I work on.” She fidgets with her fingers, eyes downcast and smiling to herself. Seeing the joy she has from her relationship makes a relaxing breath shoot out of me, easing the tension I’ve been holding. Ellora’s here. She’s trying.
“Well, I’m open to going,” I say genuinely. Progress, slow and steady.
“I want you to come see Mom and Dad,” she says abruptly, eyes narrowed on me after dropping that bomb.
“What are you talking about?” I ask stiffly, wondering where the hell that came from and mentally hitting the brakes on progress.
“They’re getting sober. They’re trying, Dominic. And I know they’d really like to see you.”
I close my eyes and push my palms into them absolutely not wanting to have this fucking conversation again. “Some people don’t change. I have no interest in seeing them, ever again.”
“So that’s it? People don’t change? I haven’t changed?” She exhales sharply with barely-held anger.
I take a steadying breath before answering.
“I’m sorry I never gave you the benefit of the doubt, Lor.
Always assuming the worst and not even offering a helping hand.
I understand why you’d never want help from me.
I’ve never given any to Mom and Dad. I just don’t see the good in people the way you do. ”
“That’s your problem. You are such a pessimist you can’t even give people the option to succeed. You’re judgmental when you have no business doing so. You decide their fate, then boom, cut them out of your life. Judge. Jury. Executioner.”
Her words ring true in my ear like the swift strike of a gavel. I feel heat rising to my cheeks, and I quickly stand, taking our plates to the sink to rinse them. I need distance from this topic in more ways than one.
“Is that what you did to Celeste?” Ellora asks following behind me, her tone sharp.
“What the fuck does Celeste have to do with any of this?” I manage not to yell but my voice wavers as my anger builds. I clench my jaw, eyes shifting over the backsplash tiles while I wait for Lor’s answer.
How dare she bring up Celeste.
“Dellie told me everything. How she had to take care of Celeste because you yelled at her, judged her. Didn’t give her the space to tell you her story and you just assumed. Am I wrong?”
My hands grip the edge of the sink and I breathe heavily in and out through my nose trying not to lose it on Ellora. I close my eyes and rein in my frustration.
“It’s none of your business,” I say through clenched teeth, still unable to turn and look at her.
“Because you’re unwilling to share! Because you’re in the wrong and unwilling to admit it.” Her snarky reply makes me whip around and get in her face.
“You’re wrong. So fucking wrong. As soon those words left my mouth, I knew I fucked up.
You want to know why I was so pissed and freaked out on her?
” My humourless laugh echoes across my apartment at the idea of having to explain myself to my sister right now.
“Because I was jealous, Lor. Okay? She went on a second date with this guy who…” I turn my gaze toward the gloomy day outside my kitchen window.
I shake my head in defeat. “He could offer her everything. He has the means to support her, whisk her away to any city in the world. Hell, he could pay for her entire medical school bill and it would barely put a dent in his inheritance.” I scrub a hand down my face.
“Is that what she wants?” Ellora asks, her voice remarkably less snarky.
“I don’t know anymore. She had this list before. All these attributes she wanted in a partner and it was a lot, but honestly she deserves that. Ellora I’m not good enough for her.” My hands subconsciously begin to tidy the kitchen space around me. Ellora’s hand reaches out and firmly holds my arm.
“When I said that you don’t give people the option to succeed, that means you too.
You absolutely are good enough for Celeste and by what Dellie has told me about her, she really cares for you too.
” Before I can even process her words she reaches up on tiptoes and wraps her arms around me.
At first I’m rigid, since an Ellora hug is a very rare occasion.
After a moment of shock, I settle into her embrace and feel a sense of gratitude.
She pulls out from our hug and shuffles on to a bar stool at the island.
“Dominic, you’ve always been enough. I know you’ve grown up feeling unwanted because we were hopping from home to home but trust me when I say this: you deserve the very fucking best too.”
I turn away from her sniffing and willing myself not to cry in front of her.
I know we’re not ten years old anymore and she won’t punch me in the arm for having gooey feelings, but there’s always been this callousness to Ellora that I felt I needed to match.
Maybe that’s the effects of toxic masculinity in our society fucking up my emotional side and not being able to express it to my sister.
On that thought I turn back to her, steeling my nerves and allowing her to see just how her words have affected me.
Raw emotion and all. What I didn’t expect was to see her eyes red-rimmed, glistening tears held back in her hazel eyes. Her tiny pale nose tinted cherry pink.
“We’re really fucked up aren’t we?” She releases a half sob half laugh and wipes at her nose.
I chuckle with her. “Yeah but at least we’re in this together.”
We smile at each other for a moment, just taking in our new found siblinghood as adults. I break the moment with a final question. “So Delaney has told me that even though you specialize in costume design, you’ve done some set design before too?”
Her eyebrows quirk at the unexpected question. “Yeah, why?”
“Do you know anything about carpentry?”