4 #3
It’s for her own good. Her own marriage.
She doesn’t know I know about the dozen couples’ therapy sessions she and her husband went through because she forced them to move from Vermont to Connecticut to be closer to me, and took money out of their joint account to pay off my student debt without me knowing.
That she skipped a major trip—the first real vacation Mathew had planned for them in years—because it conflicted with my birthday.
But I do. Because Mathew told me. In a plea and a threat that let me know I was a rift between them, widening and ruining the one marriage I would never want to wreck.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t demand. He just made a point.
In that soft, careful way someone from HR would use when they want to sound reasonable while firing someone.
He never said go away forever. But it was in the way he thanked me when I missed a date Taina invited me to, or a networking event his job was running and Taina wanted me to join—like I’d done something good. Like I’d taken a step back on purpose.
It’s about Mathew watching every time she chooses me—and quietly resenting her for it. How he’s on his very last straw, and Taina thinks there are dozens left.
At first, I thought Mathew was too rough, his love too conditional.
But then the doubt crept in—what do I really know about love?
After all the failed attempts I’ve seen and lived through, and watching so many couples around me who seem to get by without it, maybe love isn’t the grand thing I once believed.
My experience with wedding wrecking should have made me immune to romance by now, yet here I am, still trying to unravel what love looks like, trying to decipher how something could look so vastly different depending on who wears it.
So, no, I can’t take her money; I can’t cross that line again.
If I do, I’ll ruin my sister’s marriage.
Taina told me every time they make it through a fight, she feels closer than ever to him.
Feels convinced that she chose the right person: someone that she can confront anything with and make it to the other side.
“No.” I press a kiss to her cheek. I grab my laptop from the carpet. “I’m going to convince my landlord to give me my apartment back. Maybe bring up the several building code violations as a blackmailing point.”
I mean, I should have gotten a discount from that crumbling building. It would help tremendously, seeing as I have no way of paying at the moment. It’s not like I’m dead broke, but I definitely don’t have back-rent amounts of money.
Even the thought of going into my savings makes me nauseous—partly because that’s for Save a Paw, sure, but the most stressful fact of it all is that the money is locked away in a CD savings account.
I pitched damn near all of my paycheck into it, putting aside just enough for rent and noodles.
I thought for sure I’d never need to pull from that money.
I’ve always made do with very little; it made sense to continue to live that way.
I signed the contract, locking myself into a three-year agreement without access to the funds.
The penalty for drawing before then is six months’ interest. I’d lose nearly all I’ve gained just like that.
It would be like starting from scratch. Not an option. Not even a thought.
“Oh my God,” Taina mutters. “You’re too good for my money?”
If Taina had stuck to her tech career, I’m sure she would have acquired a nice lifestyle herself, regardless of whether she had met her renowned attorney husband.
She just accelerated the process by marrying a well-off man with two properties, a strictly Prada-filled closet, and a penchant for making sisters-in-law feel guilty for existing.
“I can’t take your money,” I say, wishing I could, at least, some of it. “I can figure things out on my own. I always have. I believe in myself, and honestly, each time you try to convince me to accept your help, it feels like you don’t.”
That’s the worst of all. Taina used to need me for everything, and now the most she’ll ask for is for me to remember to text her back.
To go from someone who wasn’t just constantly needed but good at helping others to someone who can’t even pay their bills on time feels like karmic punishment from a past life where I kicked puppies and children or something.
Her face turns pink. “Well. That’s not my intention. But still, stop trying to run out. Consider this a temporary respite. Stay here as long as you need. The door is always open.”
The door, in reality, is glued shut.
I start up my laptop, the only thing I own that’s brand new. I begin drafting an email to my old landlord, knowing in my gut it won’t get me anywhere, then shoot a text to my favorite employee at Save a Paw.
Sadness doesn’t look good on me, no, but it’s hard not to wrap it around me in this house I don’t belong in and with a sister who should be asking for advice instead of giving it.
I need space to breathe, so I send my email, gather what I need, and head out.