chapter TWO
The first night of our sister sabbatical was more than I was ready for. After sleeping for five hours, Leah threw me out of bed and made me put on a very sparkly halter top and black capri pants for dinner. She insisted we wear capris in Capri. I couldn’t argue with her logic.
After dinner, we went to the Piazetta Umberto I, the town square, got tipsy on limoncello and then followed a group of other twentysomethings to a club in town. Leah’s idea, not mine. There we drank more limoncello, and by the end of the night Leah had the entire club singing a Katy Perry song.
Because that’s what Leah does.
And apparently, even non-English–speaking Italians know the words to Katy Perry songs.
While they sang and danced, I sat at a table and sucked down my drinks, plastering a fake smile on my face, trying not to ruin Leah’s “honeymoon” or elicit one of those looks from her.
I caught her inspecting me a few times, making sure I wasn’t falling into a mood or withdrawing myself.
She thought she was being sly, asking me if I wanted another drink when it was still full and hers was drained, encouraging me to drink up or telling me a joke and making sure I laughed at it, because, if I didn’t, then something must be wrong.
Each time her eyes drifted over to mine, I’d bob my head to the music pretending I was into whatever song the DJ was playing when I’d rather have been back in the room.
This morning, my brain does not like the Teenage Dream lived last night and feels like I have fireworks going off in my head.
Thank you, Leah, and thank you, Katy Perry.
And thank you, limoncello.
“Rise and shine.” My chipper roommate bounces on the bed. Since I don’t drink as much as she does on a daily basis, my body doesn’t process liquor as fast. I think I’m still a little drunk.
“Go away.” My voice is deep and hoarse.
“’Morning, Emma.” A male voice echoes from Leah’s speakerphone.
I glance up at the clock beside the bed. “’Morning Adam. Holy God, what time is it over there?”
Adam’s chuckle pours out of the phone. “Four in the morning. Just getting off the nightshift. You sound like you had fun last night.”
I grumble at his reference to my morning man-voice.
“You keeping my girl from getting into trouble?” he asks, knowing his fiancé oh-so-well.
“Her talents for entertainment have risen to international capabilities.”
Adam laughs again. “That’s my girl.”
Leah talks back into the phone. “Okay, baby, let me go. I have to get this lazy ass out of bed or else she’ll sleep the day away.”
Leah lets out a loud air kiss and Adam does the same before they hang up. With her knees still on the bed, she rocks back and forth making the bed move beneath me. “Let’s drink espresso and eat croissants. You’ll feel like new in no time.”
I look up from the sheets I pulled over my head.
She is dressed in a denim miniskirt and a white peasant shirt.
Her hair is blown out with the front pulled up in a mini poof, and secured to her head with a red barrette.
Her pale eyes are light and bright; a far cry from what she should be looking like this morning after drinking her weight in lemon oil and sugar.
“Ten more minutes,” I plead.
“Nope.” She lifts the sheets off my body. “We have an island to explore.”
“We’re gonna be here for seven more days.” My voice is starting to get back its natural characteristics. More feminine, less mannish.
“And I don’t want to waste a second. Now, get out of bed and spend my honeymoon with me!”
I peer up from her with vulture eyes. She really knows how to guilt trip me.
I bang my fists on the bed and get up, not before getting my bearings and making sure the room isn’t spinning. When I’m sure the ground is even, I straighten my back and walk to the bathroom.
There’s a shower, a stall and a sink for two in here. Since the bathtub is near the bed, there is plenty room for a large shower made for—you got it—two. I head straight in and let the hot water hit my head and my back until I feel normal again.
Out of the shower, I wrap my body in a towel and dry my hair over the double vanity made of rock. Like, literal rock that is jutting out of the mountain. It’s crazy cool.
Looking at my reflection I see a girl who looks like Leah but so very different.
Our features are fairly similar. Almond-shaped eyes, nice noses, and a heart-shaped face.
But that’s where the similarities end. Where her eyes are blue, mine are a light brown.
She has Dad’s eyes; I have Mom’s. Leah also has this adorable cupid mouth that bows at the top. Yeah, mine doesn’t do that at all.
And while Leah’s hair is almost white, my hair is an ashy color. It’s the kind of hair that’s too dark to be called blonde but absolutely not brown. It’s just ashy.
Some people say I should get highlights, but my schedule was always too busy to spend hours at a salon. When you’ve been playing the violin since you were ten, there isn’t much your life offers in the form of time. If I wasn’t at school, doing homework, or grooming my career, I was practicing.
Well, now that that dream has died, I guess I have time to change my hair.
I look down at my right hand and flip it over repeatedly, flexing the nerve. Biting my lip, I look back up at myself in the mirror and continue to get ready. I don’t want to think about that right now.
“She’s doing fine.” Leah is in our room talking to someone. I turn the sink water on low and prop my ear to the door to listen in on her conversation. “Yes, Mom, she’s out of bed and in the shower . . . yes . . . yes . . . I’m making sure she’s eating.”
Being thousands of miles away from my family doesn’t seem to change anything.
“She thought I didn’t notice, but she didn’t want to be out last night. She was a trooper. She’s trying.” Leah’s voice is so hushed; I have to strain against the door to hear her muffled words. “I have her meds just in case.”
My stomach rolls at the thought of those damn pills, which I spent three months on. I didn’t know I was depressed. I just thought I was sad.
And tired. So very, very tired.
I didn’t know it had been three weeks since I had gotten out of bed. I didn’t know I wasn’t eating. Who needs a shower when you have nowhere to go?
My behavior led to a meeting with a Dr. Schueler, who had a lovely parting gift in the form of antidepressants. I fought against taking them. I’m strong. I’m an accomplished musician with a world-renowned orchestra. I have a boyfriend, a happy family and the world at my fingertips.
At least, I did.
Not anymore.
So I took the damn pills and spent the next three months numb – so numb I was void of myself. I hated every minute. I only did it so I didn’t have to see the look in my family’s eyes. The one that said they couldn’t move on until I did.
Two months ago, I told Dr. Schueler I wanted to do this on my own. She didn’t think it was a good idea. I stopped them anyway. I’ve been doing really well for the last eight weeks. It drives me insane that Leah felt the need to bring them with her.
She probably did it for Mom.
When I hear Leah hang up, I grab the sun block and walk it into the bedroom, motioning for Leah to apply some. She doesn’t even mention she was on the phone with our mom, and I don’t bring it up.
Turning to the wardrobe, I pick out a pair of white shorts and a green tank top, opting for comfort over style. I slide on my Sperry Top-Siders and head out the door.
“You are not wearing a fanny pack!” Leah chides as soon as I step outside.
“Don’t knock it. I have our passports, cash, and travelers checks in here. No one is getting away with our stuff.” I pat down the bag holstered around my waist to make sure everything is secure.
“There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t know where to start.” Leah’s arms flail about her body in mock exaggeration. Or maybe she’s being serious.
“What’s wrong with my bag?”
“Uh, everything?” She holds up a finger.
“Numero uno, you are wearing a fanny pack.” She stretches out the words fanny and pack as if I don’t understand English and need to hear her diction perfectly.
“Those are for tourists at Disney World and marathon runners. Are you riding the teacups or running twenty-six miles today? No. So take it off.”
“It’s practical and keeps all our stuff secure.” It also happens to be super cute. It’s gray with white chevron stripes. It’s the most adorable fanny pack ever. If it were Gucci Leah probably wouldn’t mind. Maybe if I got a Gucci one—
“Numero dos, that’s what a safe is for. Why are you taking all of our valuables with us?” Her hands are still in front of her body making dramatic gestures. I think talking to the Italians last night rubbed off on her.
“It’s due, not dos,” I say.
Leah just taps her foot and waits for an answer.
“I am not leaving our money in some chintzy safe where anyone can walk out with it. Been there done that.” Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . . you know how it goes. “If you want to get stranded in a foreign country with no way to get home, be my guest.”
She throws her hands up in the air. “Fine. Whatever. Take the stuff. Just leave that horrible pack in the room.”
Not wanting to cause a fight, I back up into the room and grab my shoulder bag, removing all the items from the fanny pack and inserting them into the new purse.
It won’t be as comfortable but it will be more stylish.
I shouldn’t worry. By midweek, Leah won’t care what I’m carrying her stuff in. She doesn’t carry a pocketbook at all.
Like Leah promised, after some espresso and a croissant, paired with some blood orange juice, my hangover is a dismal headache.