Christine Deriso - Then I Met My Sister

More silence. Squeak, squeak, squeak .

Aunt Nic’s eyes search mine for an explanation. I shrug.

“Mom, did you hear Aunt Nic?”

Squeak, squeak, squeak .

But then the squeaking stops. Mom freezes in her spot until her shoulders convulse. Her head drops and a sob rumbles through her throat.

“Sue … !”

Mom turns toward us, her blue eyes glistening with tears. The teacup in her hands drops to the ceramic tile, breaking into a thousand jagged pieces. Aunt Nic and I gasp and jump to our feet. Mom holds out a hand to stop us from coming closer.

“Stay where you are!” she says through her sobs. “You’ll get cut.”

We ignore her, rushing over and enveloping her in our arms.

“The glass!” Mom wails. “You’ll cut yourself on the glass!”

“We don’t care about the glass!” Aunt Nic says, pressing Mom’s face into her neck.

“It’ll cut you!” Mom insists, but we’re not listening. We’re just hugging her, Aunt Nic’s fingers tangled with mine as we stroke Mom’s hair.

“I have to clean it up,” Mom says, but her voice is small now, defeated. She crumples into us, our muscles flexing to absorb her weight. Her sobs emanate from deep in her gut.

“It’s okay,” Aunt Nic whispers in her ear. “It’s okay, Su-Su.”

We stand there for a long time. Our faces turn sideways and rest on each other’s shoulders. Our arms caress each other’s backs.

“I miss my baby,” Mom moans, then shakes as more sobs churn through her chest.

“I know,” Aunt Nic coos. “I know.”

“It’s my fault,” I say. “I shouldn’t have called Eve. I didn’t mean to upset you, Mom.”

Mom’s back suddenly stiffens and she pulls away from us. “Why did you call her?” she asks. I try to read her expression. Angry? Accusing? Betrayed?

I hold a hand against my mouth, grasping for words. “I don’t know,” I say, staring at the shattered glass on the floor. “I need to know her, Mom. You never talk about Shannon, other than superficial stuff. I want to know my sister. But I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She takes my cheeks in her hands, her palms cool against my skin. “I’m glad you called her.”

My face crumples. “But I made you cry.”

Mom shakes her head. “It’s okay to cry, sweet girl. My sweet baby girl,” she says, and our tear-stained eyes stay locked for a long moment.

Then Mom’s hand tugs self-consciously at the collar of her blouse. “I must look a fright,” she says. “Let me go wash my face.”

Broken glass crunches softly under her pumps as she starts to walk out of the room.

Aunt Nic suddenly smiles. “I can’t believe it,” she says. Mom turns around to see what she’s talking about.

“This is the first time I’ve ever see you walk away from a mess,” she tells her sister.

Mom blushes. “Oh, the glass!”

She starts rushing back into the kitchen, but Aunt Nic is shooing her away. “We’re got it, we’ve got it,” she assures her. Mom hesitates, then smiles and walks out of the room.

Aunt Nicole and I squat on the floor and gingerly start tossing pieces of glass into the wastebasket.

“Should I tell her?” I ask.

She looks at me quizzically.

“Should I tell Mom about the journal? Doesn’t she deserve to know?”

Aunt Nic’s eyes lock with mine. “I don’t know what to tell you, honey. I’m sorry I’ve put you in such a tough spot.”

I pluck more glass from the floor.

Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like such a tough spot anymore.

Thirty-Six

“Can I help you?”

“Uh …”

I stare frantically at the plump brunette who has just opened the front door of her apartment to me, a baby in her arms. She’s dressed in shorts and an oversized T-shirt. Her eyebrows seem locked into a perpetual V, making her look angry.

Even when she arches her brows (which she’s doing now, prodding me to say something), the V stays in place.

God. Why didn’t I anticipate somebody besides Chris answering the door?

“Um … ” I say. “I’m looking for Chris Ferguson. Is he home?”

She narrows her eyes.

“He went to Chapel Heights High School, right?” I ask, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Yeah?”

“I’m a senior at Chapel Heights. Well, I will be in the fall. We’re doing an alumni survey. I was hoping he might be willing to answer a few questions.”

She tosses her head sideways.

“Chris!” she calls.

We stand there for a second, the baby reaching a pudgy hand in my direction.

“Chris!” the lady bellows again.

Jeez. The poor baby has to look at that scowl all the time.

I hear footsteps listlessly approaching the door.

Then I see him.

He gives me a blank stare. I pitch forward slightly, studying his face. He’s got a slight paunch, dirty-blond hair, and a receding hairline. His features are even, and pleasant enough—I guess he had the potential to be good-looking a few years back. But now he just looks average, like the person you have to pass in a front office to get to the office of the person you’re there to see. The kind of person nobody ever notices.

What the hell did Shannon see in him?

Now he’s doing the eyebrow arch thing, waiting for an explanation.

The brunette turns and disappears into the apartment with the baby.

I take a deep breath. “I’m Shannon Stetson’s sister.”

The slightest hint of surprise flickers in his eyes. He stands silently for a moment, then closes the door as he joins me on the stoop, nudging me slightly backward in the process.

“What do you want?” he asks in a lowered voice.

He’s towering over me. I didn’t realize how tall he was until I could feel his breath on my face. My knees buckle slightly.

“You dated Shannon before she died … right?”

He studies my face for a second, then nods almost imperceptibly.

“But you broke up?” I continue. “Right before she died?”

He holds a steady gaze. “Okay,” he says evenly.

Whatever that means.

“Why did you break up?”

He rubs his chin. “Why are you here?”

“I just … I don’t know. She kept a journal before she died. I’m reading it. She writes about you.”

His jaw tightens. I can tell that words are bouncing around in his head. “She was a nice girl.” That’s what he settles on. “I really don’t have anything else to say.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m meeting with Jamie later today.” I blurt out this lie so quickly, I don’t even remember forming it in my head.

Chris looks … what? Mad? Panicked? “What the hell?” he says, rubbing his chin again. “Why are you dredging up all this crap?”

I’ve really got his attention now. “Jamie told me that …”

“Jamie got pregnant on purpose .”

My jaw drops for a nanosecond. I shut my mouth and suck in my bottom lip.

“Right,” I say, trying to sound calm, almost bored even. “Shannon found out Jamie was pregnant, and then …”

“Jamie was always chasing after me,” Chris says, spitting out his words. “She was nothing but a pest.”

I bite the inside of my lip, willing my face to stay expressionless. I brush a windblown lock of hair out of my eyes.

“She faked being Shannon’s friend so she could get to me,” Chris continues, clenching his fists. “I told Shannon she was nothing but trouble.”

“And yet … you and Jamie ended up getting together.” It’s the most benign way I can think to phrase it. I don’t want to make him defensive.

“ One time,” Chris says, his eyes bulging. “ One time I let my guard down. And that’s all it took.” He jams his hands in his pockets, his face reddening. He shakes his head slowly.