I stop in my tracks and turn around. “What?”
Aniston slows down and tucks his hands into his pockets as he walks toward the stairs. “I didn’t do it to humiliate you, okay?”
Leaning my body against the railing, I stare at the ceiling. “Then why did you do? Why did you set me up like that?”
“I knew something was going on. You were distant and when you did talk to me, you were cautious. I could see you were hiding something.” He swallows and looks down at the ground before he continues, “And I don’t want to lose another sister to that fucker.”
“He didn’t do it,
” I say slowly. This seems to be my mantra for the past few days and I’ll keep saying it until everyone believes me. “If you got to know him like I did, you’d see-”
“I do know him,” Anis
ton interrupts. “You forget I went to school with him for two years.”
High school doesn’t mean a thing to me. People change as they grow up
, and honestly, I’m nothing like I was in high school. But I nod. “How was Macsen in high school?”
Aniston shrugs. “Quiet
… kept to himself, and was a complete asshole.”
“He sounds a lot like you,” I say quietly with a smirk.
My brother doesn’t smile back. He walks closer and leans against the wall. “Macsen may seem nice to you. But Elizabeth thought he was nice too … and look what happened to her.”
I shake my head in denial, but I don’t bother trying to make
him think otherwise. My words will fall on deaf ears. Sighing, I drum my finger against the railing. “Someday, I hope you’ll see the truth,” I say firmly.
Aniston says nothing. He d
oesn’t deny my words nor accept them. Wordlessly, he holds out his arms and I reach out to hug him. I know the two of us will be okay, eventually.
“I just want you happy, Emilia,” he says gruffly.
I nod my head. Silently, I think to myself that I was happy. With Macsen.
“Are you ready, Emilia?”
Pulling my gaze away from Aniston, I look over at my mother waiting by the door and grab my purse. “I’m ready.”
I follow my mom outside a
nd she instantly starts talking, “I’m so happy to have you back home.”
“It’s interesting to be back.”
My mom frowns at me and opens her car door. “How so?”
“I’m just used to Kentucky. I really like it there,” I confess.
“I’m happy to hear that.” She reaches over and pats my knee. “I’d be happier to hear that you were transferring back to NYU but…”
“It’s not because of anyone,” I explain. “It just feels so good to be somewhere that doesn’t have memories written all over the place, you know?”
My mother is slow to nod her head. “I guess I can see that. But this will always be your home, Emiliana. No matter what has happened, we have to look past the pain and see all the happiness we had.”
Had. She said
had
. We once had happiness and now it’s gone.
She takes a turn on a street I’m vaguely familiar with, and as we pass the buildings and quiet sidewalks, my anxiety rises to a whole new level. My mom parks and I slouch down in my seat.
“This isn’t a spa,” I comment with panic in my voice.
Her hand rests on the car door and she gives me a determined stare. “No, I need to make a quick stop.”
“Mom,” I whisper. “I don’t want to go in there.”
“Emilia…” She closes her eyes and holds my hand.
“I mean it. I hate this place,” I mutter and slowly open my door.
“Don’t say that!” she admonishes loudly.
I shiver as I stare at the church in front of me. It’s an old cathedral that looms in size. Looking at it gives me chills. I wrap my coat tighter around my body and slowly walk closer. The memories that this church holds are dark, so why would I ever want to come back here and revisit them?
Sadness claws at my throat as I walk up the concrete stairs toward the front doors. My mom holds my hand tightly as she opens the front door, and I hold my breath because it still smells the same. It reminds me of the day I want to forget.
With a straight back, my mom strides directly into the church. My heart slows its beating to a dull thud, as I walk down the aisle and sit next to my mom in a pew located right in the middle. My hands grip the pew in front of me tightly as I look around. Stained glass windows surround us. They cast colorful light onto the dark maroon carpet.
I stare at those colors and pretend my mother’s shoulders aren’t shaking, that she isn’t sobbing right next to me.
Elizabeth’s funeral was four years ago today. It was the most twisted day of my life, because seeing my sister lying in a casket with a serene look on her face and all her bruises covered up, felt sick. I didn’t go up to her casket the whole time. Right before the funeral procession, my parents made me. They told me I would regret it later on, if I didn’t. But I don’t think I would have.
I was content to remember my sister as a life, not a dead body. I was content to close my eyes and pretend she was still next to me, talking about her dreams.
It served no purpose, in my eyes, for everyone to peer inside her casket, give my parents a small condolence and walk away. They said kind things to Aniston, Eden and me. Things that made the tears freely fall, but their sympathies were abrupt. They awkwardly said how sorry they were and then the next day, they went about their business while we walked around like zombies with eyes that were open but never really seeing.
They had food delivered and some of our close friends stopped by. I remember Charlotte stopping by every day for months. She would drop something off in the kitchen, talk to us and then walk upstairs to my mom’s bedroom. When I heard laughter, I knew my mom was having a good day, she was remembering Elizabeth. When I heard wailing, I left the house and went anywhere that was packed with people.
I watched people before E’s death, but afterward, it became a necessity. I would watch their reactions, their smiles, and the expression in their eyes, just to try and guess what they were experiencing in their life. And it worked. My watching worked and I would forget for a second what I was feeling.
It made me confident.
I would think:
‘I have this. I’m going to be okay.’
And when I would lay down in my bed and try to sleep all I would do is stare at the ceiling, and think about E and everything she could have had.
My crying would start and it became hard to stop. Eden started to sneak into my room. She would say nothing. She would lie in my bed and cry alongside me. Aniston would come right after her and sit silently next to us.
None of us said anything. I think we all just wanted to be near each other—to know we weren’t alone.
So many times I was told that God will never give you anything that you can’t handle, but I question that saying. I challenge it and ask, what kind of life am I living exactly, if I only have half of my heart?
The answer is you barely survive. You barely make it. And even now, four years later, I’m barely making it. I used to have my hate to keep me going and now that it’s gone, I feel naked.
I don’t know how to categorize my mom. Glancing at her hunched-over frame, I stare at her with sad eyes. Joy Wentworth never
lets anyone see her feelings. The world sees a woman with a shy, pleasant smile on her face. She appears to have everything.
I see her pain once a year, for only a few days, but never this bad.
Hesitantly, I pat her arm, confused about what I should do.
Her elbows rest on her knees in a sloppy manner. Slowly, her hands move away from her face and she wipes the wetness from her cheeks.
We sit there silently before she whispers to me, “It took me five years.”
My eyebrows pull down
. “What?”
She wipes her nose with a tissue and lifts her head to stare at the pulpit. “I couldn’t get pregnant,” she confesses slowly. “The friends I had at that time, they were doing everything in their power to make sure the word ‘baby’ never came into their lives and I was doing everything in my power just to see that one positive test.”
She grips my hand tighter. I squeeze back before she continues. “I saw doctors and none of them could explain why I couldn’t conceive.” My mom looks down at her tissue in her lap. “Your father and I were close to adopting. I had a few agencies picked out, and I was getting closer to accepting the fact that I might not have children of my own.” She looks at me and there is a faint smile. “I started getting morning sickness a month later. I made your dad go to the store and buy every test available. Every test came back positive.”
This part of the story I know. I smile back at her, encouraging her to finish. “I would hear all these woman complain about morning sickness and everything that happens in pregnancy, but I was just so happy to know that I was pregnant,” she croaks out. “I took every time I was sick as a sign that the little baby was growing inside me. I had my first ultrasound at 8 weeks. The doctor saw three babies instead of one. Three! Your dad and I cried for days. I was going to have three babies and we were so happy. You three were born at 33 weeks. Ethaniel was the biggest.” I nod my head and smile down at the pew sadly.
“Emiliana,” she smiles fondly at me, “was next and you were smaller. You were born and you looked around silently. The nurses thought something was wrong with you, but you were always that way. Never said anything. You were my quiet little one.” She smiles over the memory.
“Elizabeth was the smallest. She was this delicate little bundle at three pounds but she had the strongest cry. Your dad used to say it was for all the laughter she was going to do later on.” My eyes filled with tears, but I nodded my head because it was true. “I didn’t know until months later that she wasn’t developing like you and your brother. You and Aniston were crawling at six months and she would sit there on her back and not move. She started to get seizures when she was a year old and it terrified us.”
Wiping more tears away, she stares ahead without blinking. “I knew something was wrong. I knew, but it was impossible to think she was behind you two, or had any disabilities holding her back. How could I think that?” she asks quietly with her lips quivering. “Elizabeth was alive and breathing, it just took her longer to grasp on to things. All that mattered was that I had my three little everythings: Ethaniel, Emiliana, and Elizabeth. Shouldn’t that be the only thing that matters?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I don’t know how to move on, though,” she confesses and hiccups loudly. “I can’t see her anymore and I can’t watch her grow. I just have to picture it all, what she would have done. I know she could have done anything. I don’t know how to let go of you three. I just picture the three of you as children and I-I just miss her so much.”
Her head drops back into her hands and she sobs loudly.
During those sobs I whisper, “I miss her too.”
I feel my mom’s arms wrap tightly around my shoulders. My mind shuts down and I drop my head onto her shoulder like I’m a child again. For the first time in years, I cry with someone supporting me.
MACSEN
There’s really no reason why I should still be here.
I did what I came to do. Laurena needed me to make an appearance at a charity event, so I did. I think she thought of it as her good mother-of-the-year deed. But a few hours with her and I’ve met my quota. I think she’s reached her limit, too.
When I got on the plane to fly to New York, I didn’t
consider that I would see Emilia so soon. I thought about surprising her after the charity event, kept thinking how I could find her.
The last name Wentworth
is familiar in New York. I went to school with a Wentworth. But I had no fucking clue that the Wentworth I knew was her fucking brother.
But that’
s the least of my worries, because three nights ago I had my heart ripped out of my fucking chest and mutilated by Emilia’s hands.
And thinking about her
right now only brings me anger; anger and so much fucking confusion.
I still want to know the truth, why I was blamed for something that doesn’t even involve me. I want to know why she was desperate enough to create a list with names of people she wanted to get revenge from. That isn’t the Emilia I knew.
Taking the keys out of the ignition, I quickly get out the car. I borrowed my friend’s car for the day, told him I needed to do something important.
With my hands buried in my coat, I jangle some change. The bitter winter air slams against my face and I keep walking toward the one place I need to be
.
Taking my steps two at a time, I ring the doorbell.
Laurena’s house is across the street. I struggle to not turn around and look at the place I once lived. It’s like turning around for all your worst memories, to watch them play out again.
I ring the doorbell one more time and clench my jaw. A part of me is dying to turn around. I want my mom to be looking out the window, and I want to show her who I am. Anything good that I have was never from her.