Moses
My sister curled into a ball on my couch, exhausted and tear-stained.
“You have to stop answering their calls,” I said.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t get angry at me. I can’t take one more person shoving their shit onto my plate. I’m full-up on crap. I have my own shit to deal with.”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m furious at our parents.” My fists tightened at my sides as I paced my living room. “Don’t be married if you hate marriage so much. Why do they have to keep dragging us down with them?”
“I don’t know, Moses. I don’t know. Mom just sounded broken. How could I turn her away?”
I stopped pacing and faced my sister. “Are you fucking kidding?” As much as I wanted to yell down the walls of my apartment, I kept my voice soft and even. Yael had been up all night with our mother, listening to her cry about our dad’s affairs and his emotional abuse. Then, this morning, our dad showed up at Yael’s place and whisked Mom away like they were lovers reunited, but not before giving Yael a piece of his mind for being a harbor for her mother during one of their many storms.
“No, I’m not kidding. I know they have been awful to you, but she’s my mom. Where would she go if I didn’t take her in?” Yael sounded defeated, and it killed me. It broke me. It made me want to break things.
“Maybe she’ll finally leave him if she doesn’t have someone to be an audience to their relationship theater.”
She shook her head, rubbing the heel of her hand against her eye. “She won’t leave if she doesn’t know she has a safe place to go.”
I groaned, tugging at my hair. We’d been going back and forth about this all morning, leaving me beyond frustrated. If Michaela were here, she’d know what to say, but she was at work. Not that she wasn’t currently another source of my frustration.
Heaving a breath, she unfurled herself and stood. “I’m going to go home and take a nap. Maybe a hundred naps.”
My sister wasn’t one to let any cracks show, but they were currently wide open. Her vulnerability and brokenness had me pulling her into my arms and holding her tight. She could be our mother’s safe place even though she didn’t deserve it, but it was my job as Yael’s big brother to behersafe place.
“Love you, Ya-Ya.”
She slammed her forehead into my chest. “I hate that nickname.”
“Shit.” I rubbed my sore pec. “Why is your forehead so damn bony?”
That drew a half-smile out of her. “I’m an undercover rhino.”
When she left, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Filled with anger, I paced, trying to sort myself out. When would this end? Our parents had been on this fight-and-make-up merry-go-round for as long as I could remember.
Needing to do something before I punched a hole in the wall, I went into the guest bedroom, which was still stacked high with Michaela’s boxes. We’d shut the door on her things two weeks ago and never reopened it. It still felt like it’d be too easy for her to leave.
The truth was, I knew her well enough to know her not unpacking wasn’t some kind of message about how temporary she thought our living arrangement to be. The woman was just disorganized, and probably had no idea what was even in these boxes, or where to start. So, I’d help get her started.
Picturing her coming home from a long day at work, eager to tell me everything she and Jenna had gotten done and planned made me grin. My gorgeous wife was happy. And I was getting there.
If she’d agree tobemy wife.
If my parents would crawl into a hole and disappear.
If I could get out of my fucking head for five minutes and justbreathe.
I’d never been the guy who thought about shit on repeat. I felt, made plans, then I did what needed to be done. When situations were beyond my control, I got antsy. I needed action, to be moving toward a goal.
Getting Michaela unpacked would be my goal for today. It’d give me something to focus on besides the shitshow that was my parents’ marriage and the defeated aura surrounding Yael as she walked out my door.
I got through two boxes, finding places for everything, before I saw it. It took me a minute to read over and register what I was looking at.
Divorce papers.
And not from months ago, when we weren’t speaking. These were only weeks old. My lungs deflated, and I stumbled back onto the guest bed. The date registered: a couple days after the ultrasound I missed.
Shit.