by Calia Read
Aniston steps up behind me. His lips are in a firm line, and I know he’s replaying the scene over in his head.
“You guys, these pictures need to stay up,” Eden murmurs next to us. “I don’t want to forget.”
“Neither do I,” I whisper.
I want to remember my sister and all the happiness that she gave me. I don’t want to remember the bad.
Aniston’s hand rests on my shoulder for support, and the two of us forget that we were just screaming at each other a few minutes ago. The brother standing next to me is the one that I’m used to.
Turning toward the fireplace, my hands clutch the frame to my chest as I look at the family picture from a few years ago. It was the last captured memory of our family of six.
Eden wraps an arm around me. “This one is my favorite,” she confesses.
I nod, but I stare at the sister in front of me. The one with the smiling face and mischievous eyes. The one that Aniston and I would do anything for.
My lips curve up in a sad smile, as I look over her features.
I miss Elizabeth.
I miss E.
Aniston’s grip increases and I understand his pain. I feel it as much as my own grief.
Because Aniston, Elizabeth and I were triplets and the day our sister died, a part of each of us died along with her. And we’ll never get those pieces of ourselves back again.
All of the revenge I’ve wanted has been for my dead sister.
Knowing what I know now just makes my heart twist. I wonder if Elizabeth knew the truth before she died. I don’t think she did.
I whirl around and clumsily put the picture frame on the table. I leave Aniston and Eden to stare at Elizabeth and run up the stairs. When I shut my bedroom door, I let my tears fall freely. My head hits the back of my door and shut my eyes before I take a step toward my bed.
The lights are off and the only light coming through is from the patio doors. I just want to lie down and sleep, and forget that this night ever happened.
Slipping off my heels, I drop to my bed and lay my head against the pillow. I don’t even care that my makeup is on and that I’m still dressed in my gown. It doesn’t really matter at this point.
My brain refuses to wrap around tonight because I still have a bit of hope that I’ll fix everything with Macsen. That somehow, he’ll magically forgive me.
Tomorrow, I’m gonna wake up and the truth will be crystal clear. I’ve lost Macsen. And I’ve lost Elizabeth—two people that have a piece of my heart.
I close my eyes and I don’t know how much time has passed, but I hear movement in my room.
“Emi?” Eden whispers.
I stare at my patio doors numbly. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
A tear slides down my cheek. I just want to go back to last week when I still had Macsen. “No,” I whisper.
A few seconds later, Eden lays down on the bed. She is perfectly still, but I know she’s not asleep.
“We can take the pictures down, if you want.”
Sighing, I shake my head. “Keep them up. We need to remember her.”
Sometimes I don’t want to, but I know that all of us need to look at those pictures and remember the happiness we all once had.
“I wasn’t her triplet. I didn’t share the memories that you and Aniston had with her. But I still miss her too,” Eden admits in a shaky voice.
I feel another layer of guilt pack around my heart. Eden’s four years younger than us, and it’s easy for Aniston and I to relate to each other. But Eden still lost someone. She has her own special memories with Elizabeth that we can’t take away.
“I know you do,” I whisper back.
Reaching out, I spread my hand on my comforter. Eden grips my hand tightly. I squeeze back.
We fall asleep like that. And just having Eden next to me lessens my pain.
When death takes a life, it steals not just one soul, but a handful. And when E killed herself, no one in our family was the same. There was no therapist in the world that could repair us back to the family we once were.
Taking a bite of my eggs, I look across the dining room, past the foyer and into the family room. I see the family picture hanging above the fireplace. It’s important to talk, to keep those memories alive. I’ve been told that over and over since E’s death. But for my family, we shut down and did the opposite. None of us really talked about it. Not unless it was absolutely necessary.
All of us sit in the dining room, eating our breakfast quietly. Forks scrape against plates, coffee is sipped, and the occasional turning of my dad’s newspaper is heard. The silence is driving me crazy. Only two days have passed since the charity event. Two long, torturous days.
No one talks about the night of the charity event. It’s like it never happened, like my heart was never fractured twice in one night.
The truth really did set in after the charity event because I’ve tried calling Macsen, and I get no answer. I don’t want to accept that it’s over, but I just might have to. What I did to Macsen might be something that is unforgivable to him.
I want to reach out and find him, to explain everything that I’ve been through the last several years but something always seems to hold me back. It’s too soon. I need to give him space, but I don’t want to.
“Emilia, honey, are you feeling okay?” my mom asks. “You have dark circles around your eyes.”
I have circles underneath my eyes because the past and the present haunt me. I can’t think of either without grabbing my hair and wanting to release a wail of anguish.
Before Macsen, I could look at my present actions as a step toward my future. I had a small sliver of hope that I would heal from E’s death and that someday I would be happy. I thought the key to moving on was my Burn List. But all the list did was bring me closer to Macsen, close enough that when I thought about my future, he was instantly included.
“Emilia?” my mom repeats, waiting for me to answer.
Slowly, I lower my fork. “I’m just tired, that’s all.” She doesn’t look convinced and I give her a smile. “I’ve been sleeping on a mattress in the dorms that makes wood look comfortable. My body is in shock from sleeping on something so luxurious,” I joke lamely.
My mother takes a sip of her coffee and gives me a thoughtful expression. “I have an appointment to get a facial today. You should come with me. I’m sure I can get you an appointment too. I know the best treatment that-”
“I’m okay,” I interrupt and shake my head. “I don’t need that.”
“Sure you do,” she insists. “At least come along with me. It’ll be fun.” She reaches over and places her hand on top of mine.
All I want to do is lay down and do nothing. But I can tell my mom needs this. She grips my hand tightly, and I squeeze back and nod. “I can go with you.”
My mom practically beams. “Excellent! We’ll leave in a few minutes.” Scooting her chair back, she looks across the table. “Eden, do you want to go with us?”
“Ohh…” She shifts in her seat. “I’d like to, but I can’t … I had one a few weeks ago.”
Resting her hands on the back of my chair, our mother glances at Eden skeptically before she pats my shoulder. “It’s just you and me then.”
“I can’t wait,” I tell her as she walks out.
I look back down at my food and hear Aniston walk into the room. He greets my dad and Eden, and when he looks at me, he hesitates.
We’re still not speaking. Both of us feel betrayed.
I’m still angry enough that when I see him, my blood starts to boil. I don’t think I’ve ever been this mad at him. Tossing my napkin onto the table, I stand up quickly. Aniston only raises a single brow and sits down next to Eden.
“You’re still angry at me?” he asks.
Crossing my arms, I glance at him levelly. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He piles his plate with food and shrugs. “Just figured you would stop being such a baby and grow up.”
“I’ll grow up the minute you stop being an asshole to me.”
Our dad lowers his newspaper and looks between the two of us. “What’s going on?”
Quickly, I fill my dad in. “Aniston took it upon himself to humiliate me!”
My dad gives Aniston a questioning look, while Aniston glares at me. “I didn’t humiliate you,” he grits out and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I wanted you to wake up and realize what was going on!”
I knew everything that was going on; it’s my brother that is still in the dark. “Well, I’m up and you’re still a jerk,” I shoot back.
My throat constricts as I look between Aniston and Eden. They both stare at me as if they no longer know me. I want to tell them that this person, the person I am right now, is the person I’ve always craved to be, but I know they won’t understand.
Taking one last look at the two of them, I leave the room and hurry across the foyer to get away from their prying eyes.
“Hey,” Aniston calls out. “Wait.”
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,” Aniston 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 doesn’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 and 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.
