by B. E. Baker
I close my eyes. What is she doing here?
Geo marches through the door, pushing past me and spinning Gladys around in the process. She yanks the door shut behind her. “Why yes, I’d love to come inside. Thanks for asking me. And yes, I’d be happy to wheel you over to the kitchen table after I close the door.” She grabs the back of Gladys, since she has no handles, and shoves on the back frame, pushing me quickly toward my kitchen.
I sputter. “Excuse me.”
“Sure, I will.” She doesn’t miss a beat, spinning me around and plopping down in a chair next to me. “Now that we’re here in your kitchen, all cozy and best friends, future sisters even, let’s chat.”
My lips open, but no words come out.
“I can see you’re not sure what to say. That’s okay, because I have plenty of things to discuss. I’ll go first.”
I click my mouth shut.
“You’re depressed. I figured you would be. I hoped your mother or your father or someone would do something about it. But no one else stepped up, and you asked me not to tell Trig, so you’re stuck dealing with me. I know I’m not your sister or your mother or your father, but I’m the best you’ve got, apparently. Did I ever mention that I went to a year of therapy after my fiancé died? Well, I did. It’s mandated by the military. Not that they could really make me, but it’s covered and I thought, great. I’ll let them fix me.”
She stares at me. I still have no idea what to say.
“I’ll take your silence to mean that you didn’t go to therapy.”
She pauses again and I stare right back at her.
“Okay, that’s fine. Because guess what? That therapy didn’t help me much, not really. But I did learn some things. Some coping mechanisms, and some other stuff. But one thing that stood out to me was what the therapist told me about depression. I’m going to share it with you. Roger told me that there are two types of depression. Clinical depression is about a chemical imbalance. There is medicine they can prescribe to help even that imbalance out, and it frequently works fairly well. Over time you may need to change it or tweak it, or someone with a chemical imbalance may even want to try new options. There are side effects, but in many, many cases, medication is the best way to go. Or sometimes they encourage a mixture of medication and therapy and work or exercise. Some kind of regimen, tailored to the person, to treat the illness.”
I nod.
“Good, you’re reacting like I’m actually here. That’s progress. But the point is that, I never had clinical depression. What I suffered from was situational depression. Something awful had happened, like a hole ripped in the fabric of my life. I had to learn how to stitch my life back together and move ahead, dealing with the scar tissue of that hole. I didn’t need medicine, since I didn’t have an imbalance. I had an unsightly hole and the fallout from that trauma. Make sense?”
I nod again.
“You’re not dealing with a chemical imbalance, or at least, I don’t think you are, but you had a cannon blast a few years ago, and now you’re dealing with a smaller version of the same in the aftermath of the failed procedure.”
Trig knows I lost feeling on my left side. I guess he told Geo.
“You may have sewn the raw edges of your life’s fabric back together, but it’s hard when something else comes along and puts a hole through things again.” She leans toward me and takes my hand. “It hurts. Maybe even more than the first hole, because that major trauma left you numb at first.”
A tear runs down my cheek this time and I swipe it away as quickly as I can.
“You, Brekka, are absolutely, positively gorgeous. I know it. Trig knows it. Rob can’t stop looking at your stupid photo on his phone. How do I know that? Because he smiles this idiotic smile whenever he does. You’re also funny, and smart, and breathtaking. That’s what Rob says about you. You took his breath away. You are reeling, and hurting, and grieving, and you’re scared.”
“I fell on my face today.” I hate how uncertain I sound. “My stupid, dead leg caught on the edge of the wheelchair and I fell on my face on the floor.”
“You will be fine by the wedding,” Geo says softly, her eyes pleading with me. “But if you’re going to fall anytime, doing it when Rob is around is a pretty decent time to do it. He’s always been there to catch me, you know.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want that. I don’t want him to catch me.”
Geo’s eyes look pained. “What if it’s all he wants?”
My frown lines deepen. “Too bad. It would destroy me. I cannot be a charity project.”
She sniffs. “Look, you need to accept that you have value. You have great value, right now, exactly as you are. And it’s time to stop pretending you don’t. I won’t let you. Have you seen the cartoon Spiderman movie? With the pig?”
I nod.
“Do you remember what they ask him at the end? They tell him the most important part of being Spiderman is what?”
“Trust in yourself?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “It’s that he always has to get back up, no matter what happens, no matter how many times he’s knocked down. And I found you here in your chair. You answered the door. So when you fell on your face?”
Another tear rolls down my face.
“You had already climbed back up. That means you’re already doing it. Every time you fall, no matter why or how hard, you always get back up. Rob sees that. We all do. It’s one of the things we admire. So do it now, do it for him, and do it for yourself.”
I turn away.
She turns my chair until I’m looking her in the eye. “I’m not that easy to ignore. And you can tell me or show me exactly how you’re feeling. Always. I’m about to be your sister. I’ve never had one, and I cannot wait. I love you, Brekka. Just as you are. Believe in me that you’re worth it.”
I nod my head and she pulls me in for a hug.
Once she finally pulls back, I ask, “How’d you get here?”
“I stole Trig’s jet.”
I raise my eyebrows. “He didn’t ask why?”
She shrugs. “I told him it was emergency wedding stuff. He didn’t press.”
“Trig’s pretty decent sometimes.”
She grins. “Most of the time.”
I bob my head. He’s lucky to have her. “I’ll give you that.”
“Okay, now that you’ve suffered through my pep talk, what did you want to do?”
“Re-watch Spiderman, for one,” I say.
She laughs. “Good idea.” Then a half grin sneaks onto her face. “And how would you feel about a little girl time?”
I never trust anyone who’s sporting a half smile. “What did you have in mind? Be specific.”
“I can help you pick out what you’re going to wear to the wedding. Now that you are coming after all. Right?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
She follows me to my room and then walks through it to my closet. Before I can stop her, she’s browsing through the racks and racks of clothes. She starts to snag things here and there, sliding them over her arm. “Where do you get all these?” she asks.
“Giovanni,” I say.
She lifts her eyebrows. “Is that supposed to mean something? Is that a store?”
I suppress a laugh. “He’s my personal shopper.”
“Of course he is,” she says. “My personal shopper is called the internet.”
I laugh. “It has no idea what shape you are, or what colors flatter your skin.”
“But I can print return labels up myself, and the internet is free. Or at least, I already pay the $87 a month, whether I shop with it or not.”
“You are eventually going to figure out that some extravagant things improve your life,” I say. “But for now your frugality is adorable.”
She puts a long navy blue maxi dress over her arm.
“Not that one,” I say. “Way too dark for a wedding. People will think I’m mourning your addition to the family.”
She laughs. “
Can’t have people thinking that.” She snags a hot pink, flowing dress next.
Five minutes later, Geo has piled thirty dresses on the edge of my bed. “This is way too many, you know.”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. You need options. And don’t forget, it’s two days of events. Rehearsal dinner, then a late wedding the following day. So you’ll need three outfits, really. One for the dinner, one for whatever you do the morning before the wedding, and then what you plan to wear to the ceremony.”
“What about the bridesmaid dresses?” I ask. “I’ve been expecting something monstrously ugly any day now in the mail.”
She shrugs. “I want you all in sky blue. I don’t care what you wear. Anything you like is fine.”
“That’s not nearly obnoxious enough,” I say. “I’m disappointed, honestly.”
She tosses a yellow, button-down dress at my head. I laugh as I try it on.
Seven outfits later and there are seven outfits wadded up in the corner. “At this rate, we’ll go through my entire closet and still have nothing to show for it.”
Geo flops back on my bed. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just committed to finding the perfect outfit.”
“Okay, I’m ready,” I say.
She sits up and I wheel Gladys around so she can see dress number eight. It’s a coral sundress with tiny orange and green flowers embroidered along the bodice and skirt.
Geo inhales sharply. “Oh, that’s perfect. You have to wear that.”
“For which thing?” I ask. “It’s not blue, so the wedding is out.”
“Rehearsal dinner, then. Unless you want to look really good and really formal for hanging out with Rob at the beach Saturday morning.”
I grin. “Maybe a swimsuit for that.”
Geo’s eyebrows bob up and down suggestively. “Now you’re talking! We can look through those next.”
Joy bubbles through me. I don’t know whether it’s having a sister, or a friend, or knowing I will be seeing Rob in a few weeks, or having a dress that Geo thinks looks great. Maybe it’s all of it. Somehow that elation spills out through my hands and I spin Gladys around in a circle.
Of course, I don’t realize my left leg has fallen out of the footrest and I slam it into the foot of the bed. “Ouch!”
I freeze.
Geo leaps to the foot of the bed. “What happened? Are you okay?”
A smile spreads over my face, widening as the pain grows.
This time the tears are happy ones.
“I hit my foot on the edge of the bed,” I say.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Man, that stinks. Do you need, like, ice or anything?”
She doesn’t get it.
“I hit my left leg,” I say. “And I felt it.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, you did?”
I nod.
“Wait, does that mean maybe the surgery did something?”
I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t. But I hope very much that it means it didn’t.”
20
Rob
HOPE YOUR DAY WAS GOOD, I text Brekka around seven. It’s earlier where she is, so I’ve noticed that if I text before seven my time, I don’t usually hear back until around now.
She texts back right away tonight. NOT UNTIL I HEARD FROM YOU.
My heart swells. She’s gotten more and more positive over the past week. We text intermittently all day long now, and talk most nights.
CALL? I text her.
GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES. FINISHING UP A WORK THING.
A knock at my door surprises me. I’m not expecting anyone. I jog to the door and pull it open.
Trig’s eye healed up well.
“Hey man,” he says.
He’s not scowling, and he didn’t swear at me, which I think are good signs. We haven’t talked since I left NYC. I missed his bachelor party last weekend, in fact, but no one texted or called, not even Geo.
“Hi.” I’m not sure what to expect next.
“I came by to pick up the jewelry box. Didn’t you say it would be ready by now?”
I step back and gesture for him to come in. “It’s ready.”
“Great.”
I don’t say anything, but I head for the shop and he follows me. I wonder if he plans to simply pretend nothing happened. But when I unlock the door to my shop, he clears his throat.
“I also wanted to apologize,” he says.
I stop and turn around, unable to read much on his face in the low light. I flip the switch behind me, flooding the shop with light. Some of it pours out onto Trig and I think he’s embarrassed.
“You didn’t need to—”
He walks past me into the shop. “I did, though. I’m stupidly late, but I don’t process things quickly all the time. I’m working on it.”
“It’s really fine, man,” I say. “Seriously.”
Trig shakes his head. “I didn’t need to process the fact that you hit me, or the reality of knowing you could completely destroy me. I kind of already knew that, ever since we met. What took some time were the years and years of interactions to think about with Brekka.” He meets my eyes. “And you were right. It’s hard to accept that you’ve been hurting someone you love. Every day, maybe. I had to realize I’ve been a pretty horrible sibling.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Brekka loves you, and she knows you love her. She knew you were supporting her the best way you could.”
Trig’s face crumples. “I didn’t realize I was making everything worse on her. I didn’t know I was doing damage.” He breathes in and out deeply. “You have to believe me that I never would have—”
I pull Trig against me for a hug. “I know that.”
I haven’t hugged a guy other than my own dad since Mark died, and I thought it would feel bizarre, but it feels… right somehow. Like Trig needed this and I helped him.
He finally stiffens and pulls back. “Anyway, I needed to tell you that I’m done with all that, and if you tell me what to do or say, I’ll do it. I want to help her like you have been.”
I shake my head. “I’m not helping her. I’m in awe of how strong she is, how brave, and not because she uses a wheelchair. She’s the exact same person she always was. It’s important you realize that. People aren’t stronger or weaker because they’re dealing with a disability. They’re who they are, and all I do is stand back and watch and clap when she succeeds. That’s all.”
“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t get it before, and that we fought at the hospital,” he says.
“I’m sorry I punched you.” I’m not, but at least I can say it now.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Trig says.
“It did get me out of going to the bachelor party to hang out with all your rich friends.”
Trig glances around the shop and my enormous stockpile of furniture. “Dude, don’t take this the wrong way, because you know I think your work is mind blowing, but you need to get out more. You could use a few friends, even if they’re rich jerks.”
I snort. “I’ve got friends. Not your kind of friends, but I’ve got plenty of friends.”
“Alright,” Trig says. “Well, I was sorry you weren’t there. That sentiment surprised me, but I was. I respect that you care about my sister, and if I’m being honest, I think you’re good for her.”
My smile is genuine. Brekka may not adore her parents, but she thinks the world of Trig. It means a lot that he likes me. “Well, let’s get this jewelry box all loaded up.” I take a sharp left and head for the corner where I wrapped it up for transport.
I lift the box. “I assume you want to give her the stand back here, and not try to take it to Hawaii.”
Trig shrugs. “Hadn’t thought about that part, but yeah. That’s probably right. The jewelry I picked out is for the box, not the stand.”
He tries to lend me a hand, but I shake him off. It’s fifty pounds, not two hundred. “I got it. Thanks.”
I head back for the front of the shop and step out the door before I rea
lize he’s not behind me. I spin around. “Trig?”
He’s stopped by a table I’ve been working frantically on. Thankfully it’s not his wedding gift he’s studying. I put that away a few days ago when I finished it to avoid anything like this from happening.
“What’s this?” he asks.
My cheeks heat up. “Nothing.”
He crouches down and runs his hands along the edges. “It’s really different than everything else I’ve seen. It’s like a bunch of tiny boxes sunk into the surface, but you can hardly even tell they’re there.” He looks up at me curiously. “Will they be open like this when you’re done? Or covered? Maybe hidden? Or, you could have glass over them, showing what’s inside?”
I’m not going to tell him anything about his sister’s surprise. “I’m kind of carrying something here. Something heavy.”
“Right. Duly chastened. I’m coming.” This time he follows me out the door and to his car, where I load the box into the back of his SUV.
“Alright, well,” I say, “whenever you’re ready for the base table, I’m happy to drop it off. Or you can come grab it. Either way.”
Trig hands me an envelope. I take it, but I don’t bother looking inside. It’s not like he’d short me.
“Does this mean I’m your first paying customer?”
I nod. “My very first. Unless you count the little doodads I made for my sisters when they were little.”
“They paid you?”
I grin. “In hugs.”
“Then I don’t. I’m taking credit for being your first sale.”
I smile. “That’s fair.”
“I doubt I’ll be your last. Say the word and I can sell everything in there, I swear.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. “But maybe don’t suggest anything to Brekka.”
“Speaking of,” Trig says. “I thought I ought to say this now. I told you that I like you in there, and I mean it. But I am Brekka’s brother, and so help me, if you hurt her—”
This should be good. I lift my eyebrows.
“You already know I can’t beat you up, but I do have capital. Even without my trust, I can still afford to hire the best hit man that money can buy. And I won’t hesitate to do it, either.”
