by Sandra Cunha
I hear it close. We’re safe. I turnaround. I can’t see him through the darkness, but I can smell him. “Aaron, you stink!”
“I just got off a seventeen-hour flight and haven’t had a proper shower in weeks. Give a guy a break. Come here,” he says. I can sense his arms reaching out for me, but I pull myself farther into the corner.
“No,” I say. “Don’t touch me! I’m poison.”
“Erin, you are not poison.”
“I am poison.”
“What’s going on with you?”
“I can’t tell you or else it’ll make it true.”
We stand in silence for a while. Then, I hear him rustling about, but I can’t see what he’s doing.
“Reach out your hand,” he says.
“No.”
“Erin . . .”
“Fine.” I reach out my hand into the darkness. I feel his hand touch mine, and there’s a spark. There’s always a spark when we touch. He places something cold in my hand. I use my other hand to pick it up. “Is that, is that a coin? Are you giving me money?”
“It is a coin. A penny, actually. The penny you gave me the night we ran into each other on the street.”
“You kept it?” I ask in surprise.
“I thought it might come in handy one day. So Lady B, I’ve given you a penny, tell me your thoughts.”
I’m so touched he kept it that I start to cry. But my tears aren’t only about that, they’re for everything that’s happening or has already happened. Through my sobs, I manage to get out, “I-I killed Betty. And-and the twins.”
Aaron finds me in the darkness and takes me into his arms. He whispers into my ear, “How could you’ve of killed Betty and the twins if I just saw them?”
I pull back from his embrace and look up at where I imagine his face to be. “You-you saw them?”
“Yup.”
“And they’re okay?”
“They’re great! Betty’s a bit out of it from the surgery. But they’re all fine.”
I can’t believe he met the twins before me. Another thought crosses my mind. “What did she have? Girls or boys? Both?”
“You’ll have to leave this closet to find out.”
Dammit! He’s got me.
I take a moment to think things through. Maybe—just maybe—I overreacted a little. But I was so scared the worst possible thing in the world was about to happen.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m ready to come out of the closet.”
He takes my hand and opens the door. My eyes take a bit of time to adjust to the light. When I can see again, I look at Aaron and blurt out, “What happened to your face?”
“Do you like it?” he asks, caressing his full beard. “Shaving was too much of a pain over there.”
“I’m not sure, but I think it might grow on me.”
“Funny girl. Now give the bearded man a kiss.”
I pretend to pull away, but I can’t resist, beard or not.
God, I’ve missed those lips.
“Where’s the penny?” Aaron asks after we’ve stopped kissing.
“Um . . . I just had it . . . maybe it’s . . .”
We both turn towards the open closet door and see it laying on the floor.
Aaron walks over and picks it up. “I may need to use this again some day,” he says, grinning.
I punch him in the arm.
“How did you find me, anyway?” I ask.
“Matt. I was planning to surprise you at the condo, but Matt told me you were here and that Betty was in rough shape. I figured you’d need to see a familiar face.”
“I meant how did you find me in the closet?”
He looks me in the eyes. “Really, Erin? If I know anything about you by now, it’s that when trouble strikes, you look for the smallest room you can find and hide in it.”
We both laugh because it’s true. So true.
“Let’s go find the twins!” I say, running down the corridor.
He bursts out laughing again before calling out, “Uh, Erin?”
I slow my pace and turnaround. “What?”
“You’re going the wrong way.”
I burst out laughing, too, then run back towards him.
But sometimes you have to go the wrong way before you can get it right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“GIRLS! IT’S GIRLS!” I yell, as I come rushing into Betty’s hospital room and see the pink balloons that someone—Matt? Aaron?—must have gotten. I would’ve (probably) been just as happy if she’d had boys or a combination of the two. But it’s girls! Girls!
“Hey, Erin,” Betty says groggily from her bed.
“Betty!” I go over and give her a hug. “Oh, Betty! I’m so glad you’re okay.” My eyes are tearing up again.
She looks at me. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay?”
“I am now. Can you believe it, Betty? You’re a mom!”
She gives me a weak smile. “It’s sinking in.”
I see Matt sitting in a chair, looking weary.
“Matt! Congratulations!” I say, giving him a hug.
“Thanks, Erin. Sorry about being freaked out earlier. I just didn’t know what was happening.”
“It’s okay. Everything worked out.” I remember what my mom had written in her letter, so I add, “You’re a good man, Matt.”
He smiles at me.
With congratulations out of the way, it’s time. Time to officially meet the twins.
I walk slowly over to their tiny hospital cribs and peek inside.
They’re so small! So adorable! And they’re part mine!
“What’s your name little girl?” I ask the one on the left, half-hoping she’ll say it.
“Georgina’s the one on the left and Charlotte is on the right,” Betty says from the bed.
“Georgina and Charlotte! No, Georgie and Charlie,” I declare. “Nice to meet you, I’m your Auntie Erin.” Wait a minute. “Betty? You do realize you’ve chosen the names of . . . um, nothing. Forget it.” Of course, she wouldn’t have realized. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t follow the happenings of The British Monarchy.
“Their middle name is Rose,” Betty says. “Like mom and us.”
And our grandmother, their great-grandmother. But Betty won’t understand the significance of that. Not right now, anyway.
“That’s perfect,” I say. “Can I pick them up?”
Everyone in the room, except the twins, looks at me apprehensively.
“What? I’ve held a baby before.”
“Okay, but be careful,” Matt says, coming over.
“Who came out first?” I ask.
“Georgina,” Matt answers.
I take her out of the crib, then hold her up in the air and start singing “Circle of Life” from The Lion King while turning in a circle.
In the background, I hear:
“Erin! What the—” from Aaron.
“What’s she doing?” from Betty.
“Don’t worry, I’m spotting her,” from Matt.
But I ignore them all. This has to be done. And then, I do the same thing with Charlotte.
Once I’ve finished and have placed Charlotte safely back in her crib, I turn around to face them. They’re all looking at me incredulously.
“What?” I ask. “It is the circle of life. It’s proof that it continues.” Our family continues.
I can see their eyes tearing up, especially Betty’s. But before things can get too emotional in here, a nurse walks into the room.
“You must be the famous Auntie Erin who Betty’s been talking about,” she says with a mild Irish accent. I beam. Betty’s been talking about me. “Aren’t the twins gorgeous?”
“Very,” I say. “Most newborns are pretty ugly, but these came out already cute.”
The nurse raises her eyebrows, and then says, “Well, twins are a blessing, ugly or not.”
“Twins run in our family. Betty and I are also twins.”
“You are?” The nurse asks surprised. “Then
that’s a double blessing.”
“We’re not twins,” Betty tells her.
“We’re Irish twins!” Really, you’d think she’d have accepted it by now. I remember the nurse is actually Irish. “Um, we’re not Irish-Irish, just you know . . .”
The nurse chuckles. “It’s fine. No offence taken. I hate to break up the fun, though, but Betty here needs to get some rest.”
“Okay,” I say, disappointed that we have to go so soon.
I give Betty a goodbye hug and whisper in her ear. “You’re going to be the best mom. I know it.”
She smiles at me when I release her. “Thank you, Erin.”
And I know we’re thinking the same thing: we wish our own mom could be here.
To stop things from getting too emotional again, I give her some important news she doesn’t know about, yet. “Betty, I got the vintage shop!”
“You got it? Congratulations! I knew you could do it!”
We’re hugging again. “Thanks to your help,” I say.
“Wait, you got what?” I hear Aaron exclaim from the corner.
Oh, yeah, he doesn’t know anything about this.
“I’ll tell you on the ride home,” I say with a big grin on my face.
As Aaron and I sit in the backseat of an Uber, returning us to the condo, I explain how it came to be that I’ll soon be the proud owner (leasee) of the vintage shop.
“It’s risky,” he says when I’ve finished. “There was no other way?”
“I could’ve leased another retail space somewhere else, but I wanted the vintage shop.”
“Have you signed anything, yet?”
“No, but I’m going to. As long as it states what Art and I agreed to, I’m signing it. I really want this.”
“Then there’s no point trying to change your mind. But can one of my lawyer friends look at the contract before you sign?”
“Of course. I was going to ask you about that. I think I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to blindly signing contracts.”
“Wow, Lady B got herself a retail shop! Anything else exciting happen while I was away?”
Do I tell him about my mom’s diary?
“Yes, something did happen, but I can’t tell you.” I see the worried expression on his face. “No, it’s nothing like that,” I say to reassure him. “It’s just that I need to tell Betty first, but she has more important business to take care of right now.”
“You know, Erin, we don’t have to tell each other everything. I know you’re set on the oath we took, but every couple has some secrets.”
“Secrets? What kind of secrets do you have?” I ask accusingly.
He looks uncomfortable. “It’s no big deal. Well, it’s sort of a big deal, but . . . let’s not talk about it now.”
I knew it. This thought had lingered in the back of my head the whole time he was away, and now I can’t help voicing it. “You fell in love with a beautiful Ethiopian woman named Farhiya, didn’t you?”
“That’s where your mind goes to? No, that’s not it. I . . . I ate goat.”
“You ate goat?” I try (unsuccessfully) to suppress a giggle.
“It’s not funny. I wanted to refuse, but how could I? They killed the goat for us, as a thank you. Plus, they literally put it into my mouth! I couldn’t spit it out!”
I place my hand on his arm. “It’s okay. But no turkey for you this Thanksgiving. You’ve used up one of your two exceptions.”
He laughs, then says seriously, “I’ve missed you, Erin.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I say, laying my head on his shoulder. “Are there any other sins you want to confess to me while we’re at it?”
“No, not a sin, but I have been thinking about something. I think I want to make films. Or, at least, try to.”
“Really?” I say, lifting my head in excitement. I’m visualizing him producing these big Hollywood blockbusters and us attending all these fabulous parties, hobnobbing with celebrities. Except, this is Aaron, so . . . “You mean, like documentaries?”
“Yeah, and maybe some short films. What do you think?”
“I think you should go for whatever makes you happy.” And I mean that. (Even though, I still think Hollywood blockbusters would be more fun.)
“There’s something else I wanted to tell you. Remember how I borrowed that film producer’s satellite phone to call you?”
I nod my head.
“It turns out . . .”
I’m walking the red carpet at the Toronto International Film Festival!
Well, next week, when it begins. The producer Aaron met in Ethiopia is friends with someone who worked on a film that’s being premiered at the festival. And because Aaron helped him out of some sort of a pickle—which he was sworn to secrecy about—we get to walk the red carpet at the premiere. So maybe there are some secrets I don’t need to know about, especially if it means I get to walk the red carpet.
That also means, I’ll need something special to wear. But I’ll worry about that tomorrow. I’ve had enough excitement for one day.
And what a day it was, with all of its highs and lows, it still turned out to be the best day of my life.
I give a silent thank you to the universe. (We’re friends again.) But now all I want to do is go to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
IT TAKES ME a moment to recognize where I am. I haven’t been here in years.
The first thing I see is our old couch, but not everything is the same. I don’t remember those curtains; the items in the display case are different, too; and there are a bunch of toys scattered on the floor.
What am I doing here? How did I get here?
Out of habit, I go to mine and Betty’s room. I’m expecting to see our old twin beds, but instead, there are two cribs against each wall.
My blankie!
I pick it up and smell it. It smells just like I remembered. I was so sad when I lost it. It was like losing a friend.
What’s happening? What’s going on?
I hear laughter coming from my mom’s bedroom. I walk in slow motion back across the living room, although I’m trying to run. Trying to get there as fast as I can.
Finally, I do get there. In the room, I’m playing on the floor: the two-year-old version of me. And beside me is Betty, who’s barely one, stacking blocks. And then, I see her.
I see her!
“Mommy?”
She turns. “Erin, my sweet girl.” She comes over to me.
We’re hugging. I can actually feel her hugging me, and I never want to let her go.
“Oh, mom, I’ve missed you so much. So much! I’m sorry you didn’t get to have the life you wanted. I’m so sorry,” I say, crying into her hair.
She releases me and looks into my eyes. “Of course, I had the life I wanted. I chose my life.”
“But your art, you gave up your art.”
“Erin, I could’ve kept painting. I’m the one who decided to stop. Consciously or subconsciously, I decided to stop. I was done.”
“So you’re not sad you gave up everything?”
“Look, Erin,” she says, pointing down at Betty and I, playing on the floor. “Don’t you see? I got what I always wanted the most, a family.”
I hug her once more because I know I’m dreaming. I know it. I also know I’ll wake up soon, and I can’t let this moment pass without holding her tight before she’s gone again.
As I’m hugging her, I look over her shoulder and see that she had been painting before I came into the room.
Without her turning to see what I’m looking at, she says, “It was my last piece. My masterpiece,” she adds with a laugh.
How I’ve missed her laugh.
I look at the painting again, but it’s blurry, I can’t make out what it is. Everything is getting blurry, fading out. I’m waking up.
“No!” I yell out.
But it’s too late, I’m awake.
I try to fall back asleep, to get back there. But it’s hopeless, I can�
��t.
Aaron is sleeping blissfully beside me, unaware of anything. He’s a very deep sleeper. So I get up and go to the kitchen for a glass of water.
The clock on the microwave reads 4:44. Those numbers again. The death numbers.
Since my mom passed away, I’ve never had a dream about her. I wanted to, desperately, but it never happened until tonight.
I got to see my mom! I got to hold my mom!
I’m so grateful to whoever is in charge of dreams for giving me that. I only wish I had seen what she had painted, her masterpiece.
Then, like a shock, it hits me.
I run to the hall closet and take out the painting I left in there earlier the previous day.
My mom’s painting.
How have I never made this connection before?
Once I’ve torn off the packing paper, I hang the painting in its proper place on the dining room wall, then I stand back and look at it. Really look at it.
It’s still the same mother with her head turned away while holding a toddler and a baby on her lap. But now I see Betty and I are the little girls, and the woman is my mom. Maybe she’s looking away because she’s saying goodbye to a part of herself.
I glance down and confirm it for sure. I’d never noticed the signature on the painting before. I never thought it was important. But it was always right there.
Condé.
My mother’s birth last name.
This was her masterpiece. We were her masterpiece.
I’m crying again.
That’s the thing about grief, when you think you’ve come to terms with it, it comes back to bite you. It never really goes away; it just changes form.
I’ll never be completely over my mom’s passing.
How could I be?
And I’ll always be afraid the people I love will be taken away from me.
How couldn’t I be?
But I know that’s the way things go.
It’s the circle of life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I’VE NAMED THE DRESS The Penny.
It’s a one-shouldered, Grecian-style dress with a long, flowing skirt (with pockets). It’s made from silk curtains in a beautiful bronze colour that I found at the thrift store. I’ve sewn-in a band of pennies under the bust and at the shoulder of the dress. Definitely, one of my most difficult sewing projects to date. But I had to do it on my own, and I also had to incorporate pennies into the dress somehow, given its name and the meaning behind it.
