I think back to all the times I was nervous to tell John something big. Although, nothing seems quite as consequential as telling someone that you have cancer. That you are going to die. How does one even announce such a thing?
I remember the first time I told John that I loved him. I was a nervous wreck. I was barely a day over twenty and had never really been in love before. Not in that ceremonious way that you love when you’re old enough to make good on your dreams and your promises. When you can look into someone’s eyes and know that this could be it, this could be your future.
It wasn’t happenstance or serendipity that brought John and I together. Unless you want to call a semi-secret set-up a fateful event. It was your typical college introduction; my roommate was dating John’s roommate and both said roommates thought it would be somewhat harmonious if John and I were dating as well. Lucky for Mike and Susanne, John and I hit it off. I was a virgin until I met John. So I guess my declaration of love held a little more weight than the usual terms of endearment that college coeds toss around like coins in a fountain.
I realized it early on in our relationship but felt the need to play the cat and mouse game that so many of my friends swore by. So for weeks, I agonized over it. Said the words aloud in the mirror whenever I was alone in my room. The scenario on repeat in my head whenever I was with him. It almost slipped out a few times, but I held back, kept my secret a little while longer. Playing hard to get was not easy, especially when John had become my last conscious thought each night and the first thing I thought of each morning. But afraid of losing him, I played along.
One night as our eager hands fumbled with buttons and our kisses became more intense, I knew that I was ready to take things to the next level. We were in my dorm room. Susanne had gone home for the weekend, and knowing that we had the room to ourselves for two whole days filled me with a confidence and boldness that I had not felt before that night. Between heavy breaths, as John and I were standing in the dark, removing our clothes with nervous anticipation, I had blurted out “I love you,” and without missing a beat, John had wrapped his hand around the back of my head, pulling me closer before devouring my mouth with his own. My heart was thrumming in my chest and I feared that he didn’t feel the same way, that I had said it too soon.
But then he pulled away, tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear– an endearing gesture that would later become noteworthy, almost poetic, looked me straight in the eye and said, “I love you too, Gwen.” The way my name passed through his lips, slow and seductive, was the most beautiful thing that I had ever heard. I silently scolded myself for being so nervous, for keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself for so long, for doubting myself – doubting John.
A stray tear trails down my cheek at the memory and I wipe it away with the terrycloth sleeve of my robe. That moment feels like a lifetime ago and yet, here I am juggling that familiar fear again as if I’m still that girl. Terrified of the vulnerability that comes with just a few simple words.
Hopefully a night with Charley will be the escape I need. The pause from reality I need to gather my strength before facing John with the news.
Chapter 4
Charley
I park my car alongside the curb in front of my one-bedroom bungalow that I rent near Green Lake. It isn’t much, but it’s cute and within walking distance to all my favorite bars and restaurants. It’s home.
As I walk up the path that leads to my door, I spot Gwen sitting on the front step, lost in thought, waiting for me. It is only drizzling now, the heavy rain from earlier dissolved with the light of the day. Darkness looms, as it always does this time of year, but there’s still enough daylight to see that Gwen is soaking wet.
“Gwen? How long have you been waiting here?” I ask, glancing at my watch to confirm that it was only a few minutes after five.
She doesn’t move at the sound of my voice, not even to look up at me.
“Gwen,” I say her name louder, an unsettling feeling rising in my gut.
She looks up and immediately smiles, returning from wherever her mind was a moment before.
“Charley, you’re here,” she chimes as she stands and hugs me. I hug her back, aware of how cold she feels, how damp her overcoat is.
“You’re freezing. Come inside,” I say as I step away from her and unlock the door. We both move into my small living room. I set my purse down and begin to move magazines from the red-slipcovered sofa, placing them on the coffee table instead.
“It’s so good to see you. I missed you,” Gwen admits as she removes her coat and sits on the worn leather chair in the corner of the room.
“I was surprised to hear from you today, but I’m glad you’re here.” It’s no lie. I am excited that she’s here. She lives only an hour’s drive north, but typically I go to see her. It just makes more sense with the kids and their hectic schedules. So the idea that she’s on my own turf and that I have her all to myself, feels nice. I take off my coat and lay it across the wooden bench just inside the door.
“So what do you want to do tonight?” I ask.
“Let’s go out to dinner. I’m feeling sushi, but I’m flexible.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. My senses are on high alert and I know that something isn’t right. But I also know that she’ll tell me when she’s ready. If I have learned one thing over the years it’s that you don’t push Gwen. She does everything in her own time. I always think of her like a tightly wrapped present, beautiful on the outside, so contained and poised – perfect. But inside, something wonderful and boisterous awaits. Only a select few are privy to what’s inside, the real Gwen hidden behind all the tightly wound packaging.
“Sushi sounds good. We could walk to Fusion down the street. If we hurry, we might even make happy hour,” I say glancing at my watch again. “Do you want a change of clothes?”
Gwen looks down at her damp slacks and says, “Yeah, I should probably change.”
Walking the few short steps to my bedroom, I grab a stretchy pair of leggings out of a dresser drawer and pull a long knit sweater from a hanger in the closet and throw them at Gwen. “Thanks,” she calls out.
“I have boots to go with that, if you want,” I yell from the bedroom as I undress down to my purple lace thong and matching bra that I chose to wear this morning when I thought that Grey would be ripping them off me this very minute. A sigh escapes me. This is better. This is healthier, better for my soul, I think to myself.
I pull on a pair of worn jeans and a sweater and grab a pair of taupe suede booties for me and a pair of black leather riding boots for Gwen, making my way back to the living room. Gwen steps out of the small bathroom across from my bedroom, her eyes scanning my new attire.
“I swear, you look good in anything. And look at me,” she says as she motions toward her body with both hands. “I’m lucky I could stuff myself into these leggings.”
I laugh. “You look great, Gwen. They’re suppose to be snug.”
“Snug? These couldn’t be any tighter if you painted them on,” she says with a smile.
“Here. Put on the boots, it will finish off the look just right.” I hand her the boots.
“Well, at least we share the same size in something,” she says as she sits down and pulls them on one at a time.
We both step into the bathroom where I run a brush through my long, brown hair and Gwen paints her lips with a mauve gloss. I watch her face in the mirror, comparing her round shaped face to my oval one, the way her short, thick blonde hair, cut in a stylish bob makes my light brown hair seem unusually dark. Her hairstyle and overall look screams perfection while my hair and makeup seem wild, untamed. But the one thing that connects us, the one feature that gives away our shared DNA, our relatedness, is our hazel eyes. Big and green with strong flecks of gold that could appear a muddy shade of blue with the right color of shirt. Eyes that link us both to our father, at least that’s what I’ve been told. Other than that, one would never know we’re sisters.
/> “Ready?” I ask.
“Yep.”
We slip back on our coats and step into the cool night air. Gwen and I walk swiftly down the street, shivering slightly from the damp cold, chatting about my mundane day at work and the fall weather that has come early this year.
The trendy sushi restaurant is bustling when we arrive, but Sara, the manager, sees me and motions to an empty two-top near the back. Gwen and I bypass the crowd waiting at the door and find our coveted seats.
“Wow, that’s what I call service,” Gwen whispers as we sit.
“I come here a lot,” I admit with a shrug.
We order a couple of beers and Gwen surprises me when she orders a bottle of sake. She’s not much of a drinker.
By the time our miso soup arrives, we are both feeling a little more relaxed and our stiff conversation flows with ease, as if we never missed a beat.
My cell phone buzzes in my purse and I absentmindedly retrieve it. And just as I do, I see the name “Grey Preston” light up the screen. Unfortunately, so does Gwen.
Without answering the call, I stuff my phone back into my purse, sheepishly.
“Why’s Grey calling you on a Friday night? Everything’s going okay with your job, right?”
I fumble for words. I never was a good liar. “Uh, I probably just forgot something. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I brush it off, desperate to change the subject.
“Shouldn’t you answer his call? It could be important.”
“It’s fine. Besides I’m off duty,” I say, waving my hand in the air. My cheeks blush just the slightest bit pink, I know from the subtle heat that warms my face.
“Oh. My. God. You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?” she asks me, her hazel eyes wide.
“Sshh. Geez, settle down. I am not sleeping with him,” I say quietly, averting my gaze, unable to look her in the eye. A dead giveaway, I’m sure.
“Charlotte Brant,” she says, sounding just like my mother, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re lying. You’re sleeping with him.”
I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the lecture, the disappointment.
“Do you have any sense in that head of yours?” she asks in her motherly tone. “I mean, seriously, he’s your boss. John’s friend.” She shakes her head at me but I refuse to feel guilty at her words. I refuse to let her scold me.
“I like him. It just happened,” I say defensively.
“You like him? Since when do you like anyone? Is it serious?” she asks, knowing as well as I do that I don’t do serious. I never stick around that long.
“I like him,” I repeat, shrugging my shoulders.
“So, you like him? Just like you liked my neighbor’s son?”
“Oh here we go,” I say with full sarcasm. I should have known that we couldn’t go one night without her bringing it up. The incident that came between us three months ago, the night that ended with her screaming at me to get my priorities straight, to grow up. Ranting about how selfish I was and how she was tired of taking care of me, tired of worrying about me. I had slammed her front door and walked away but not before spouting, “Fuck you,” at her from the top of my lungs. I had called her to apologize weeks later, knowing that she was right. She’s always right. But Gwen was angry and she can hold a grudge like none other. I was beginning to worry that I had pushed her too far, that I had really lost her for good this time. I couldn’t imagine my life without Gwen. She’s all I have, besides my mother. But Connie and I aren’t exactly close.
“Let’s set aside the fact you were watching my kids for the night and they could have walked in on you at any moment. Which is completely irresponsible, if you ask me. But besides that, Aidan is only twenty, not even old enough to legally drink. I’ve known him since before puberty, Charley. He’s just a kid. And I have to live next door to these people.”
“First of all,” I say, holding up one finger. “Trust me when I say that Aidan is most definitely an adult. A pretty hot one in fact.”
Gwen shakes her head at me. I hold up two fingers.
“Second of all, the kids were passed out cold. And we were being discreet.”
“Discreet? I have images in my head that should never be in my head, Charley.” She places her fingertips on her temples, thrusting her big eyes at me. “And trust me, these images are not appropriate for children. Not to mention my couch. Eww.” Her face contorts in disgust. “One night. You couldn’t go just one night without sex?”
“Sorry. I don’t know what else to say. It was impulsive and crazy, I admit, but it was hot. Or at least, it would have been hot if you hadn’t interrupted us.”
“I swear, you’re worse than a guy,” she says, shaking her head again but smiling. And then she giggles. I can’t remember the last time I heard her laugh like this.
And then I start to laugh too. And before we know it we’re both laughing so hard that tears are running down our faces.
We recover, wiping the tears from our eyes and she says, “I love you, I do. But I stopped trying to understand you a long time ago.” She says this out of love and her words are endearing in their own way.
Changing the subject, I ask, “So what’s going on with you anyway? You’re acting weird. What’s up with the last minute weekend visit?”
I see her tense, but her tone is contradicting, easy.
“I’m not acting weird,” she says defensively. “I just needed a weekend away and I missed you.”
“A weekend away? Since when?”
“Since now,” she says, picking up her chopsticks and stuffing a spicy tuna roll in her mouth. She chews slowly as I eye her with suspicious curiosity.
“Is John having an affair?” I ask.
Without a second thought she rolls her eyes and replies, “Oh please. It wouldn’t occur to John to have an affair.”
She’s right. He’s as loyal as they come. He doesn’t have a cheating bone in his whole body and he adores Gwen, practically gushes over her, even after all these years. Theirs is a relationship to be envied.
I change tactics. “Oh my God. It’s you. You’re having an affair,” I say, shocked at my own idea, trying to imagine Gwen having sex with someone besides her husband. The idea is too far-fetched and absurd, and yet I wonder.
“No, I’m not having an affair. I would never do that to John.”
“Okay, so what is it?”
“Nothing. Can’t a girl just want to see her sister?” She brushes off my interrogation but it’s hard to miss the way her face falls or the way the breath she takes is so deep, that her shoulders raise at least three inches before her entire body shudders on exhale. And my gut is so twisted that I can’t imagine eating another bite of sushi.
Chapter 5
Gwen
I know I should tell Charley. I know this as I watch her, ready to pounce at the first sign of admittance. I evaded her questions gracefully, but I can tell from her sudden silence that she knows I’m keeping something from her. She doesn’t push, she never does. She knows me too well.
We finish our dinner in almost complete silence except for the random comments about the food or the weather. We walk back to Charley’s in complete darkness, the damp cold seeping into my bones with each step. We both comment on how exhausted we are, so I wash my face and change into a pair of Charley’s pajamas. I crawl into her queen-size bed with my Kindle and stare at the ceiling while I wait for Charley to do the same.
“Are you going to read for awhile?” she asks, pulling the covers back and sitting next to me with her back against the wooden headboard.
“Yeah, how about you?”
“I have a few issues of Vogue I could catch up on,” she says, applying a lavender scented hand cream to her palm and rubbing her hands together.
“Okay.” I prop my Kindle on my torso and wake the screen. I attempt to read a book I started in the doctor’s office earlier, but not one word is registering in my mind. I am consumed with thoughts of my appointment earlier today, my prognosis, and my fa
mily. And once again I am filled with fear, fear of telling John. Do I just go home, sit him down and tell him that I’m going to die? Just like that? It reminds me of when I told him that I was pregnant the first time. Much different circumstances, with far more optimism. But I was scared to death, nonetheless.
I can remember the exact moment that I found out I was pregnant with Olivia. I remember pacing the worn wooden floors of our first apartment we rented as a married couple. It was small and old; it smelled of mildew like most apartments in Seattle. I can remember lighting scented candles in every room in an attempt to obscure the damp smell. The scent of cinnamon still conjured memories of the early years in that old apartment.
John and I had just barely graduated from college. John’s next step was a master’s degree in business. I had just started a job as the manager at the Hotel Belmont, working crazy hours, but it was all part of my initiation into the world of hotel management. We were barely scrapping by on my measly salary.
At twenty-four years old, we were the youngest newlyweds I knew, but we were in love and determined to start our life together. We knew it would be hard work with our opposing schedules and our limited income, but that didn’t hinder our relationship one bit.
Until now, I remember thinking as I stared at the positive pregnancy test. The one I had taken after one missed period and a week of nausea that I wouldn’t label “morning sickness” because it lasted the entire day and into the evening. It was more like, “morning-noon-and-night sickness.”.
The test was positive; I was officially pregnant. I remember thinking, I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t be upset. I shouldn’t be scared. Scared to tell John. We were married. We were adults. This should be happy news. I should be rejoicing. I was going to be a mother. I was going to have a baby. But instead, I paced the length of the small apartment, biting my lip until it bled, thinking about how this would change our life, change it in a bad way. I was the only one working. Would John be able to continue his degree? What would he think? What will he say? We didn’t plan for this. We had just barely registered for health insurance. We could hardly afford to feed ourselves. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment, stretching our monthly income as far as it would go. All these thoughts swirled in my head as I waited for John to come home. I said those two words over and over to myself, “I’m pregnant,” but no matter how I tried to spin it – I couldn’t imagine a positive reaction from John. My fear and anxiety was building each minute that I waited for him.
The Words We Leave Unspoken Page 2
