by Portia Moore
“Yeah. We’re going to try to make this thing work,” I tell her and she runs over and gives me a big hug.
“That’s so great Chris. It’s about time you listened to me,” she says, patting me on the back.
“Thank you. For being there, for listening, for being you, and never judging. I don’t tell you enough, but you’re a great friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I expect her to joke and give me one of her sloppy kisses on my forehead when she gets emotional but instead her whole body stiffens. I step back from her and I see tears in her eyes.
“Lisa what’s wrong?” I ask, starting to feel nervous. I’ve only seen Lisa cry once in my whole life and that was when her mother missed her graduation because she was too drunk to remember to show up.
“I’m so glad you’re happy Chris,” she says, her voice wavering as she turns away from me.
“Lisa, what is going on?” I ask, starting to become anxious.
“I don’t want to be the one to ruin it. I didn’t want to do this. I swear to God I never meant to hurt you,” I turn her around and she’s crying so hard her body is shaking. I pull her to me.
“Lisa what is it?”
“Why are you crying Lisa?” a small voice says from behind us. I turn around and see a little girl of maybe seven or eight, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
“Everything’s fine. Go back in my room okay,” Lisa says trying to pull herself together.
“Who are you?” the little girl asks me.
“I’m Chris, Lisa’s friend,” I tell her, looking back over at Lisa.
“What’s your name?” I ask, kneeling down so we’re at eye level. She gives me a shy smile.
“I’m Willa,” she tells me.
“Please go back in my room sweetie,” Lisa says, ushering her half way. When the little girl leaves I look at Lisa for an explanation.
“Is that one of your students? You didn’t kidnap someone's kid did you?” I say half-jokingly. Lisa has a big heart and I wouldn’t be surprised what she’d do to help a kid, even if it wasn’t exactly legal. She sighs, it seems like it lasts forever and then wipes her face.
“No. She was staying with my aunt. But now my aunt’s really sick and she can’t take care of her anymore,” she says quietly.
“You’re adopting your cousin?” I ask her, sitting back down her couch. I’m not surprised, Lisa loves kids, but to actually take care of one, to be a parent, I don’t know if she’s ready for that yet. She shakes her head.
“She isn’t my cousin. She’s my daughter,” she says quickly. So quickly I know I haven’t heard her right.
“Wait. What?” I ask her in disbelief.
“I had her when I was nineteen,” she says, tears coming back to her eyes. I feel like I should say something, but I’m at a loss for words. Lisa has a kid, and she never told me. How could I not know this?
“I-I don’t know what to say,” I say, letting out a deep breath. “Wow, Lisa,” is all I can come up with. We both sit in silence and then my heart starts to beat faster and I remember why I’m here.
Oh no. Oh NO!
“She. She isn’t mine is she Lisa? You and Cal didn’t…” I say, feeling like I’m about to throw up. That son of a bitch. That son of a bitch! She stands up and turns away from me.
“Lisa, tell me. Say something now,” I say, my own voice shaking. She turns back around, her lips quivering and her hands shaking.
“She’s not your daughter. She’s your sister.”
When my mom told me she had cancer everything changed. Everything seemed sharper, faster, so fast that nothing really mattered. It all blurred together as time sped up. My world shifted off its axis, my life couldn’t be the same.
When Lisa said those words the exact opposite happened. For a moment everything around me froze, time moved in slow motion, at a glacial pace. I can only describe it as when you get really drunk and you move around lazily, everything’s foggy. Your mind is like a swamp, your thoughts float around, and everything is sticky. Not sticky, muddy, muddy is the word I’m looking for. When what you hear is so far-fetched, so catastrophically bad that you brain doesn’t compute it. It can’t compute it. It’s so ridiculous your thoughts won’t process it.
Like a glitch.
I don’t know how long Lisa’s been standing in front of me but I know she could not have just said what I think she just said. It’s impossible, I can’t even respond to it, because if I responded I’d be just as ridiculous as she is. I don’t even think I’m here right now. I’m in a nightmare, a constructed dream. Cal is fucking with me. This is all an illusion so he can break me down, mentally fuck me so bad that I can’t come back from it, but I know this isn’t real. My best friend isn’t standing in front of me, with a kid I just met in the other room, telling me she’s my sister.
It’s implausible, because in order for that to be true that would mean she would have had to screw my dad. My father, who would never do anything as disgusting as sleep with my best friend.
He wouldn’t betray my mother like that. Because if he slept with my best friend that would make him… a hypocrite, a filthy piece of shit?
It would mean that everything he taught me about values and being a good person was bullshit. That everything I believed in was a fucking lie.
“Christopher,” she squeaks out meekly. It snaps me from my trance.
“Say something. Please.” I look up at her standing in front of me, tears streaming down her face and I feel a switch about to go off. Like a bomb about to explode and it’s taking everything in me not to. So much that I’m afraid to move because the slightest thing could set me the fuck off.
“Say that again,” I ask simply, and she shakes her head.
“How is she my sister?” I say, cocking my head trying to understand. Hoping against hope there is some reasonable explanation for this. She looks away from me and I take a deep breath.
“Did he rape you?” I ask, cringing at the word. Her eyes look up at me.
“No,” she says quietly.
“So you willingly fucked my dad?” I ask her bluntly. She seems caught off guard, surprised I guess that I’d use that type of language.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says, crying again. I want to get up and leave, leave her right here crying but my body won’t move. My mind has too many questions and it won’t let any of my limbs budge until I have answers.
“Yeah, I don’t think fucking your best friend's dad is ever supposed to happen,” I say quietly.
Nice one Chris.
“Chris please,” she begs.
Bitch, fucking slut, don’t believe her tears.
“Chris please, what? What Lisa, would you like me to do or say? You’re telling me that kid in there is my dad's—My FUCKING Dad’s—Lisa! She’s what, seven or eight? Which would mean,” I stand up, my legs finally gaining strength, “You slept with him when we were in high school?” I feel like I’m about to vomit.
“We made a mistake!” she says through tears. So many tears.
“How many times?” I ask, holding my head.
“Please, it doesn’t matter,” she whimpers.
“How many times?” I roar.
“A lot! I loved him. We loved each other,” she says. Now I’m going to throw up right here.
“You sat in our house. My mother's house,” I say disgusted.
She’s a fucking cunt what do you expect?
“Shut up!” I shout. Both to her and to the fucking voice in my head. It’s him and he won’t shut up. He knew.
“Cal knew. He knew didn’t he?!” I ask her, walking closer to her so close she backs into a wall.
“He—I—we thought it was you at first,” she whimpers, looking down. She’s guilty.
“He caught us. Or you did, but after that you began to act strange. That was the first time you disappeared for days. We thought when you came back… We just knew that you were going to tell your mom,” she shakes her head. “But you didn’t, you weren’t even
mad. We eventually realized it was because you didn’t remember. After that you started calling yourself Cal and whenever you did you were so mean and hateful towards us. We didn’t know then,” her voice is shaky.
“It was our fault. We made you this way,” she says, breaking down. I shake my head, I feel energy in me coming from everywhere. I walk towards her, looking at the girl I'd trusted, who was my friend, who for a brief time, I had a crush on. I cover my face and then slam my fists on the wall on both sides of her. She screams before sliding down to the floor. The little girl comes out and runs over to her and hugs her.
“Leave her alone!” she yells and I try to slow down my breathing. This rage is growing within me and I don’t know how to handle it.
“Does he know?” I ask her, trying to calm my tone. She shakes her head.
“Great. I’ll deliver the happy news,” I say before heading out the door.
Cal
March 12th 2011
You can’t outsmart the universe. It doesn’t make mistakes. It catches up with you. Sooner or later if you’re meant to be fucked, you will be. It’s like those plane movies when the kids think they’ve outsmarted death but at the end of the movie they get decapitated or burned alive. The universe remembered that Cal Scott doesn’t get to be happy. That my life was never supposed to be anything other than what it was, pointless, meaningless and insignificant.
“Cal.” Helens voice interrupts my pity party. She and Dexter sit across from me at their huge ass conference table. Her voice is sympathetic, Dexter looks like he cares and it makes me want to throw up. I don’t want their sympathy. I don’t want them to give a shit. No one should give a shit.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks me for the third fucking time.
“I don’t have a choice, Helen,” I say, trying to keep my voice dry and even.
“You could tell her the truth. Let her decide. That’s what I’d want,” she says. I look over at Dexter who's holding her hand. They don’t know how lucky they are. To be able to love each other without any interference or handicap. The biggest of their problems is agreeing on where they want to vacation.
“I can’t do that do her. I made a mistake when I married her. She doesn’t deserve the life she’d be stuck in with me.”
“Shouldn’t that be her choice?” Dexter asks, sipping from his glass of brandy. I'm contemplating asking him for one even though I never drink.
“I have to make the right one for her. She’ll get over me and meet a nice normal guy,” I say, more to myself than them.
“You’re really going to let her go? Just like that?” Dexter asks suspiciously.
“Trust me it’s not 'just like that',” I say defensively.
“I think you’re making a mistake. I think you should tell her and she will understand. She’ll stand by you,” Helen says pleading.
“I didn’t come here for you guys to convince me not to do this. If you don’t have the medicine to fix me, if you don’t have a solution to this problem, I don’t want to hear any alternatives or suggestions!” I tell them.
“Okay,” Dexter says simply, Helen nods. Dexter slides over the folder to me. I review the terms of what we discussed. The financial details at least. I want to make sure Lauren’s taken care of the rest of her life. She shouldn’t have to want for anything. I flip through to the final page in the folder—it’s divorce papers. I look away quickly and grab the pen on the table and sign it. When she’s ready to move on completely I don’t want anything to stop her. I don’t want her to be stuck, even though it feels like a knife cutting through me as I sign my name. Once I’m done I slide the papers across the table to him. He takes the folder and stands up.
“Well I think I’m done here," he says, heading towards the door of their office.
“Dex…” He stops mid step.
“Remember, she’s not to know under any circumstances about Chris. No matter what,” I tell him. He turns back towards me.
“None?” he asks. I can’t think of a reason that would be important for her to ever need to know.
“None. Promise me—on your name,” I tell him. If it’s one thing that’s important to them, it’s their name.
“Done,” he says quietly before leaving the room.
“I’m sorry about Gwen, Cal,” Helen says solemnly. “I’m sorry about everything,” she says, her voice cracking.
“Come on Helen. You have to keep up the façade that you don’t have a heart,” I wink at her and she smirks.
“Be careful, I’m going to start thinking you have one,” she says as we both stand.
“I have a heart. It’s just not all that big,” I tease her. She walks over and gives me a hug. For the first time ever I really hug her back.
“I know you want her to hate you when you tell her goodbye. Just try to remember, that could be the last time she sees you. Leave her with something to know how much you love her,” she says, looking me in the eye.
“Take care of my girl for me,” I tell her as she walks me to the door.
“Absolutely,” she promises as I enter their private elevator to take me to the exit. She waves and I give her a little salute.
When I walk into the house it’s dark except the light in the hall near our bedroom. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I head up the stairs. This is the first time since I’ve known her that I don’t want to see her. That I wish I didn’t have to because I know what I’m going to tell her is going to hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her, now it seems like all I’ve done is hurt her. I think back to that night when I first saw her, how I was trying to save her from that douchebag Michael. I wonder if she would have been better off with him. When I walk in the room she’s sprawled across the bed. Her long dark hair covering the sheets. She’s beautiful, and she seems at peace. Even with all the chaos I’ve brought her, she still sleeps peacefully.
I want to touch her, to kiss her, but I won’t do that. I don’t deserve that. I deserve to walk out of here and never hear her voice, or feel her touch again. I leave the room and walk around the house. The only place I’ve ever felt at home.
She made my house a home, she’s my home.
I sit down on the couch and think of all the things I’ve done to her. How good I’ve made her feel, how bad I've made her feel.
After they stopped the medication trial, things just started to crumble. Chris started to come back more frequently, and our transition began taking a lot less time. I had to be gone more often, I even had to stop working. I couldn’t tell her why, so I started to ‘omit’ the truth. I guess that’s what liars tell themselves to feel better, but in reality it’s all a big fabrication. She started to be suspicious but she’s way off base. She thinks I cheat on her. That I have all of these women. I tell her I’d never cheat on her, but she doesn’t believe me because there’s no other plausible explanation. The real explanation is the opposite of plausible. She started to resent me. I saw her change.
She built a persona around herself, one that she puts on to not give a damn, but I see it in her eyes how much it hurts her and I hate myself for it. She thinks I hate her and that makes everything worse. I try to show her I love her the only way I know how without lying. The only time I can see behind her walls she’s built up is when I’m inside her, literally. I’m turning her into someone I never wanted her to be. I liked that she spoke her mind, now she only tells half-truths. She’s angry, and I know it’s because she’s hurting. This is going to hurt her, but she’s strong. She’ll get over me, move on. She can have the life that she always wanted. Someone she can know, whose family she can meet, where her biggest decision is where to go on vacation.
I’ve been down here awhile. I head back upstairs. Before I go into our bedroom for probably the last time I ready myself for this. Ready to take the role of villain, to make her see me as someone I never wanted her to see me as. That’s one of the reasons I loved her so much because even in all our fights and arguments she never looked at me like
that.
Today she has to.
“You’re finally up,” I say turning on the light.
“How long have you been here?” she asks, covering the yawn escaping from her mouth.
“About an hour,” I say, sitting in a chair across from the bed so we’re face to face. She glances at me, her eyebrow arched.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” I pull my chair closer to her and sit back down. She looks at me curiously, I can’t look her in the eye.
“Cal,” she says softly, reminding me of the girl I fell in love with. Not the pissed off angry woman she’s been the past few months.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers, like she’s afraid to hear the answer. I wish more than anything I didn’t have to, but I can’t let her know that. Anger is what she’ll want to hold on to, it’s what she needs.
“I’ve never lied to you,” I say steadying my voice. “And I’m not going to start now,” I drop my head down, run my hands through my hair. How am I supposed to do this? My heart rate picks up.
“Just say it,” she commands.
I take her hand. I won’t have the strength to do it if I don’t remind myself how much I love her, more than myself.
“I-I have to leave.” The words are bitter as they come up from my throat.
“Her expression hardens, and she pulls her hand away. “You called me back for this?” She’s sighs, obviously frustrated and annoyed and stands up. I take her hand and pull her back down.
“Look, this is different,” I tell her.
“Everything is different with you, Cal. If you weren’t so different, maybe I wouldn’t feel so screwed up right now,” she snaps at me. She’s pissed and I deserve it, because she’s right. If I wasn’t different we wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t have to do this if I wasn’t different. She could be happy. I could make her happy but things aren’t different, they’re the same and I have to let her go.
“I don’t know if I’ll be back.”
“What?” She looks confused. “Would you mind repeating yourself?” she says sharply.
