“That was my fault.” The words, which once would have been impossible for Marin to say, now feel right. They make sense. “The party, it wasn’t the best idea.”
“Marin, I think Gia is tired. She wants to go to bed,” Raj interrupts, fatigued. “Let’s just call it a night.”
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you for a few minutes, Gia?” Marin shrugs. “I haven’t given you your birthday gift yet.”
“I don’t need anything, Mom,” Gia answers. “Dad’s right. I’m pretty tired.”
“A quick story,” Marin returns. “While you’re getting ready for bed.” Marin takes a breath, saying a word she had never before thought to. “Please.”
“No, Mom,” Gia says. “Maybe another night.”
TRISHA
I finally find my way back to some semblance of living. I borrowed Sonya’s clothes while living at Mama’s. Mama seemed to enjoy the company, having two of her daughters under her roof again. The house felt different without Papa in it; it was quieter, calmer. Though I was never the recipient of his rage and violent anger, I knew it existed and lived under the cloud of darkness he perpetrated. I felt the fear of my loved ones. Watching them walking and breathing freely within the same walls where they once moved in fear was a revelation. It was as if they were different women but with the same bodies and features.
After Mama and I spoke, I decided to return to what still feels like my house. Once inside, I glance around at the home I had spent so many hours perfecting, feeling like a stranger in it. Shaking off my malaise, I check my phone, the bracelets Mama gave me slipping up my arm. There are no messages from Eric demanding the house be cleared. He must be as hesitant to return to the home as I once was reluctant to leave it. When I walk around, only silence welcomes me, but I am quickly reminded of what is mine, what has always been mine. My home, my decorations, my life. All of it waiting for me to claim.
I run my hands over the boxes still stacked—I was so sure when I packed them. I stood in righteous indignation of Eric’s anger and felt his betrayal was greater than mine. Now it feels like a window has been opened—one whose glass was opaque, impossible to see through. I have built my marriage on lies, and Eric and I both suffered for them. I owe him an apology, an explanation for my actions. I know I don’t deserve an audience with him, but I have to ask.
I cringe at the thought of saying aloud what happened to me. Sonya and I have lain awake for hours talking about it. She has given me a shoulder to cry on, offered me a safe place to speak without worry about judgment or condemnation. When I told her that I still loved Papa, even as I reviled him, she nodded in understanding. When I told her I still loved Eric, she said she would be surprised if I didn’t.
“He’s a good man,” she said. “And he loves you.” She got a faraway look. “You’re very lucky you found him.”
I didn’t tell her what I fear—that I have lost Eric’s love forever. That what I had is in the past, no matter how much I still wish for it, it is gone. “Have you ever been in love?” She has never mentioned anyone to me, never given any indication she has given her heart to another.
“I don’t know what love is,” she answered. “But you do. You’re very lucky.”