“Well, if nothing else, all of us will have a lovely belated birthday dinner for Marin. Eloise has outdone herself yet again.” I hand a bottle of wine to Eric. “Honey, why don’t you pour us some?”
With an ease born of practice, he uncorks the bottle and pours the red liquid. As I watch the crystal glasses fill, I remember Sonya and me playing make-believe as children. Whether I was the restaurant owner, hostess, or just woman extraordinaire, I always made sure we toasted one another with grape juice. To us, I would say. Never finding a reason to disagree, and happy to be playing with me, Sonya forever followed along. Since she had always been, I assumed she always would be there, standing alongside, waiting for whatever game I wanted to start. As adults, she was meant to be my counterpart—the other half that made me whole. Her darkness to my light, her sadness to my happiness.
I watch my mother wait, her lowered head betraying her heavy heart. When Sonya left, emptiness settled over our lives. Mama rarely mentions her, almost believing if we never say her name then she isn’t really gone. I tried to suffocate my loneliness with other sources—Eric, my home, Mama and Papa—but nothing quite filled the void she left.
I learned something important the day Sonya departed: you cannot keep someone who has already left you behind. No matter what I needed or wanted, Sonya put herself first; I was last. For a while, I went through the motions each day. Soon enough, I forgot that there was someone missing. Only now, with the thought of her return, do I recognize anew the cavity left in my being. But I can’t show my excitement. If she fails to show, if she disappoints us by maintaining the status quo, then I am left once again, still waiting.
“She’s here!” Gia comes running in from the den, still holding the math book Marin bought at an education store. She’s a striking replica of Marin, the only difference between the two being the couple of inches in height Gia has over her mother. At fifteen, she looks like a woman. “She’s paying the cab driver.”
I release a sigh I didn’t realize I was holding. Clasping my own hands together, I watch Mama. She turns, having missed seeing Sonya’s arrival because she was distracted with the conversation. A sheen of tears covers her eyes before she quickly blinks them away. She straightens her spine, reaching her full height of just over five feet. Stepping quickly to the door, she pauses before opening it. We gather around her, waiting for her to welcome her lost daughter home.
“Mama?” I reach out, covering her hand on the knob with my own. “She’s waiting.”
“Of course.” A small laugh, filled with disbelief. She opens the door quickly, biting her lip at the sight that greets her. “Sonya.”
Sonya’s hair is longer than I remember, and she is thinner than I have ever seen her. Her jeans and thick sweater seem out of place in comparison to my spring dress. Lines of stress surround her eyes and mouth. At twenty-seven, three years younger than I am, her empty smile is that of someone years older.