by Malcom, Anne
And it was obviously painted on my face. It was certainly etched into my bones.
“Yes, you’re not stupid,” I said.
But I am, was what I left unsaid.
He frowned as if he could read my mind.
I paused. As Rosie had said the night before, I didn’t completely discredit the ability for the right person in touch with the right energies to be able to tap into someone’s thoughts, but I didn’t think the muscled and tattooed man in front of me would’ve been able to do so.
Because if he did, I reasoned that his courtship with Lucy would’ve gone a lot smoother.
“I’m going to ask a question that’s not stupid,” he said, moving, still holding me by the elbow so I was moving alongside him too.
I let myself be directed farther into the offices that smelled faintly of lemon and mostly of Heath.
“Non-stupid questions are good,” I murmured, my words distant from me as if they were coming from underwater.
I idly wondered if I was having a mental breakdown. I shouldn’t have been surprised. My family likely wouldn’t be either. They probably had brochures for all sorts of places ‘just in case.’ I hoped they were by the ocean. Or on a ranch. That would be nice.
We were in Keltan’s office while I was thinking about the different retreats I could go to, to comfortably break down. Only wealthy people had the luxury to go crazy, and I was wealthy now and I’d just had my sanity stepped on by a man who barely blinked at me—though I deserved that—where was my cab?
“Wanna get drunk?” Keltan asked instead of asking me if I wanted to commit myself or have him do it.
I blinked again.
He was holding up a bottle of whisky.
I hated whisky.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I replied without hesitation.
* * *
“Keltan! What is this?” Lucy demanded from somewhere...upward.
“This is your beloved husband and your beloved sister, do you need to get your eyes tested?” a low and rumbling voice replied.
“You need to fucking get your head tested if you think that is an appropriate response,” she snapped. “Really? You think that after not seeing my baby sister in a year, that this is the kind of reunion I’d want?”
Her voice was still upward, and I was still moving. Floating. Flying.
It was nice, I decided.
How cool would it be if I could fly?
“Well, I know this isn’t ideal,” Keltan said from above me. From what I could hear, he wasn’t slurring his words, like at all. And he was still standing, carrying me if I wasn’t in fact, flying. He’d drunk more whisky than me.
A lot more.
“How do they breed you in New Zealand?” I slurred. “Do you just get weaned off breast milk then straight onto whisky?”
A chuckle. “No, sweetheart, we go onto beer first, we don’t get the hard stuff until we’re at least able to walk and talk. After kindergarten.”
“Keltan!” Lucy hissed. “You’re not allowed to chuckle. Nor are you allowed to get my little sister this drunk. Not when I can’t get that drunk too. I’m pregnant. You made me this way. I can’t drink because it will stunt our child’s growth.”
A large thread of joy tangled through my drunk mind at my sister’s words. But she wasn’t drunk. Nor did she sound joyful.
“So it stands to reason I should be doing the drinking for you also. You’re eating for two. I’ll drink for two. A good compromise,” Keltan decided.
We were still moving. How big was Keltan’s apartment?
I wasn’t as sure I liked flying anymore. I was reasonably certain if I kept doing it much longer I’d throw up on Keltan, Lucy, or the floor of the apartment. And Lucy would so not be happy about that. Well, she wouldn’t be happy about the latter two. Right now, it sounded as if she wouldn’t mind me puking on her husband.
“A compromise is you sleeping on the sofa since my drunk and near comatose little sister is going to be in the guest room,” she snapped.
Thankfully, we must’ve been in this mystical guest room and I was on the mystical bed. One I hopefully wouldn’t throw up on.
“Thanks for the flying lesson, Keltan, but I don’t think I’m suited for it,” I muttered.
Another chuckle.
“Don’t you fucking laugh,” Lucy hissed. “Did you give her acid?”
“Jesus, no. Just whisky.”
“That’s worse!” Lucy exclaimed
“How is whisky worse than an A-Class drug?” Keltan asked, sounding amused and not at all drunk.
How could that be?
I knew he was close to inhuman because of everything I’d heard, but this was something else.
“It’s worse because she’s Polly and she doesn’t believe in whisky.”
“But she believes in acid?”
“She’s Polly.”
It wasn’t entirely untrue. I was Polly.
And when I was really trying to figure myself out, I’d tried the stuff that everyone told me was a spiritual experience. Obviously nothing like heroin or anything that was going to ruin my life. I didn’t do anything now, of course. But I had to say yes before I knew that I wanted to say no.
A slight tug at my ankles and the thumping of shoes hitting the floor caught my attention.
“Are these Rosie’s?” Lucy asked. “I’ve been looking for these to steal for like an age. I’m glad you didn’t vomit on them because I’m stealing them.”
“Stealing is wrong,” I muttered.
“Ah but day drinking with my husband instead of coming to visit me is totally and utterly fucking right,” she returned dryly. She didn’t sound mad. Not really. This was just another classic Polly move. She didn’t get mad at Polly moves. She was used to them. It was why she loved me.
Or maybe she loved me in spite of it.
Whatever.
There was warmth and a soothing smell of lavender and Lucy’s perfume as something soft and snuggly settled over top of me.
I sighed in relief.
I knew opening my eyes would result in the room spinning and then me likely throwing up, so I reached my hand toward where I guessed Lucy was.
A warm and dry hand circled mine.
“Lucy,” I said, only slurring a little.
“Yes, Pol,” she replied, her voice soft.
“I’m very happy to be here, to be safe with you. And I’m very much happy to be an aunt. I promise I won’t feed the kid whisky or beer.”
“Strictly acid?” she deadpanned.
I smiled. And it was a real one. Not even a grimace or anything.
“I love you,” I murmured.
“I love you too, my little bug,” she replied, squeezing my hand. And then there was a nice sensation on my forehead as she kissed it and brushed the hair away.
“I love Keltan too,” I sighed.
“Oh, you might want to wait until the morning until you commit to that,” she said, smile in her voice.
“No, I know it all now. Even though I can’t properly love anymore because I’m all ruined. I’ve got you guys.”
There was a silence that may have meant more, meant a lot more if I was sober. But I wasn’t, so I just sighed again and promptly passed out.
* * *
“Good morning, sunshine,” someone screamed in my ear.
I flinched but kept my eyes closed.
“Ugh,” I said in response, even the small noise causing pain to radiate throughout my skull.
My mouth tasted like something had died inside of it, and my stomach felt like I’d eaten something dead and decomposed.
But no, just whisky.
On an empty stomach and a broken heart.
“Hold your hand out,” Lucy yelled.
Or maybe she didn’t yell and maybe it just seemed like it because breathing was the equivalent of a dull roar radiating from my lungs to my throbbing brain.
I weakly did so, my eyes squeezed shut.
Two small objects landed in m
y palm.
“Put them in your mouth,” Lucy commanded. “Not something I’d ever thought I’d say to my baby sister,” she added on what was supposed to be a murmur but worked as a screech.
I closed my hands around the pills. “What are they?”
There was a pause where I imagined my sister grinning.
“Honestly, Polly, since when have you asked what something was before taking it?”
“Since I saw purple butterflies talking to me at our kitchen table,” I shot back honestly. It was enough to keep me off hard-core hallucinogenics for life.
“Well, this will stop the razorblades cutting at your eyeballs right now,” she replied. “No butterflies.”
Lucy would know. Where I didn’t drink on the regular, she loved cocktails and partying. Which meant she had experience with hangovers. I had experience seeing her hungover and teasing her and generally riding around on my high horse.
That horse had thrown me off, left me in the mud and I was never going to get on it again.
I trusted my sister with my life, which was good since it felt like I was fricking dying.
I put the pills in my mouth.
Cool glass settled on my lips and I drank the precious water Lucy was offering to me. I suddenly realized my mouth was the Sahara. My fingers settled around the glass and I gulped until it was empty.
“You might not want to...” Lucy trailed off as the water reached my empty and protesting stomach.
I groaned at the pain of the liquid hitting it, seriously concerned about it coming right back up. If the sound of Lucy’s heels retreating on the hardwood floors were anything to go by, she thought so too.
But I managed not to empty my stomach, more out of sheer force of will than anything else. There was a pause where I willed the world to stop spinning, and spearing me with flaming swords.
“You didn’t barf, impressive,” Lucy commented. “Though, I guess you’ve got an iron stomach after gallivanting through Europe for a year eating god knows what.”
The thought of food both disgusted and hungered me.
“It’s Europe, Luce,” I said, my voice little more than a groan. “They’re kind of famous for their cuisine.”
“Yes, but in the nice restaurants with tablecloths, wine menus and free bread. You likely were eating street food with hippies.”
I pursed my lips.
She wasn’t exactly wrong.
I wasn’t the restaurant type of girl. I immersed myself in the culture, I ate where the locals ate, and it wasn’t at places with pictures on the menu an English translations and rude waiters.
“Speaking of,” she continued, snatching the glass from me. I imagined a scowl on her face while my eyes stayed firmly closed. “How is it that my little hippy sister did not inform me that she was coming home?” A pause. And I knew Lucy well enough this was more of an inhale before the screech. “Oh, right! How about the fact she didn’t inform me that she was motherfucking leaving in the first place?” she yelled.
And I knew she properly yelled this time since it felt like my ears were bleeding on the outside and not just the inside.
I didn’t speak, a little because I feared I might vomit if I opened my mouth, or my eyes for that matter, but mostly because I knew Lucy was not done. The sound of her heels pacing the floor in front of me told me that. She only paced when she was super pissed.
“And maybe you thought I might, you know, want to come?” she yelled. “I love pasta. I love Italian things. I know they make good shoes. I could’ve visited the birthplace of Manolos. Did you think of that?”
“You’re kind of a newlywed, and Keltan took you to Lake Como on your honeymoon,” I said.
“It was a lake!” she screeched. “It’s nothing but a sea without the salt. Or beaches. Or sharks. Wait, are there sharks in lakes? If there aren’t, Lake Placid had some seriously big plot holes.” She paused. “But that is not the point. The point is you were going through a divorce and hurting and then you just left, and I thought you were going to join a convent or something. It was a traumatic time.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“Oh, I’m not done,” she snapped. “And then when you finished your little Eat, Pray, Meditate Without Shoes On, you come home without telling anyone and then get drunk with my husband. Without even inviting me. I am much more fun to get drunk with than Keltan.”
“You’re pregnant,” I pointed out, and I realized I hadn’t even seen Lucy pregnant yet since I was pretty sure the conversation I had with her last night was all with my eyes closed. I itched to see her glowing with a new life inside her, hopefully with a little more meat on her bones, since I knew Keltan would not let her starve herself when she had a baby to feed.
I knew Lucy wouldn’t do that either. Because I knew that she would love that little being inside her from the first moment she’d found out. All of her vanity was surface. Deeper down, she was one of the most selfless, brave and loving people I knew. She would do anything and everything to take care of her baby.
I didn’t open my eyes because I was still sure I’d throw up if I did so. Not because I was scared I’d burst into tears when I saw her. That’s what I told myself at least.
“I’m fun to get drunk with even when I’m sober,” she hissed, unaware of the dark turn my thoughts had taken.
I was happy for her continuing tirade, it stopped the demons from doing too much damage.
“Because I’m fun,” she continued. “And I’ve missed my sister and I’ve worried about her more than I worried about my ankles looking like Kim Kardashian’s.”
The bed depressed.
A hand went to my forehead, it was cool, warm, and dry. Comforting for none of those reasons, but because it belonged to Lucy. My sister. My protector, best friend, and lecturer. The woman who burned down the cars of men that had broken my heart. Put them on terrorist watchlists and then fed me ice cream for the short period I’d considered myself heartbroken in between relationships.
I had no idea what heartbreak was back then.
Nor did I have an idea what love was.
Not until him.
I’d been so sure I’d been searching for it. That all-consuming, beautiful and fulfilling love, that I’d run from what I’d found. Because it wasn’t beautiful. Or fulfilling. It filled me up only long enough to rip me apart from the inside out.
“Keltan told me why you drank whisky,” Lucy murmured. “That you saw Heath. That it was bad.”
My stomach clenched for different reasons than the aforementioned whisky, though it was still making sure I didn’t forget about the after effects.
Heath’s name whispered from my sister’s kind lips was worse than any whisky induced hangover.
I swallowed hot ash, struggling to sit up without hurling and to blink without crying. “Yeah,” I agreed on a croak. “It was bad.”
It was now I found the strength to blink my eyes open. I immediately snapped them closed when a light that burned my corneas assaulted me. I took a long second before I tried blinking again. And I did it slowly, gave myself time to get used to the obnoxiously bright light obviously designed to give me some sort of brain bleed.
Lucy came into focus.
And I was right, she had a glow.
And not just because I was hungover and the light in the room had the power of the sun itself, despite the fact the curtains were drawn.
No, because she was Lucy. And she was beautiful no matter what. But she had changed. It was jolting for me, since the last time I’d seen her, she was still beautiful, but her angles were sharper, more severe in a gorgeous, runway model type of way.
But all those edges had softened. Her face was fuller, with a flush that was usually absent from her pale skin. Her hair was wavy, shiny, and messy around her face. And she was wearing a white tank and white silk pajama bottoms so I could see where her frame had filled out to what it had meant to be all along.
But it was the small but pronounced bump that got me.
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That speared my heart with joy.
“You’re pregnant,” I whispered.
She glanced down, eyes bright. “Either that or I had a really big burrito last night.”
I continued to stare. “Lucy, you’re pregnant,” I repeated, my eyes shimmering and not just because the light was causing my head to pound and stomach to roil.
Her hand settled on the swell of the bump, cradling it protectively. “Yeah, I am,” she agreed.
“But you’re hungover, and I feel like that’s exactly the opposite of pregnant,” she continued, blinking rapidly as if to chase away tears. But Lucy didn’t cry.
Like ever.
“And pregnancy is a little more permanent than hangovers, lucky for you.” She winked at me. “So I would like to talk about the reason for the hangover. And not my husband, though he is not the most popular man in the house right now.” She scowled in the direction of the door and sounds coming from the kitchen. “But he’s a man, he saw a problem, he saw pain and he thought rubbing alcohol works on the outside, so he tried to use drinking alcohol for the inside. That’s not how it works.” She paused. “Well, it’s sometimes how it works. But it’s with cosmos, or martinis, or margaritas. Not whisky.”
My stomach lurched at the mention of all those alcoholic beverages in such a short amount of time.
“I’m never drinking again,” I moaned.
“Oh, I doubt that,” she said. “Because I’ve got a feeling this little thing is going to need a lot of rubbing alcohol and drinking alcohol.” She paused.
Her eyes searched mine as if she were gaging whether now was the appropriate time to get the truth out of me.
Lucy didn’t know the full story about Heath.
No one knew.
Which was in itself, strange.
I didn’t do secrets. Not when it came to my feelings, good or bad—or my love life, good and bad. Lucy had secrets. A lot of them. So many that they seeped into her face sometimes, making her beauty something different and darker entirely. She didn’t think I could see them. I was sure she—like everyone else—considered me too flaky and wrapped up in my own ridiculous fantasy world, dreaming of fairy tales and princes to be worrying about the dragons others fought in reality.
But I wasn’t.