The Language of Sisters

by Cathy Lamb

  “It’s tragic. It’s hard to even get your mind around it, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, I can’t. I know what a child who is missing half a leg looks like. I know their struggles.”

  “How long was Da here?”

  “Six months. He had an infection, so he ended up here longer. We loved Da.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Da loved the platters. He wanted to draw them so he could remember us, so we bought him three drawing pads and he drew every day. He drew most of the platters that I have, one on each sheet of paper. That child never complained about his life.

  “He asked to live with us forever. I will tell you, Toni, it broke my heart when we had to return him. We gave him three platters to take home. He had the platters in front of him, clutched in his little hands when he left. I’ll never forget his tears hitting the platters. Plink, plink, plink, that’s how it went.

  “When the kids are here, getting their treatment, every night, they can choose which platter to take off the wall to eat off of. Believe it or not, they love it.”

  “I’m sure they do.” I dabbed at my eyes with a napkin. I am a sap.

  “These platters have so many memories for me.”

  She reached out and held my hand and we studied her platters, together, as she thought of the kids she’d held out a hand to. Undoubtedly, they had held her hand as firmly as she was now holding mine.

  * * *

  Ricki called me later that night after I’d e-mailed her the story. “Read the story on Da. Shoot and blither blather. Made me cry. Why do you do stuff like that?”

  “I like to smear your makeup.”

  “You’re doing it.” She hung up after a honking sniffle.

  * * *

  “You are now the hosting ... the hosty ... what the word? I forget. Wait. I know it!” My mother snapped her fingers. “You are the ho.” She pulled out red and yellow mixing bowls from her kitchen cabinets. “You are the bossy of Elvira’s bridal bath shower. I don’t want no shower at all, but if there is one, you do it, Antonia. You the ho.”

  “I’m the what?” I’m the ho? I had to push my laughter down to my toes. My mother does not like to be laughed at when she uses the wrong English words.

  I picked up my coffee mug off the train station table. Whew. Strong enough to dissolve my intestines, but delicious. I popped a miniature chocolate fudge cookie into my mouth. My mother always serves coffee with her chocolate fudge cookies. She does this at the restaurant, too. People love it. They sit at the bar and instead of ordering martinis and vodka tonics they order “Svetlana’s Bitter Russian Coffee and Sweet Chocolate Cookies.”

  “You have the shower party,” my mother said, pointing at me. She turned and grabbed flour and brown sugar from her blue armoire. “For Elvira. For the family and the friends. The womens only. I cannot believe this.” She crossed herself. “Mary, mother of God, who did not get enough credit for her sacrifice, how this happen? My daughter, she be marrying a nonrusseman. You remember I make that word up myself?”

  “I remember. Mama, about the bridal shower. You know Aunt Holly and Aunt Polina don’t like each other currently.”

  “Yes. I know this. I live it. It is like keeping two, how you say it, dragons apart. Dragons. With too many hormonies. In them. Hormonies.”

  “They do have hormones.”

  “Menopausie. They have it. They both sweat like this.” She mimicked rain running down her face. “Night time they tell me, sleeping in a pool of the sweat. I never have that because your papa and I ...” She banged her fists together. “You see, if you have lots of that love make then you don’t have the hormonies and the hottie flashes.”

  “I don’t need to hear about you and Papa, Mama.” I ate another chocolate fudge cookie in one bite.

  “What? Not wrong have the love make with your husband. All the time you can do it, God says so. In the Bible, He says it. I tell Holly and Polina when they say they have the hormonies, go home and do the bang bang with your husband more and get rid of it. See here.” She swept her hand down her body, from the white streak down to her legs. “He cannot stay away and I have no menopausie.”

  “And Anya and JJ aren’t speaking. Again.”

  “Ack. What now, I ask. What problem is there? But no!” She put both hands up. “Don’t tell me. I no want to know.”

  I wouldn’t tell her that Anya was mad at JJ for trying to “take over the bridal shower in her pushy, shovy way. Like a disease,” and JJ was mad at Anya for “thinking she could do Ellie’s bridal shower. What are we going to do if Anya does it? Play Trivial Pursuit—the hypochondriac’s version? Maybe we could talk about strange African sicknesses? Will we have to sanitize the cake with hand sanitizer?”

  Tati and Zoya were so mad at JJ and Anya for wanting to do the bridal shower, they said they would never give them lingerie again. That was a low blow, we all agreed.

  “Mama, you want me to have the bridal shower on my tugboat?”

  “Yes. You do it. You have wide deck. Ladies get too upset, they can jump in river. Or I shove them. Like this.” She mimed a shove. “I know, my honey, this hard for you.” She took hold of my face and kissed both cheeks. “I kiss your cheekies with my love. Please? For your Mama. Then, all the fighty stop.”

  “Okay, Mama. I’ll do it.” My heart twisted up, tight and lonely. I tried to block out another memory.

  “It hurts you, I see this, but you see, Elvira, your Ellie, she love you, and Valeria, your Valerie, two kids, and she not ... uh uh uh. She not right woman to plan bridal bath shower. You know. She take out wallet, say meet at this bar, and I buy the drinkies and food. No!” My mother made the sign with both hands that all umpires make when a player is safe. “We use china. Silver. Proper bridal bath shower for my Elvira, even though he a nonrusseman.”

  “Silver. China. Sounds like Ellie.”

  “She no want any wild stuff. She not like that Zoya and Tati, bless them God, wearing lingerie for the shirties. No bars. No loud parties, no strip man. That no. And no drunk peoples. You are best friend to Elvira, so you do it, you hear her in your head, her words and the thoughts, then there peace.”

  “I’m happy to do it.” I loved Ellie. “I’ll make it perfect.”

  “Yes, I know. You be the ho at the party. That not right word, I think. The hosty. Everyone love you in the family. When it time, I see your invitation to the Elvira party by the mail, not the e-mail, not classy that e-mail, by the paper mail where the postman, he brings it to you. I not happy about that nonrusseman but I help you with food. And I like game.”

  “Game?”

  “Yes. I at bridal bath shower for Linda’s daughter, Abigail.” My mother clapped her hands. “We play silly game. With prizes. Me, I won apron with flowers. That right for my cooking. See? I wear it now. So game at the party bridal. A lot of game. And the prizes. You do this, Antonia.” She hugged me close. “You my angel, Antonia. You always been my angel. We been through the bad times together, bad times.” Her eyes flooded with tears, so mine did, too. We both knew what she was talking about, but we didn’t talk about it. “You and I, daughter and mother, we have our love.”

  “I know, Mama.”

  “Now. You not cry.” She wiped my tears. “My brave girl. My dear and courage wolf girl. No, not wolf girl. Werewolves, I tell you about those werewolves in the Soviet Union.”

  “Human werewolves.”

  “Yes. Them. From the prison.” Her expression changed, softness to hellfire in a second. “I hope they rot for what they did to my Alexei, my love.”

  “Yes, Mama, me too.”

  She inhaled, a full breath, bosom rising and falling. “I leave those bad werewolves in the past. The past is past. We not talk about it.” She waved a hand, swish swish, Moscow go away. “Your papa home soon. You stay for dinner.”

  I had dinner with my parents that night. My father hugged me tight. “Tell me everything, Antonia. I have not seen you for a week. So, you start on Thursday. What you do at work on Thursday... okay, now Frid
ay? You went out to The Barber of Seville? With Boris? Beautiful opera. He steal car on way home? No. I like hear that. No need you in the jail. Now, Saturday. What you do?”

  My parents listened intently, day by day. My father once said, “No detail in my daughters’ lives is too small for me to hear.” I asked them about their lives, too, repeatedly. They always turned it back to me.

  “And what about that scary man on the dock?” my mother said. “You know, I think he sell the drugs.”

  “I told you, he doesn’t sell drugs, Mama. I’ve told you that he arrests people who sell drugs. He does not do drugs.”

  “He not scary,” my father said, patting my mother’s hand. “I talk to him. I like him.”

  “He rough man. I know. I live in Soviet Union.”

  “Svetlana, I tell you,” my father said. “I like Nick Sanchez. I know the men. How they are here.” He tapped his head. “And here.” He tapped his heart. “And he the winner. He a man. Man for you, Antonia?”

  I about choked on yet another chocolate fudge cookie.

  Before I could answer, my mother reached across the table and held my hand. “I believe my Alexei. He so smart. Don’t be scared, Antonia. We here for you always.”

  “I’m not scared.” Oh, yes, I was. Many things scared me.

  “No. You not scared,” my parents said together.

  “I’m fine.” Sure I am.

  “Yes, yes, you fine,” my parents said again, reassuring. “You fine.”

  I wasn’t so fine and they knew it. That’s why they gave me extra-long hugs and my mother sent me home with a box of leftovers and a bag of her chocolate fudge cookies, which I ate later in my bathtub. If she didn’t, in her mind, the possibility of my starving to death by noon tomorrow was high.

  * * *

  Later that night I went out to my deck, slung my feet over the side, and watched my blue heron take off. I rarely see her at night. Dixie was alone.

  “You the ho!” I said out loud. I had to laugh. I am the bridal shower ho. What an honor.

  * * *

  “Stay the night, Toni.”

  I snuggled back in, naked back to Nick’s naked chest in his king-sized bed. Tempting. It was Saturday night. I could sleep in here.

  “Five minutes,” I told him, my voice quiet in the darkness of his bedroom, the river hugging his houseboat.

  “How about nine hours?”

  “ No. ”

  His arm was heavy over me. Nick is a muscled man. He was warm. He was comforting. He was protective. When I was with him, I could forget. Until the guilt hit and sent me into a tailspin.

  I had brought my mother’s meat and vegetable pie over. On the Specials board it was listed as “You Eat, Trust Me.” Meat and vegetable pie sounds terrible, but as soon as customers try it, they love it. I also brought chocolate cake. My mother called it “Alexei Sexy Chocolate Cake.” I knew I’d get calls about my sexy father the next day.

  “I’ll make you an omelet in the morning if you stay.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You won’t.”

  “Don’t bug me about this, Nick. I’ve told you, from the start, that I don’t want this to be anything more than what it is.” Man, I sounded cold.

  “You did tell me that.”

  “So live with it.” Freezing.

  “I’m trying. It’s tough.”

  “You’re a tough man. You can do it.” Hypothermic.

  I moved to get up, though I didn’t want to. He flexed and held me down, then lifted his arm when I pushed again, and sighed. I am not modest and I did not care that he was watching me, that I was naked, and I was getting dressed in front of him.

  I bit down on my lip so I didn’t cry. I pulled on my jeans, my knee-high black boots, a black tank top, and my lacy, black hippie style blouse over it.

  I looked down at Nick before I left. He was sitting up in bed, his hands together. He stared back at me.

  I blinked, then left. I heard him get out of bed and pull on jeans.

  “You don’t have to walk me home.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I walked down the dock. I heard Nick behind me. I kept my footsteps quiet, though I knew the neighbors knew that I slept with Nick. I didn’t care that they knew. I have been through too much to care what anyone thinks of me, ever, but I didn’t want to wake people up, either.

  “Good night, Toni.”

  I didn’t answer. I was mad at him. Mad because Nick was pushing me to a place I couldn’t go.

  I took a shower, showering off Nick, while I thought of Marty.

  Then Nick’s and Marty’s faces blurred, and Nick’s became clear and Marty’s faded, which made me feel awful.

  I wrapped myself in a towel and went outside, in the rain, opened the kayak house, and sat in our two-seater. I listened to the water hit the roof.

  * * *

  “This dress looks like toilet paper.” Ellie lifted the skirt of the fluffy white wedding dress.

  “Yes, it does,” Valerie said. “Unraveled toilet paper.”

  “It’s not quite you,” I said.

  “I can’t believe,” my mother whispered, loudly, sitting beside me in a blue lacy dress and pearls. “She marry a Italian. Not a Russian. She marry nonrusseman. I make that word up. I make this word up, too: badchoicey. It one word.” She held up one finger. “More efficient.”

  The four of us were in a bridal salon in downtown Portland. It was lush. Whites and pinks. Mirrors everywhere so brides could lose their frazzled minds while staring at themselves from three directions.

  “It looks like you could take it apart sheet by sheet and use it in the bathroom,” Valerie said.

  “Do you have to be so blunt, Valerie?” I asked.

  “I like honesty.”

  “Honesty can be combined with kindness, creepo.”

  “What about this one? Mermaid style, satin train.” The shop assistant, a woman in her twenties, held up a dress. She looked exhausted, hair falling out of her bun, shirt slightly untucked, mascara smearing. We’d been there for two hours.

  “I don’t think so ...” Ellie said. She took a paper bag out of her purse and blew into it.

  My mother threw up her hands. “What? You no like that one, either, Elvira?”

  “What about the silky one you tried on earlier, sewn by La-Toine, with the scalloped hem?” the assistant asked, only slightly pale. “You looked like a princess.”

  “That was a gorgeous dress,” Valerie said. “But you looked bad in it.”

  “Valerie. Come on,” I said, getting ticked. “You’re not helping.”

  “I help,” my mother whispered, again, loudly. “I take her away. Morning of wedding. Kidnap Elvira. You come, too, Antonia. You be quickie at kidnapping, that what I think.”

  “No,” Valerie said. “I meant that the expression on Ellie’s face was bad, like this.” Valerie rolled her blue eyes back in her head, her body went slack, her tongue slipped out of her mouth and she made gagging noises. “You didn’t look happy in it.”

  “I wasn’t happy in it. I’m not a princess,” Ellie said, semi-gasping. “I think it’s ridiculous for women to want to resemble a spoiled, entitled, elitist princess on their wedding day, happy to have a man whisk her and her flighty brain off to a drafty castle and slay the dragons. I can slay the dragons myself.”

  “We were never princesses growing up,” I said. “I admired the witches more. Clever and temperamental.”

  “Pickpocketers weren’t allowed in the princess category,” Valerie said.

  My mother cringed. I cringed. I don’t like the word “pickpocketers” used near my mother. It brings up a riptide of pain and yet another family secret.

  “I refuse to buy into this whole fairy tale idea,” Ellie said. “I do not want a prince to ride up on his white horse, or a Porsche, and rescue me. I can rescue myself. I don’t want his castle. I have my own. It’s a home by the river.” She stopped to wheeze into the bag. “I don’t need protection from him, I hav
e a gun. I am not a mindless princess, grateful to be entering into a relationship of sexism and servitude. I’m a woman who can stand for herself.”

  The shop assistant, poor thing, not expecting such an anti-princess tirade, halfheartedly held up another white dress, plunging neckline. “This elegant design is by Perunia. Beading hand sewn. Not princess-y at all. Modern. Sleek. For a woman who knows her own power.”

  “You’ve got the figure for that one,” Valerie said. “I wish I had your body, Ellie, I do. Boobs and butt and a skinny waist. I would kill you but I won’t because I know how much time you have to spend in jail nowadays for murder.”

  “Do we have to talk about murder when she’s trying to find a wedding dress?” I pulled on Valerie’s hair, lightly. I didn’t try to yank it out of her head.

  “My daughters!” my mother said, disapproving, mouth tight. “Valeria be with the criminals and throws them in the jail and always talks blood. Another one marries a Italian and cannot breathe without bag. And the oldest one, she live on a tugboat. Like she a sailor. Too skinny sailor!” She eyed my disappointing figure. “I always say to you three: Put on the lipstick and earrings before you leave the house unless the house on fire. But no! Sometimes, no lipstick, no earrings. That’s not right for lady.”

  “Okay, Ellie,” I said, ignoring my mother because I needed out of that shop. “Of all the dresses you tried on, narrow it to three that you like.”

  She couldn’t think of even one she liked.

  “What about this one?” the assistant said, picking up one dress, then another, eyes glazed. “Or this one ... you seemed to like the Italian lace on the skirt here, it adds a whimsical flair ... this exquisite strapless gown with the satin piping enhances the bustline ... the glittering rhinestone belt offers a touch of glitter and glam ...”

  “No ...” Ellie said. “No ... not that one ... too fluffy ... too loud ... too intricate ... I’m too fat for that one ... don’t like the neckline ... not that one, either.” She took another drag on her bag and flopped down, like a rag doll. Anxiety attacks are exhausting.