by R. K. Lilley
My mother said she didn’t look like me, but that was wrong. She had light brown hair, which was different, and it fell long and wavy down her back. She’d gotten blonde highlights, which set it off nicely. She was much shorter than me, and even my mother, and built thin, almost waif-like. I looked voluptuous in comparison.
But her face, down to her pale gray eyes, had always been very similar to mine. There was perhaps just a touch less of an exotic tilt to her eyes, but not by much. Even with her light brown hair, she barely passed for Caucasian, on close inspection. For some reason, this had always made my mom think she was plain. But she was wrong. Dahlia was stunning.
She was dressed very preppy, with a pleated gray skirt, white silk top, and a pale pink cardigan. Black Mary Janes and white knee-high socks completed the look. She looked like an adorable schoolgirl. It was not the look I’d been expecting her to adopt, being an actress/waitress living in L.A., but it looked great on her.
She didn’t smile when she saw me, but she waved, big white sunglasses hiding her expressive eyes from me.
I waved back, moving to her. We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk when we reached each other, just staring. I would have hugged her, but I wasn’t sure she’d want that, so I kept studying her, taking in this new, grown up version of my sister.
She seemed to do the same. I’d worn a little mod sheath dress that I’d borrowed from Bev. It was light blue, and I had flat ballet slippers that matched almost exactly. I’d been going for conservative but feminine, wanting to make a good impression on my kid sister, and be the polar opposite of how she’d last seen me, in that dark trailer that held so many dark horrors for us both.
“Hey Dahlia,” I finally spoke, finding my voice, if barely. Setting eyes on her had me choked up. “You look wonderful. L.A. seems to agree with you.”
She nodded shortly, still not smiling. “It’s better than here. I can’t believe you stayed here. I hate this town.”
I couldn’t blame her. We’d had a hell of a childhood in Sin City. Somehow, though, I’d made my peace with it. “I’m going to school here. I’m on a decent scholarship, and I work for a great family. I haven’t felt any desire to leave. Everything I need is here.”
She just gave another short nod. “Can we go sit down somewhere?”
“Yes, of course! I’m so sorry I was late. My professor wouldn’t stop talking.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I never even finished high school.”
That made me stare unhappily down at my feet. “I’m sorry for that,” I told her quietly.
“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault. We never did have any good odds in our favor. It’s amazing one of us even made it to college.”
There was something in her words that gave me hope, some inkling I could hold onto that she didn’t blame me for everything.
We got a booth, ordered two waters, and then had another long staring match. It was something akin to an awkward silence, although it wasn’t quite that.
I studied her hands. They were so tiny and delicate. How had such a tiny, delicate thing like Dahlia fared against the big bad world all by herself, from such a young age? She’d survived, obviously, but what had she had to go through?
I shuddered to think.
“So how are you?” I asked her quietly and seriously.
That got the tiniest smile out of her. “I’m all right. Waiting tables. Still trying to catch my big break. I can’t complain.”
We shared another long, studying silence.
“So, I um, met your boyfriend,” Dahlia finally began, her lips pursing. I had a hard time reading her, but I thought her expression was displeased.
That had my eyebrows arching in a very curious question. I’d heard nothing about it.
“You’ve met my boyfriend? Tristan?”
She laughed nervously. “Yeah, Tristan. Unless you have more than one?”
I smiled and shook my head. “Not a chance. Just the one. How on earth did you meet him?”
“Your boss, Jerry. He invited me to come see the guys record their album a while ago, and I took him up on the offer. They’re amazing.”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes they are! Wow I’m jealous. I still haven’t had a chance to come hear them recording.”
She shot me a small, sheepish smile. “I actually went and saw them several times. I couldn’t seem to stay away.”
My mouth twisted wryly. I could see the appeal of five hot guys to a nineteen year old girl. Hell, I doubted any age woman would be immune to them.
“So…you and Tristan. Are you two actually serious?” There was something that I really didn’t like in her tone, as though she weren’t just idly curious.
“Yes,” I said simply. I didn’t feel the need to share any more. I was still feeling her out.
“He’s…a really great guy. I can see why you fell for him.”
“Thanks,” I said slowly, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. I tried to put my finger on it, but there were no definitive red flags. She was hard for me to read, which was sad, because we were sisters, and we’d been inseparable as children.
“So what made you decide to pursue acting?” I asked her, changing the subject, though I was curious. It would have been the last choice I’d have guessed for her. She’d always been such an introvert.
She shrugged, fidgeting in her chair. The question made her uncomfortable, it was clear. “A combination of things. I did one small role, and realized I liked it. Also…it runs in the family.”
I had to think that one over for a while before I gave up. I had no idea what she was talking about. There was just us and our mother, no other family, and none of us were actresses. “What do you mean?”
She cleared her throat, then looked down at her hands. When she spoke, her voice was barely loud enough for me to catch. “Our father is an actor.”
The silence wasn’t awkward this time, but it was long. I sat there, stunned, and tried to understand what she’d just said.
“You know our father?” I finally asked her. It was a mystery that had disturbed me for most of my life. Only in the last few years had I finally made peace with the idea that I would never know who he was. My mother had been stubbornly close-mouthed on the subject.
She ducked her head, flushing. “I do, yes.”
I swallowed. I didn’t know what I was feeling, couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was manifesting itself as a knot in my throat, and a burning in my chest. Why on earth would anything to do with this man, this person who had never been in our lives, had literally abandoned us from the start, bring up some strange emotion inside of me? Emotion that made the smallest news, the tiniest inkling that I might have some answers about him knock the breath out of me. I was angry with myself for feeling wounded that my sister somehow knew him, and I did not, but there it was.
Finally, “How do you know him? When did this start?”
She never looked up. “When I left that trailer with that sick old man, I found Mom. She was in bad shape, as she usually is, but I asked her if I could move back in with her. I didn’t know where else to go. She said no, but she finally told me who our father was, and she gave me his number. So I went to L.A., and met him.”
Her lip curled into an expression of distaste, but her eyes stayed down. “He was nothing like I’d hoped for. He’s known about us the whole time. He was giving Mom money, but he wanted nothing to do with us. He met with me, and gave me some money, enough to live on for years, but he made it clear he didn’t want to see me again.”
I was overwhelmed.
I just stared at her, trying to figure out where I should start with the questions.
She began to speak again, “He has a family, has four legitimate kids. The oldest is four years older than you, and the youngest is three years younger than me. He’s been a busy guy, but he’s still married. God only knows how many other children he has hidden away. I don’t imagine we’re his only dirty little secret.”
“He’s very famous, and he’s loaded, like mega-loaded.” She looked up, saw my expression, and continued, “He paid my way for a while, when I was underage and had no resources. I guess I’m thankful, in a way, but it does little to soften my resentment. I stopped taking his money as soon as I was able to get on my feet. He won’t even have a phone conversation with me. He has his assistant talk to me. There are no real ties there, and so it didn’t feel right to keep taking his money. Now all I want is to become more famous than him, more famous than his family, so I can show him what he threw away.” Her voice was passionate by the end, and I felt for her.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, to be grossly neglected by one parent, and completely rejected by the other.
It took me a while, but I finally asked the question that I had to ask. “Who is he?”
“Bronson Giles.”
I’d heard of him. He was a dramatic actor, and critically acclaimed. He was large-boned and handsome, with blond hair and striking pale gray eyes. I recalled that he’d won an Oscar a few years back, and that I’d seen him in several movies, and thought he was good.
“Is that his real name?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “It’s his stage name, but he’s not listed on our birth certificates, and Mom tells me that he never told her his real name.”
I didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Should I be proud that my biological father was famous? I wasn’t. I had no kinship with the man, but finally I had a face, and a basic backstory. Now I wanted to pretend I’d never heard of the man. There was nothing else for me to do.
“I’ll give you his number, if you want it, but I doubt you’ll get any closure on meeting him. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to ask him for more money soon, which I’m not looking forward to. It’s just…I don’t know what else to do.”
“Why?” I asked, troubled by her tone. She sounded so forlorn.
Her face crumpled, and she buried it in her hands. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
I wanted to go to her, to walk around the table and embrace her, but I didn’t know that I should. I still didn’t think she’d want me to touch her.
She stopped quickly, straightening. Her face was wet, but her expression was composed again. She took a very deep breath before she spoke. “I’m pregnant, and I don’t know what to do.” She buried her face in her hands again.
I sat frozen, not knowing what to do, or what to say. I didn’t know anything about her. She seemed too young to have a baby, but she could have been married, for all I knew.
Finally, when she composed herself again, I asked carefully, “Who is the father?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She paused, looking devastated. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t point out that those were two drastically different things.
“Well, if there is anything I can do to help, anything at all, please tell me. I’d love to become a part of your life again. And your baby’s, too. My heart is always open to you,” I had to blink back unexpected tears, “it always has been. I’ve missed you every single day since you left. I’m here for you, however you need me.”
Her face crumpled again, and she looked away.
She reached across the table, not meeting my eyes as she put her hand over mine. “I’m sorry. What happened to us, it was horrible, and I know I made it worse for you. I wish I could take it back. I’m ashamed at how I treated you. I was shocked by what I saw, and I just reacted. I was so broken, so torn apart by all of the things that happened in that fucking trailer, that I ran and just kept running. That’s my only excuse for the way things went down, but I am sorry for it all.”
I was trembling hard, as though a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and my body had to move in some way just to feel its new freedom.
“Thank you,” I whispered. Some things you needed so fundamentally, so desperately, that you couldn’t acknowledge the need until it was met. I acknowledged it now.
I needed my sister. And I needed to know that she didn’t hate me.
“That man was a monster, and I’m sorry I left you alone to his mercy. Forgive me?”
I shook my head, still blinking back tears. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m so happy you got away. The sooner the better. And I didn’t stay there for much longer after you’d gone.”
“Good. I had so many nightmares about that, about leaving you, and you never making it out of there. But even with the nightmares, I was too terrified to go back. This is the first time I’ve been to Vegas since I left.”
“The old man is dead. A heart attack.” I thought it important to tell her. The news had brought me so much relief.
She took a deep breath, nodding. “That is good. Thank you for telling me. Let’s never talk about him again.”
“Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I’m just happy to have found you again.”
She smiled at me, but it was sad. “Yes. It’s so good to see your face again. I wish it had happened sooner. What are your plans today? We should go shopping, if you’re free.”
I was free. I’d made sure I had the afternoon off for just this purpose, hoping things would work out for the best. They had exceeded my expectations though. I had never dreamed of acceptance from her, or forgiveness.
We shopped for hours at the Fashion Show Mall. Neither of us bought anything. We mostly window-shopped, and chatted about our lives. It was something we used to do as teenagers. We’d hang around the mall every spare second that we could, just to avoid going home.
We talked about our years apart, caught up on as much as we could of what we’d both been doing. I didn’t tell her about my own pregnancy, but I had every intention of telling her soon.
It was nearing dinnertime when I finally had to go. “Tristan should be in town by now. He’s home for the weekend, and he’s supposed to be cooking me dinner at his apartment.”
Her face lit up, and so of course, I invited her to join us.
“I have no idea what he’s making, but I can guarantee it will be divine,” I told her as we walked through the parking garage to our cars.
“Oh, yes, I know,” she assured me. “I’ve had his cooking before.”
That made me feel…disgruntled. What had I been missing lately? How was Tristan cooking for my sister, and I somehow hadn’t known a thing about it?
It felt wrong.
“How’s that? When have you had Tristan’s cooking?”
“I visited the band’s house for dinner one night, and he was cooking. He made lasagna, and it was to die for.”
That was better, but only a little. I still couldn’t believe that Tristan had met her and not said a word to me about it. There was no way I wouldn’t be grilling him about it later. Not a chance in hell.
I gave her the address in case I lost her, but still had her follow me to the apartment. I sent Tristan one brief text on the way.
Danika: We have an extra guest for dinner.
I didn’t check for a response, and put my phone away, as I always did, before I started driving.
It took us forty-five minutes to get from the strip to Tristan’s Henderson apartment with the traffic, and I was thinking about Dahlia the entire time.
Something was going on with her, something troubling, beyond even her accidental pregnancy. Even after hours of opening up to each other, she hadn’t given away even a hint about how it had happened.
Dahlia was right behind me when I parked. She’d trailed me with diligence for the entire drive.
She followed me closely up the stairs, and to Tristan’s front door. When I opened it, unexpectedly, she rushed in first.
Before I could even close the door behind me, she was in the kitchen, throwing her arms around a surprised Tristan, giving him a huge, exuberant hug.
His own arms went slowly and tentatively around her, giving her a ghost of a hug back before he tried to disentangle himself.
“Tristan! It’s so wonderful to see you again!”
she gushed.
I just stared, feeling a little queasy.
He set his hands on her shoulders, moving her gently away from him. “Nice to see you, too. Excuse me.”
He strode to me, wrapping me in his arms, pulling me very close, and kissing me, long and deep. It was nothing that my kid sister needed to see, but that didn’t stop him from doing it, and it didn’t stop me from reacting. I never had been able to tell the man no.
By the time he pulled back, my brain was near to mush, but that still didn’t distract me enough to keep my questions in.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d met my sister?” I asked him, watching his face carefully.
His brow furrowed, and he shot Dahlia one unreadable look before he answered. “I barely met her, so it wasn’t such a big deal. Can we talk about it later?”
That answer wasn’t what I’d wanted, but I held my tongue, not wanting to have this strange confrontation in front of my sister.
Dahlia and I sat on the couch, chatting it up while Tristan cooked dinner.
He’d come out of the kitchen every so often, sit down beside me, and kiss my on the forehead, the hand, the cheek. He’d always been like this, but my delicate state had seemed to send his natural inclinations into steroid levels. I loved how demonstrative he was, but the fourth time he did it, I noticed the way it made Dahlia look down and, a few times, grimace.
Finally, I had to ask. “Are you okay? Is something the matter?”
She shook her head, but just kept looking down at her hands. “No, no, I’m just fine. You two are really affectionate, huh? I didn’t realize how serious you were.”
“I told you it was serious,” I said carefully. I wondered if I should just tell her how serious, but then I thought of the Jerry connection. I didn’t know how good she was at keeping secrets, and I’d just as soon wait and tell everyone when we were ready to. If Bev didn’t hear it directly from me, she’d be so hurt.
“Yeah you did. Did you fall in love with him the second you laid eyes on him?”