“I—I’m so sorry. You’re absolutely right.” She hurries away before I can say anything else.
“That was strange,” Andi says.
I shake my head, filing that brief interlude away for further examination at a later time. “Anyway. You were saying?”
“Oh yes. My mom’s been refusing to tell me anything about my father for years. She kept saying it was just better that way. Then earlier this year I was looking for old school records in the top of a cupboard, and I found a biscuit tin with a bunch of random stuff in it. Movie tickets, a theatre ticket, a few letters, and … a photo. Of my mom and a guy with red hair. I confronted her about it, and she couldn’t exactly lie. It was pretty obvious who he was. I told her I wanted to contact him, and that’s when she admitted that he was married. He had a wife and … you.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Did … did she say if she was still in contact with him?”
“She said he sends money every month, but other than that … nothing.”
Well, at least Dad was telling the truth about that.
“Apparently he has a colleague who’s friends with my mom,” Andi says, “so that’s how my mom knows he’s still married and that he doesn’t have any other children aside from you—well, and me, obviously—and that you came to UCT this year. She told me I needed to forget about him because he has his own family and we shouldn’t mess with that, but … I couldn’t stop thinking about him. And you. I found an email address for him online, and even though my mom said not to contact him, I eventually did. Which you already know, because that’s why your family’s falling apart now, and I’m so, so sorry for doing that. I never meant for—”
“Okay, you need to stop apologising. Yes, your email is what caused everything to blow up, but you can’t apologise forever. And our parents are the ones who caused this mess in the first place, not you. They’ve just been hiding it all this time. Also,” I add, “none of this explains how you arrived on my doorstep.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, after my mom used a whole lot of shouting to tell me that my email had potentially ruined someone else’s marriage—
“Like her adultery had nothing to do with that,” I mutter.
“That’s what I said!” Andi exclaims. “And I was grounded for it. Anyway, after that, I decided to contact you instead. A friend of mine—he was my neighbour—is at UCT now. So I asked him how I should go about finding a particular student. I mentioned you name, and he was like, ‘This is crazy, but I actually know who she is.’”
“What?” I sit forward. “Who’s your friend?”
“Damien Sanders.”
“Damien Sanders?” I sit back as our waitress places our coffee and hot chocolate on the table and vanishes without making eye contact with either of us. “Damien, Damien … I don’t think I know—Oh, wait, does he have a girlfriend named Charlotte?”
“I think so.”
“Wow. That is super weird.”
“So all Damien had to do was ask his girlfriend where you live, and it was that easy.”
“You didn’t think to maybe ask for my number and just call instead of coming all the way here?”
“Phone calls, texts and emails have a much greater chance of being ignored,” Andi says, sliding her giant coffee cup closer and wrapping her hands around it. “This way, I ran the risk of you slamming a door in my face, but I was prepared to hang out on your front steps or outside your gate for as long as it took for you to pay attention to me.”
“Jeez. You must have been really desperate for a sister.”
“Well, yes,” she says simply. “It was lonely growing up with just me. Wasn’t it lonely for you?”
I pick up my hot chocolate and take a sip. It was lonely at times. But I don’t know this girl well enough to admit that to her. “I’m surprised your mom let you fly across the country to see me.”
“Oh, no, she doesn’t know about this. I mean, she’ll find out when I get back on Saturday, but right now she thinks I’ve gone to Kruger for two nights with my friend Ashley’s family.”
“She—she doesn’t know?”
Andi shakes her head. “Damien helped me get here.”
“And … where are you staying?” My mind flashes back to the small suitcase sitting in the lounge.
“That, uh, depends on how generous you’re feeling,” Andi says, purposefully avoiding my gaze.
“You were hoping to stay with me?”
She bites her nail, then says in a tiny voice, “Yes?”
My half-sister. In my house. For two nights.
This day could NOT get any weirder.
“Is that okay? If it’s not, I can make another plan. Damien said he could help me find—”
“No, it’s fine, it’s—” I pause, just to make sure I really am okay with this. “It’ll be fun. Like … a sleepover. There’s even a free bedroom in our house right now. I’m sure its usual occupant won’t mind if we put some clean sheets on the bed for you.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
“Hey, ladies.” Adam stops by our table and leans against it. “How’s it going over here?” I made him promise to check in with me after twenty minutes in case I needed to be rescued from my terrifying half-sibling.
“Everything’s great,” I say. “Andi’s going to be staying with us for two nights.”
“Oh, okay, cool.” He smiles down at me and adds, “You see? I told you she wasn’t scary.”
Heat burns its way up my neck as Andi laughs and says, “You thought I was scary?”
“No.”
“She may have compared you to the Chucky doll,” Adam tells her.
Andi bends over her coffee, laughing even harder. “I think I’m supposed to be offended by that,” she says between gasps of laughter. “If only I could take horror movies seriously.”
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair with a huff. “I did not compare you to a terrifying doll. Adam is trying to embarrass me because I walked into the bathroom this morning and saw his SEXY, NAKED BUTT.” I raise my voice on the last three words so that everyone around us will hear.
Adam stares at me, shock morphing into amusement on his face. Wait, why is he amused? He’s supposed to be embarrassed. “Well, it’s official,” he says with a grin. “Everyone inside Jazzy Beanbag now knows that you think my butt is sexy.”
Crapsticks. I said the word ‘sexy,’ didn’t I. Adam smirks and heads back to the bar. I groan and drop my head onto the table.
“Are the two of you this entertaining all the time?” Andi asks.
My groan slowly changes to a laugh. Entertaining. That’s one way of putting it. “Pretty much.”
“Well,” she says, “now I’m looking forward to staying with you even more.”
From: Alivia Howard
Sent: Sat 12 Apr, 7:16 am
To: Sarah Henley
Subject: Weirdness
That word keeps going through my head. Weird. I can’t seem to stop thinking it. It’s just so WEIRD that she’s here! I keep looking for similarities between us. Things that mean she’s not just another person, but connected to me by BLOOD.
We have the same colour hair and eyes, but our noses and mouths are different shapes.
We have similar builds, but she’s a little taller than me.
I hate coffee; she loves it.
We’re both quite chatty.
We both read sci fi and fantasy books.
I love Star Trek; she’s not a fan.
We’re both afraid of heights (which we discovered when we hiked up Lion’s Head this morning. It is REALLY steep at the top!).
I like wine; she doesn’t.
We’re both musical! She plays the piano.
I know it’s silly, but every time we find something we have in common, we get excited, as if it’s because we’re sisters rather than the more likely explanation—it’s simply a coincidence.
I haven’t told my parents she’s here. Dad would g
et angry, and Mom would be hurt. I fully understand Mom’s perspective. I mean, to her, Andi is living proof that her husband cheated on her. And when I think of that, I get angry all over again. Not at Andi, though. At Dad. So I’m trying to move on from that and focus instead on the person who’s here. She’s leaving this evening, but it sounds like she’s hoping to come to UCT next year, so there might be a lot more sister bonding in our future.
Sister bonding. The concept sounds so weird when I’m applying it to myself. Weird but cool!
xx
___________________________________
I wave goodbye one last time before shutting the door and wandering towards Adam’s bedroom. Damien offered to drive Andi to the airport, and I didn’t have any objections. I prefer not to drive The Tin Man after dark.
“So,” Adam says as I let myself fall backwards onto his bed. “You guys certainly managed to fit a lot of bonding into two days.” He’s busy adjusting the angle of his computer screen and getting the next episode of The Big Bang Theory ready to watch.
“So. Weird.” There’s that word again. I stare at the ceiling, trying to sort out my thoughts. “What my dad did was terrible. Cheating on my mom like that. He never should have done it. I wish he hadn’t, because then there wouldn’t be all this hurt between the two of them and between Dad and me. But at the same time … Andi is awesome. She’s so honest about everything, but she’s funny too, and sweet, and just … awesome. But she’s only here because Dad had an affair. If I wish that away, then I’m wishing her out of existence. How does that make sense?”
Adam switches on his lamp, turns the main light off, and flops onto the bed beside to me. “It doesn’t. Life doesn’t make sense. That’s just the way it is.”
“I suppose so. Thanks for driving us around and hanging out with us. Doing the tourist vibe. I was worried it might get awkward with just me and her.”
“I think I cleared up the awkward atmosphere for good when I mentioned you found her scary.”
“Mmm. Thanks again for that.”
“You’re welcome.” He picks up the remote for his computer and presses Play.
“Hey, can I ask you something?
He presses Pause. “Sure.”
“Do you still miss Jenna?”
Adam rubs a hand over his hair. “Does it make me a bad person if I say no?”
“Why would that make you a bad person?”
“Because … I’m supposed to mourn over this long relationship we had for more than just a couple of weeks? I don’t know. The truth is, we started growing apart a while ago. I was overseas for almost a whole year, and then after only a few weeks at home, I came here. When we were both at school, it felt like we had this incredible, amazing thing that would last forever, but in the past year and a bit … well, we haven’t really had much of a relationship.”
I nod. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Can I ask you something now?”
“You may. And the answer is, ‘No, I don’t miss Jackson.’ He may have had a bronzed, babe-magnet body and been an amazing kisser, but forcing me into a dark corner so he could attempt to violate me is NOT something I’m looking for in a boyfriend.”
“He—that’s what he did?” Adam twists to face me, his eyebrows drawing together in anger.
“I—oh. Too much info. Sorry. I forgot you’re not Sarah.”
The angry eyebrows rise. “You think of me the way you think of Sarah?” I’m trying to figure out how to answer that when he shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s not what I mean. What I mean is, why did you pick such an ass for a boyfriend?”
“Wait, are you angry with me now?”
“Yes! Do you really think so little of yourself that you’d want to date someone like that?”
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open a little, as I try to figure out what caused this sudden Adam explosion. “Okay.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “I have a feeling that’s not the question you were originally going to ask. So I’m going to go to the kitchen and get snacks, because I forgot to do that on my way here, and you’re going to calm down from your sudden, unreasonable, unnecessary anger. Okay?”
Before he can argue, I climb over him and run to the kitchen. Hmm. Snacks, snacks … There’s a tub of baby tomatoes in the fridge, which Adam will enjoy—he’s always been a healthy snacker—but I need something more than that. I find a bag of popcorn in the cupboard, grab my jar of peanut butter and a spoon, and hurry back to the bedroom with my collection. I climb back over Adam as he finishes typing something on his phone and tosses it back onto his bedside table.
“Hugo says hi.”
“Oh. Hi, Hugo.” I hand Adam the tomatoes and popcorn while I unscrew the lid of the peanut butter jar.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you I already got a snack for you?” Adam says.
“Hmm?” I look up. “No.”
Adam pulls open the drawer in his bedside table and removes a pink packet of chewy sweets. He tosses it onto the bed next to me. I pick it up, take one look at the name on the packet, and narrow my eyes at him. “Princess gums? Really?”
He smiles innocently. “Seemed like the perfect snack for you.”
“Uh huh. Thanks.” I give him my unimpressed face before adding the packet of pink, purple and white sweets to the snack collection. “ANYWAY. Did you remember what question you were going to ask before you went all Hulk on me and got strangely angry? Or are we going straight into watching The Big Bang Theory?”
“I was going to ask,” Adam says, tearing the popcorn bag open, “why you don’t play your violin anymore. You said you were too busy before, but you’ve had time since the holiday started, and I still haven’t heard you play anything.”
Horrid, screechy thing, Allegra’s voice echoes in my mind as I rub my thumb over the disappearing calluses on my fingertips. I’ve never heard anything so awful in my life.
“Oh.” I sink back against the cushions and stick a spoonful of peanut butter in my mouth, hoping it’ll somehow assuage the guilt I experience every time I think of my beloved instrument cultivating dust bunnies under my bed. It doesn’t work. “It’s hard to explain,” I say eventually. “I really miss it, and I feel guilty about not playing, but the longer I go without picking up an instrument, the more I try to avoid it. I know when I eventually do play again, I’ll be rusty and it’ll sound terrible and I’ll feel like a horrible failure, so I’m trying to avoid that experience by not playing, but the longer I avoid it, the worse that experience will be.”
“Livi?”
“Mmm?” I lick some more peanut butter off my spoon.
“Stop overanalysing and just play the darn violin.”
“I guess. Maybe tomorrow.”
He throws a piece of popcorn at me and says, “Princess Procrastination.”
I pick up the popcorn and put some peanut butter on it before crunching down on it. Hmm. Not bad. “That’s actually quite tasty,” I say while helping myself to a handful of popcorn and getting ready to coat each piece with peanut butter.
“Weirdo,” Adam mutters. He balances the tub of tomatoes on his stomach, presses Play, and the episode begins.
“Hey!” I shout, and he presses Pause once again. “I just remembered something. That waitress at Jazzy Beanbag.” I turn to Adam with an accusing stare. “When I was there with Andi, she said something about you and an embarrassing incident and guitar lessons.”
“Oh. Right.” Adam rubs his thumb over the remote control’s buttons.
“So? What was she talking about?”
Adam groans. “This is something I prefer not to talk about.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”
“Fine. That day Jenna broke up with me and I drank too much at Jazzy Beanbag, Mel was working. She came over to check on me and … I suddenly found myself kissing her.”
I start laughing. “Most girls just want a decent tip, Adam, not a slobbery kiss with the drunk dude in the corner.”
“It was no
t slobbery, okay. And it wasn’t exactly a conscious choice.”
“Ha. I’m sure. And the guitar lesson part?”
Adam scratches his head. “Mel also happens to be my guitar teacher.”
I smack his arm. “You started playing a new instrument, and you didn’t tell me?”
He shrugs. “You were always busy and never around. I didn’t think you’d be that interested.”
“Rubbish. Of course I’m interested. Where is this guitar hiding, and how long have you been playing?”
“Since January. I saw a flyer stuck up at Jazzy Beanbag the first time I went there and thought it might be fun to learn another instrument. And the guitar isn’t hiding, it just happens to live in my cupboard. It’s Hugo’s Dad’s. I’m still saving up for my own.”
“Adam! I want to hear you playing.”
He chews on a tomato and says, “I’m not that good.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. Music is your language. You probably learned how to read it before you could read words. Remember when you taught yourself to play that old cello lying around at school? And your uncle’s saxophone?”
Adam gives me a noncommittal nod. “Still doesn’t mean I’m going to play the guitar for you.”
“Okay, fine. Will you at least talk to Mel about continuing your lessons? She was worried you’d end up wasting your talent.”
“Nah, I’m over the lessons.” Adam tosses the remote back and forth from one hand to the other. “I’ve been teaching myself ever since that embarrassing drunken kiss.”
“YOU SEE! Music is your language. Please play something for me.”
He looks at me, his eyes moving across my face before sliding back down to the remote in his hands. “I’m not ready.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. Play for me when you’re ready. For now, let’s get this Big Bang Theory marathon started.” I take the remote from him and hit Play. The opening song starts playing, and images of history, science, and technology whizz by at high-speed. I settle back against the cushions to enjoy my peanut butter popcorn and some good laughs.
The Trouble with Flirting Page 15