I never knew what happened. I’m not sure I want to know now, after spending years coming up with my own theories … accepting that it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it does though, because time feeds the bitterness festering under my skin.
He unwraps his fingers from the glass and slowly nods. “I know it seemed like I loved my work more than you girls, but—”
“Don’t lie,” I cut him off. “I deserve answers after all these years, don’t you agree? I don’t want you to bullshit me like you did Mama.”
“Emery,” he warns firmly. “If there is one person that I’ve always been honest with, it’s your mother.”
I’m silent, unsure of what to say in return. Mama never told me that Dad lied, but she never told me why he left. He was just gone one morning and never returned. Lo and I thought of plenty of reasons why he went away, but Mama never confirmed or denied any of them.
“Why?” I whisper.
“We fell out of love.”
No response.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. Mama used to scold all of us for doing that when we lived together. “I know it’s hard to understand, but people don’t always stay in love like in the books you read. The fairytale ending is just fiction, it’s not real life. Your mother and I weren’t good together, and we didn’t want to subject you girls to it.”
Life isn’t a fairytale? I scoff. “Do you think I’m a total idiot or just naïve?”
His lips part.
Crossing my arms on my chest, I glare at him. “Don’t you think I know what life is really like? I had to watch my twin sister die, Dad. I watched her deteriorate right in front of me. I had to see Mama break down and never fully recover, and then I had to go to a funeral and accept that my own dad wasn’t going to be there when I needed him.”
He tries to answer, but I hold up my hand. “If you fell out of love with Mama, then fine. But somewhere along the way you fell out of love with your surviving daughter, and I won’t ever understand that no matter how you spin it. I’m still alive, Dad.”
His body tenses as his gaze goes to the table. Like Mama, he can’t look at me. I realize in that moment that Kaiden is the only one who’s looked at me since leaving Bakersfield. Really looked at me. He doesn’t see Logan, Mama, or my past. He sees me in all my flawed frailty.
“Does Kaiden know?”
It’s a loaded question. Obviously Kaiden knows Lo died. I’m pretty sure there isn’t anyone who was at the Cantina that night that doesn’t. There’s always more to a story though, and I wonder how much Kaiden’s invested.
“No,” Dad says quietly, “he doesn’t.”
“About anything?”
He shakes his head.
Kaiden doesn’t know I’m sick. I don’t take him for an idiot, so he won’t be in the dark for long. I’ve already had one flare, and there’s always more to come. Worse ones. Tolerable ones. As long as the new medication cocktail I’m on keeps working, hopefully he won’t catch on until later.
Much later.
After all, he said he never wanted a sibling. Despite being hyperaware of Lo’s symptoms, no two cases are identical. Not even for twins. Her demise may not be mine, but the endless possibilities of fatality with lupus keeps me on edge.
Does it worry Dad?
“Lo and I would pretend you were on an extended business trip for work,” I admit with no emotion lingering in my tone. He finally looks up at me, his eyes pained and distant. “I would think about all the cool things you were doing on your trip and act like you’d bring us back presents. Lo would sometimes say that you were probably on one of those cruises where they take you to the Bahamas. She always wanted to go on one, you know. When she got sick…”
I force myself to breathe past the sudden nausea taking over me. It’s not the typical kind my system is graced with when the pain becomes intense, but a bone deep nausea of acknowledgment when it sinks in that Lo is nowhere on this planet as a breathing entity.
When she got sick, she would tell me that everything would be okay. She promised Dad would come home and Mama would stop obsessing and we’d be a happy family again. No matter what the circumstance, she remained optimistic.
Then she got worse.
Dad never came home.
Mama became manic.
The night before Lo passed away in her sleep, I held her hand as we curled up in her little bed. She told me I should pretend she’s going away for an extended vacation.