Page 66 of What It's Like in Words
I wish Mum had kept our photos, I said.
I hate her I hate her I hate her
I know, sweetheart. But it was all very hard on her and she had her reasons for handling the situation the way that she did.
Thesituation. Catherine had that look that grown-ups got when they spoke about Dad. I told her that it had been twenty years last month. Did you know? Catherine said that she wasn’t sure on the day. I told her that I wasn’t either. I just remember it was after my birthday. She looked at me in that way again. I told her that I was okay. Every day is the anniversary of something, right?
Twenty years since he died. Twenty-three years since he stubbed his toe on the sofa. Twenty-seven years since he burned the toast. It all hurts.
I wanted to tell her how much I appreciated the photo and how much I appreciated her calling my name when she called for dinner, but part of me worried that if I did she might stop doing it.
Just then Evie charged in and wrapped her arms around my legs. Nola, she said, come watchFrozen? We’re doing Elsa makeup! Ruth entered with her face covered in glitter.
Yes, let’s cover Aunty Nola in this shit too.
Catherine said Ruth’s name sharply. Evie whispered, “Shit,” in my ear. Ruth laughed, and Catherine shook her head. Evie wobbled out of the kitchen with Ruth following, arms stretched to catch her.
I asked Catherine if I could keep the photo, and her chin jutted.Of course! It’s for you! But just don’t mention it to Jon—he didn’t think I should give it to you.
She hugged me and said that she was proud of me. Her jumper was thick wool, and she smelled like the potpourri she put in the decorative Christmas boxes around the house, the ones that she’d let me fill with her when I was little, generously allowing me to correct her when a box contained too many cinnamon sticks or not enough orange segments.
When she pulled away, she moved my hair from my eyes and asked how my book was going. I replied that I still hadn’t heard back from Diana. She said that it was probably a busy time of year. Keep the faith and please try to spread some of your passion to Ruth?
RUTH WAS WAITING INthe corridor. She grabbed my elbow and asked if she was being a shit friend. Do I listen enough? Her brown eyes were wide. For me, Christmases here were safety, but Ruth found them hard. She and Emily were very different. I liked to think of myself as the middle sister, but in actuality Ruth held the complex middle role.
Roo, you always listen.
Because Emily doesn’t know the whole story. She doesn’t know how hard it’s been. She hasn’t had to watch you cry over him again and again!
I indicated for her to keep her voice down, because Catherine was still in the kitchen.
Ruth said that she was worried that he hadn’t changed. It’s a short time for someone to change, you know? I told her that she was probably right, but I needed him. She told me that I didn’t. You’re enough by yourself, Enola. You’ve always been enough. I fingered the photograph in my pocket. I told her that even if she was right, I stillfeltlike I needed him. Ruth lowered her gaze as if she were trying to protect her argument and said that there was a difference between needing someone andfeelinglike you need them. I told herthat if a hypnotist told her that she was starving she would still eat a sandwich.
You’ve just described mind control.
The calories would be real.
But if you know that it’s just mind con—
Nola! Come onnn! It’s Ellssssa!Evie ran from the living room and stretched my cardigan. I detached her hand from the fabric and told her I would be there in a second. Ruth shuffled her feet. She was wearing the penguin slippers that Emily had bought her for Christmas. I told her not to worry because she was a great friend.
And you would tell me? Because you can be too generous with people, Enola.
I sighed. Fiiiine. Last week you came over with a croissant for yourself and not for me. That was shitty. Ruth grinned and took my hands. One sleeve of her Christmas jumper lifted to reveal her wrist, where delicate letters read:LOST AT SEA.
Later, Jon would get the port, and we would watch old Christmas specials with a box of chocolates. Then, when it was time for bed, Catherine would turn off the lights, and I would go to the spare room and study the photo of my father.
CHAPTER 21
Twenty-five minutes past seven. I refresh my email, and seven new ones appear from skin care brands reminding me of my age. Then I go to the wardrobe and pull out a wooden box engraved with elephants. It’s where I keep the pieces of Dad that Mum didn’t burn. Inside is the photograph that Catherine gave me last Christmas. I don’t feel anything when I look at it. We are both strangers. You have to work to keep the dead alive, but no one helped me with Dad.That’s enough of that,No point dwelling in the past, andNone of that silly businesswere commonly used.
I try to reconcile the man from my memory with the man from the image. Fragments come back like the middle pieces of a jigsaw: the sound of his laugh while watching television; the smell of his suit before work; how he rubbed his face when he was tired. He died twenty-one years ago. And it feels worse than last year because it’s the start of another decade without him. I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas again.
I press on my bruise until my eyes water.
IT WASJANUARY,BUTI kept my small plastic tree up. When I opened the door, he was grinning. Happy fake Christmas!
Happy fake Christmas.
