“Ella?” I stand frozen in my entryway. “What are you doing here?”
Don’t get me wrong, I love my little sister. She’s the only person I’ve ever been in a fight for. I was in fourth grade and I saw her crying on the playground because some boy was teasing her about her wild curls (that I always envied). I shoved the little shit, and when he tried to fight back, I punched him in the stomach.
I was grounded for a month and Ella snuck me candy every single day until I was free.
But as with life, there is duality to everything. And as much as I love her, she is the antithesis of everything I am, and sometimes I wonder if she was placed on earth to test me.
“What? No ‘nice to see you, how have you been, Ella’?” She stands up, her long, graceful body making even getting off the couch look like a dance. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
“Of course I’m happy to see you.” I slip off my heels by the door, neatly placing them beside each other, trying to ignore the fact that Ella’s own shoes are tossed haphazardly across the floor. “I just thought you weren’t coming for a few more weeks. A heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“And ruin the surprise? Where’s the fun in that?” She glides across the floor and slams into me at full speed, wrapping her thin arms around my not-as-thin frame.
“Can’t breathe!” I try to peel her off me before giving up and slouching into her grip. “I forgot how freakishly strong you are.”
It’s the dancer’s body. She seems so thin and delicate, frail even, like the lace of the ballerina costumes she used to wear. But beneath her long limbs and flawless skin are thick, corded muscles from her fingertips down to her toes. I may look fit with my thick thighs and tiny waist, but I don’t stand a chance against Ella.
“Don’t you love it?” She smacks her lips on my cheeks. “I can fight Ralph for you if you want.”
“Why would you even say that? I don’t need—or want—you to fight anyone.” I always do my best to keep my real feelings under lock when Ella is around, but I swear she only says things she knows will get a rise out of me.
Like wanting to fight my former professional athlete boyfriend.
“Fine.” She sounds disappointed as she drops her arms and allows my ribs—and lungs—to finally expand again. “But if you change your mind, I’ll be in your living room so I’ll be easy to find.”
“Seriously though.” I follow her as she makes her way back to my couch. “What are you doing here? You said you were coming in a few weeks, not days. I wasn’t ready for you.”
I needed time to build up my mental fortress and maybe call my old therapist for a session or two.
“Yeah, that was before I called and you sounded like you were about to have a nervous breakdown because your douchebag boyfriend treated you like garbage again.” She grabs the remote and mutes the woman screaming across the table from another woman. “What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and let Mom tell you to make it work no matter what? Or wait while you excuse his bullshit all over again? I don’t think so.”
“You don’t even know what happened.” Again, she has never even been in a relationship! The fact that she thinks she can offer me advice better than our Mom—who’s been in a successful marriage for over thirty years—is almost as funny as it is insulting. “And what do you mean I’ll ‘excuse’ him all over again? I don’t do that! We both made mistakes early in our relationship, but we’ve grown since then.”
See?
This is why I need prep time. I’ve been in her presence for mere minutes and I’m already yelling. There isn’t a person on this planet who can get me as worked up as Ella Louise Johnson.
“He cheated and then you stepped out for revenge. I know they say two wrongs don’t make a right or whatever”—she rolls her eyes—“but in this case your wrong was definitely right.”
“Why do you do this to me?” I could maybe handle this like a rational adult if I hadn’t just expended all my energy dealing with my mom. “You can’t just show up at my place willy-nilly, three weeks early, and give me shit. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Did you really just say willy-nilly?” She starts to laugh. “Who are you? Aunt Rose?”
For some reason, this enrages me. Who does she think she is? Plus, I love her, but Aunt Rose is awful! Out of everyone in our family, that’s who she compares me to?
“Do you think you were born with this amount of audacity, or did you acquire it while you pranced across the world with no responsibilities whatsoever? You would think you’d feel the teeniest bit of guilt for the amount I’ve had to cover for you and clean up your messes as you’ve frolicked around without a care in the world for the last seven years.”
I often wonder if we are actually part of the same family. Ella and I were never held to the same standards growing up. I know it’s not her fault, but sometimes my resentment about it creeps to the surface.
“That’s crap.” She unmutes the TV and looks away from me, suddenly ready to disengage now that I’m looking at her life instead of mine. “You’ve never had to clean up my mess.”
If I hadn’t just been reminded how strong she was, I’d jump on her and pull her hair like I did when we were little and I still had a chance to beat her in a fight.
“Are you kidding me right now? What about the time you were dating Devon Williams and ghosted him after you set me up with his cousin? I was the one stuck on a date without you, explaining your ‘busy’ schedule. Or the time you quit the internship Dad set up for you without giving notice? Because you decided to audition for that wild-ass off-Broadway show you saw on the internet? I had to cancel a trip to Mexico and do your work while also trying to focus on school.” I could go on for ages, but decide to stop before my head explodes. “You always do whatever the hell you want, and whatever, that’s fine I guess. It’s your life. But the least you could do is acknowledge what I’ve done to clean up after you.”
At twenty-six years old, Ella has experienced many things, but being a responsible adult who can hold on to a job isn’t one of them.
“Oh please.” She shifts on the couch to face me. The happy-go-lucky smile always lighting her face is gone and my anger is mirrored back at me through our mother’s chestnut eyes. “You’ve always been so worried about being perfect for Mom, you never even saw me.”
I don’t know what surprises me more. That my sister actually does have a temper or what she’s accusing me of.
Any other day, any other time, I could’ve handled this like a mature and rational adult. But she caught me on an off day, and unluckily for her, she’s catching the brunt of the frustration that’s been building in me for weeks. Maybe even months. I don’t mean to unload on her, but now that I’ve started, it’s like an avalanche I can’t stop. This has been piling up for years because I’ve never given myself the grace to have a release. I swallow my feelings and stuff them deep down, hoping they’ll disappear and I can pretend they never existed. But that never works.
“Of course I saw you, we all saw you! How could anyone miss you when you were the center of the universe and the rest of us were just your accessories?”
“Oh my god. Is she serious?” Ella shakes her head and starts talking to the ceiling like I’m not even here. “She can’t be serious. Working in a soul-sucking corporate job has finally taken its toll. She’s lost her mind.”
If I was even slightly in touch with reality at the moment, I’d probably laugh at her over-the-top dramatics. But I’m pissed, and her over-the-top dramatics reinforce how true I feel everything I said was. Even in this very moment, she’s still just being Ella. She’s still just making it about her.
So I do the super adult thing.
I grab the oversized throw pillow that came with my couch, lift it over my head—for maximum impact, of course—and hit her as hard as I can.
Because you know…maturity and growth and shit like that.
“Ow!” She screams and I know I woke up the beast. “What the hell, Maya!”
Before she can regain her balance and retaliate, I hop off the couch and run toward my room. The stupid hardwood floors are like ice beneath my opaque tights and cause me to lose precious seconds off my minuscule lead. I slide into my room, fighting against momentum to shove the door in her face. Unfortunately for me, her long legs and quick reaction time are too much for me to compete with and she comes barreling into my room, tackling me to the floor like a maniac.
Which I guess is sort of fair since I did hit her first.
Well, well, well. If it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.
Her long legs straddle my waist, slapping my arms. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Get off me, you monster!” I buck my body as hard as I can to try to get her off me, but she’s like a rodeo pro! My little body doesn’t stand a chance.
I really need to learn to pick my battles better.
“I’m!” Smack. “Not!” Smack. “The!” Smack. “Monster!” Smack. “Here!” Smack. Smack. Pinch.
“Owww!” I screech, giving up my fight and moving to rub the sensitive skin on the underside of my arm. Now she’s just fighting dirty. “Holy crap! You just freaking pinched me!
“And I’ll do it again,” she says without any remorse whatsoever.
“You know”—I stop trying to see if she broke any skin and look her dead in her wild eyes—“I was wrong, you aren’t a monster.”
“Thank you very much.” She seems pleased at my words and loosens her thighs on the sides of my body, giving me the opening I was looking for.
I push my heels into the floor, recalling every Pilates and yoga class I’ve ever attended, and thrust my hips forward, turning both our bodies until she’s on the floor and I’m straddling her. Her eyes are wide and the look of shock on her face is one of the most glorious sights I’ve ever seen. “You’re not just a monster, you’re a life-ruining, soul-sucking vampire!”
I think about executing my pinching revenge when I remember that Ella, my dear, sweet, horrible little sister, has always been unbearably ticklish on her sides and change tactics.
“Oh no.” She shakes her head, correctly reading the look on my face. “Don’t you dare.”
I channel our childhood and lift my hands into the air, curling my fingers into claws à la Jim Carrey in Liar Liar.
“No!” Her screams rattle my hurricane-proof windows.
I’m convinced that my neighbors will soon be calling the cops, but I can’t stop, won’t stop. Not when I’m this close to victory. I inch my hands closer to her waist, thrilled with seeing the fear in her eyes up close. Maybe being a sociopath runs in the family? I should not be enjoying this so much.
“Maya. For real. Don’t.” I’m not touching her yet, but the phantom tickles have already hit and she’s scream-laughing. “I drank two of your sparkling waters while I was waiting for you. If you do this, I’m going to pee.”
As far as deterrents go, this is definitely the best one she could’ve come up with. Do I want to torture her at the expense of my favorite rug?
I consider her words before extending one hand. “Truce?”
She hesitates for a moment and I revert back to my tickling position.
“Truce! Truce!” she says, grabbing my hand and shaking as hard as she can.
I roll off her and lie on my fluffy rug, knowing I made a good deal. We’re both silent for a few minutes as we stare up at my ceiling, trying to catch our breath.
“So…” Ella speaks first…because she’s Ella and of course she does. “Wanna tell me what’s bothering you?”
My entire life, Ella has driven me to the point of violence. But even in the height of it, I can never stay mad at her. Nobody can. Which is why she’s the only person I know who can get away with half of the crap she pulls.
I lift my arm and tick off the reasons as I list them. “I’m anxious about a promotion opportunity coming up at work. My best friend is almost unrecognizable and I’m getting a little lonely. And, even though I know I’m going to regret telling you this, Vaughn and I are going through a little…hiccup.”
“Well first…” She rolls onto her side and looks serious for once. “I don’t know why you’d be stressed about work. You’re the most determined, capable human I know. If there’s something you want, the only people that need to be concerned are the ones considering getting in your way. Next, what friend? Have you ever thought this could be a good thing? Changes mean growth and different isn’t always bad. Maybe try new things together, you might find you like getting out of your comfort zone. Finally, you know how I feel about that d-bag and I don’t want to end up wrestling again because I hurt your feelings by telling you the truth.”
I usually let all of Ella’s “advice” go in one ear and out the other. But for some reason, as I lie on the floor, my lungs still burning after fighting like an eight-year-old, my problems seem more manageable. Ella’s life is the opposite of what I want, but for reasons I can’t explain, my stupid, useless heart is latching on to her words.
“You make everything seem so simple.” I both hate and envy that about her.
“Because it is simple.” She shoves off the ground and looks down her nose at me…a surprising reversal of the normal structure of our relationship. “You make everything so much harder than it needs to be. You already know the answer to most of the stuff you’re worried about, but for some reason I’ll never understand, you don’t trust yourself.”
“I trust myself.” Kind of.
Maybe.
No.
Not at all.
“Oh please.” Her eyes roll like they always used to when Dad would lecture her on the importance of education. “If you trusted yourself, would you still be pretending like it’s your life’s dream to work in finance? Would you still be dating Ralph? No. You’d be out there, doing what you actually love and spending time with people who truly deserve your attention.”
Honestly? It’s a little rude that she doesn’t even grant me the common courtesy of pretending like she believes I have everything I want.
“I do love my job!” I’m confused to find myself defending my life choices to the person I never thought I’d have to defend them to. “And I love Vaughn.”
“You don’t love your job, you’re just good at it. There’s a difference. You’re good at numbers and they’re safe and reliable and make you feel comfortable. But you loved working on the morning show in high school until that bitch Ramona gave you a hard time about it. Then all of a sudden you were all about mathletes and helping Dad with taxes like a total weirdo.”
Wow! Attack much?
I don’t know whether I want to laugh or go for round two of wrestling. “You’re actually certifiable.”
I force myself from my spot on the floor and make it to my feet. My stomach growls, reminding me of my plan for samosas, tikka masala, and more naan than is probably healthy for a single person to consume.
“Oh, look, you’re running away. What a shocking and unusual turn of events!” Her heavy sarcasm follows me across my apartment as I find my phone.
“I’m ordering Indian food. Want anything?” I don’t give her the pleasure of an outward reaction to her false assessment of my life. “Their tikka masala is the best, but I also really like the shrimp saag.”
“I’m not eating meat right now. It’s so bad for the environment,” she says like she’s not a person who flies all the time, drove a car for years that failed emissions on the reg, and always has a bottle of Smartwater in her hand. “But I’ll have saag paneer and veggie samosas.”
She rests her hip against my counter, staring hard as I call and place our dinner order.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask once I hang up. “Only you could manage to look so judgmental when someone else is buying you dinner.”
“I just realized something about you,” she says, but doesn’t expand.
I know I shouldn’t ask.
I don’t care nor do I want to know.
I should just shrug, wash my face, and find something to watch while we wait thirty to forty-five minutes for our dinner to arrive.
That would be the smart, self-preserving thing to do…
“What did you realize about me?”
What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.
“I always thought you did everything Mom wanted because you were trying to prove that you were better than me.” She drops her voice to a quiet whisper. “But now I know that was wrong. I scared you. The way I attack life freaks you out. I’m the mirror to the life you wanted but you were afraid to have. So you’ve chased Mom’s approval instead, hoping she could validate your decisions. You’ve hoped she would tell you that you’re perfect and in turn, it would turn your fear and regret into passion.”
Okay.
Does she think she’s a licensed therapist or something now? What gives her the right to say that to me?
“Do you feel better now?” I should’ve gone to the bathroom when I had the chance. “Maybe you don’t understand this, but just because I tried out a hobby for a minute in high school and then quit it doesn’t mean I abandoned my lifelong dream.”
“Please! You act like we didn’t share a room and I didn’t snoop in all of your journals where you’d write about becoming the next Oprah or Barbara Walters.” She pushes off the counter and gets in my space again. “You stopped because you were afraid. In finance, there’s a right and wrong answer. You can be right and it’s not subjective. You don’t know how to put yourself out there, even if it could mean bringing you actual happiness. Maybe especially if it could mean bringing you actual happiness.”
Our high school did have the best broadcast journalism program in the state and my fourteen-year-old self worked her butt off to become an anchor by the end of sophomore year. Ella’s right, I did love it. It was a blast.
But so was treasure hunting in the backyard when I was a kid. That doesn’t mean I’m supposed to be Indiana Jones.
“Okay, Ella. Do you feel better now?” I don’t want to let her pull me in again, but even though I know I’m going to regret this later, I can’t stop myself. “Is this what’s been on your mind? Why you had to come here? To tell me about this alternative reality in which I’m massively unhappy so you don’t feel like the screw-up in the family?”
I see the way my words cause her to flinch and her big, chestnut eyes dull just a bit, but I don’t apologize.
I don’t even acknowledge her.
Instead I do what I should’ve done when I walked in and saw her in my space. I go to my room, lock the door, and remember what my mom told me to do. I make a list of everything I need to get done at work, update my schedule, and then I text Vaughn.
And I do it all while pretending I’m not the worst sister in the entire world.