2 - Today, I Miss Him

2

Today, I Miss Him

" R o, you're coming out."

My head falls back as I lean against the countertop. "I'm exhausted, Soph."

"So am I. I have two monsters for children. And yes, blah blah, you're a professional athlete, but you try dealing with these heathens. One of which is a mini you, for God's sake, and the other an exact replica of my husband." My sister exhales, causing me to smile, and I hear the clink of glass in the background. "And you have tomorrow off. I'm begging you. We don't have to do much, but I need to get out."

"Sophia—"

"Stop bitching. What are you even doing?" she asks, and I glance around. "I'd bet both my kids on the fact that you're standing in your kitchen, hungry and contemplating take-out or one of those horrendous frozen meals."

With a suck of my teeth, I look around at my kitchen. Ingredients sit unused in the fridge, which are no interest to me. Besides the bare basics like cutting fruit and cooking the same three subpar meals, cooking is not my forte. I survive off of meals from the team, take-out, or as Sophia says, those disgusting (but easy) frozen foods.

"You're so exhausting."

"I am not exhausting, I'm exhausted . And you love me. Kian will drop me off." Another clink of the glass. "I should be there in an hour. Max."

"Are you drinking already?"

"It's white wine."

"What about the kids?" I ask, knowing it's hopeless. Any other day and I would've given in. But after Drew and after conditioning, I'm exhausted from keeping myself standing on two feet. Two feet that are achingly tired from holding myself up and putting on a face day after day. Not that that admittance will ever make it past my lips.

Dad always says, " Even when it is unbearable, you will not bend ." And I will not bend.

At least not when anyone can see it.

Even if all I want to do is collapse on the couch and burrow into the cushions molded to my body, I know being around my sister will make me feel better. She is undoubtedly a part of my soul. A piece of me that, if removed, the rest of me would be slowly touched by the despair of her absence. Life would be infinitely less interesting to me if I didn't have her. The girl that knows without a word when I need to bend and catches me before I break.

"Kian is watching them since he's the whole reason we have them."

I snort. "It takes two to tango."

"No. It is all his fault."

"Alright, have him drop you off here, then we'll go. You're buying me dinner."

When she speaks, I easily visualize the smile on her face. "I expected nothing less. Love you, Ro."

In the background, I hear Kian, my sister's wonderfully idiotic husband, and the brother I never had, shout, "I love you most, Ro!", subsequently followed by an, "Oof."

"Alrighty then, love you too," I say and all that follows is the back and forth between them until I hang up. Sighing, I push off the counter and prepare a single cup of coffee.

Soft light flickers from the candles burning on every surface. Music plays softly from the TV as the nightlife starts to seep in through the windows, painting scattered shadows over the floor and onto the exposed brick hallway before they fall away. Behind me, the light above the stove illuminates the kitchen. Dark, sparkling countertops and light cabinets continue the contrast that exists in the rest of the apartment. Photos and art are hung around the various walls, framing the bookshelf that sits next to the hallway, stuck to the fridge with magnets, along with a few haphazard soccer achievements thrown in along the way.

Walking past, I toss my sage green blanket over the fluffy couch, running a hand over the soft, welcoming material, knowing that's probably where I'll fall asleep tonight. Where I can leave the blinds open just so I can see the city lights of old city Philadelphia but dwell in the darkness of my apartment. Before heading to my room, oat milk is poured into my coffee as the warmth from the mug seeps into my palms as I cross the room and head down the short hallway.

For just a moment, I collapse onto the fluffy, green comforter, looking out at the city. Living on a side street next to Market keeps me separated enough, but when I want, I can get a glimpse of the city below me. I take a sip and let myself enjoy the almost silence. Chords from the music trickle into my room, a symphony of sounds that keep me from descending into complete silence. Silence that becomes louder than I can bear.

Some days, I can't fathom being left only with my thoughts.

Wondering why I'm not further along, wondering why, when I have almost everything I could ever want, I'm still not proud of myself.

It doesn't help that the voicemail from my dad after practice still echoes in my head. " You need to be better, Aurora. You need to be the best, be faster, be stronger. You need to lead that team. You, more than anyone, need to be prepared for the next few games. Losing isn't an option. "

It's fine—just criticism. Except I couldn't tell you the last time the man told me he was proud of me. Today, I know for a fact I was the fastest girl in the lineup, and I've been leading this team all season, running myself into the ground to do so.

Sighing, I snap out of it. Those problems are for another day.

I make my way to my closet, paging through the clothes until I find something. By the time I'm dressed and ready, the familiar buzz rings through the apartment. At the door, I hold the button so Sophia can get up to my place.

Right as I collapse on the couch, the door unlocks—using a key that she made herself—and my sister opens the door. If Sophia was a color, she'd be pink. A soft pink. Not overbearing but welcoming. Warm but firm when needed. Sophia is blooming flowers in the springtime, standing strong through the early rains and into the bright, sunny skies.

Anyone who sees us together can tell we're sisters. Same height, the same curl pattern, the same nose we got from our mom, and the same smile from our dad. Still, we are different. Sophia has softer, gentler curves; maybe it was motherhood, maybe it was the yoga and the running and the Pilates—I always thought it was just Sophia. Soft but strong under the surface. I still have curves, my hips wider than the standard, my thighs thicker than what was trendy when I was younger, but playing has kept me strong on the surface. It just happened to leave me more fragile underneath.

Sophia strides in, her curls cut shorter than mine, framing her round, warm, brown cheeks that are dotted with blush. The midi-skirt she has on dances around her legs as she walks, pulling a bottle of wine and a small plastic bag out from behind her back.

"Did you bring that from home?"

Sophia takes a seat on the big, square ottoman in front of me. "Of course not. I made Kian stop at Wawa and the liquor store." She passes me the bottle, the one that's already open, and then tosses me the bag of mini Kit-Kats.

A grin spreads. "I knew you were good for something."

"You are so your father's child."

I pop candy into my mouth. "You were his first." Soph flips me off before flicking the top of the wine and taking a swig. "It's good to know you haven't gotten any classier with age."

"It's good to know you're still a brat."

After putting the candy in the freezer, I return, taking a seat next to my sister. My head seamlessly finds its place on her shoulder, a spot I've rested on countless times. Sophia is one of two people I willingly let my guard down around, one of two I let see the vulnerable parts of me. And she's the only one of the two I've got left.

She passes me the bottle, and I take a small sip before resting it between my legs.

"I had a date this morning."

Beside me, a careful sigh escapes her. Her hand finds the bottom of my curls like they used to when we were younger and I crawled into her room when I couldn't sleep. "With the same guy? Drew?" I nod. "How did it go?"

There is no reason for me to feel this rundown today. Over a date. Over conditioning practice. But that almost kiss… I can't stop replaying it. I can't get it out of my head—how much I didn't want it, how much I wanted it to be someone else.

How today, I miss him.

Not just the version of him that I loved, that I was in love with, but the version that was my friend. My best friend. The Isaiah that knew everything there was to know about me. Now, that Isaiah doesn't exist. Just like we don't.

It's an uncomfortable ache, one that hasn't ever fully gone away, instead something that's become an unwanted friend. One that usually I ignore, but it's heavier today. Like a flower wilting under heavy rain.

I can't shake it, can't get rid of it. It just…aches.

Shrugging, I search for what I want to say. Feeling younger than I am, like an adolescent trying to figure it all out again. "It was fine, but I feel pathetic. I shouldn't be sad after a date." I deeply inhale. "I shouldn't be sad anymore at all."

Not when it's been six years.

"Ro, Isaiah was a huge part of your life. It's okay that you feel like this sometimes." Soph's fingers twirl and untwirl the end of my curls. "It's okay that you aren't ready to kiss Drew, and it'd be okay if you wanted to stop seeing him, too. Unfortunately, there is no set amount of time for things like this, for relationships ending. It's one of those things that will always leave a mark. Anytime something like that ends, it never really ends. It's like an old bruise or an old injury. Sometimes, something pokes it and makes it fresh again. A memory, a moment. And sometimes, you don't even realize it's there."

For the most part, she's right. Sophia is usually right. But I don't tell her that I am always aware of it. That everywhere I go, everything I do, I know exactly what Isaiah would be doing or where he'd be. It's like the injury won't heal. No matter how much time has passed.

And because she's my sister, she knows exactly what I'm thinking without my saying a word. "But Ro, it'll never heal if you don't let it." I take another sip of the wine. When she speaks again, her tone is gentler, as if her next words might hurt. "You'll never forget him, but if you want to move on, you have to let him go. You have to live your life, even if he's not in it."

No one ever told me growing up that your heart aching would be something you could feel. No one ever warned me that it doesn't feel like a twisted ankle, an aching muscle, or even a broken leg. It sits there, in my chest, aching against my ribs with nowhere to go. And no way to fix it. You can't ice it, you can't apply heat, you can't do anything…but let it fucking ache.

I'm used to pushing through injuries. To keep running when pain strikes. To keep breathing even when it feels impossible. To keep going. But how am I supposed to push through something I can never predict? How am I supposed to heal something that I can't see? That I can't mend with my own two hands?

I swallow the pain, ignoring how my chest wants to cave in, and give a shaky nod. "No, yeah–you're right." Standing, I hand my sister the bottle, avoiding the careful gaze of her knowing brown eyes and how her lips are trying not to fall downward when she looks at me.

"Ro," she murmurs, but when I turn, there's a strained smile on my face.

"Let's just go, Soph." My phone dings, showing Kian's name on my screen—which he typed in as Kian: The Gremlin Herder . It puts a real smile on my face.

The message is simple, a picture of Kian with the girls in the back, one in a car seat and the other practically all grown up (by grown up, I mean ten), except they don't resemble my nieces at all because my idiot brother-in-law spent God knows how long drawing them to look like Gremlins instead. With one single word typed out: help.

I hold the phone out to my sister. "Your husband is a rare breed of idiot."

"That's what I get for marrying the first man to kiss me."

A real laugh breaks through my lips because they may poke and prod and tease and trick each other, but I've never seen two people more in love.

"You know he bought Zaza a Gremlin stuffed animal? You know how many times we have to watch that movie? It's almost as bad as you when you wouldn't watch anything but The Prince and Me or Brother Bear . Or Annie . Fucking Annie. " She takes a long swig, and I cross my arms.

"I wasn't that—"

"No, because you were. And Zaza is literally your kid. I gave birth to her, but she is just like you." A twinkle of mischief enters my sister's eyes. "And she's proud of it."

"She should be." I grab my purse, tossing my keys inside, and blow out the candles. "I'm leaving."

"Grouchy." The sound of her voice is followed by scuffling and the clink of a bottle being set down. By the time she reaches me, she's practically pushing me out the door. Standing side by side, Sophia tugs me. Though we're at eye level, it feels like she's looking over me. Like she always has. "You'll be alright Aurora. I'll make sure of it."

Anyone else and I'd tell them I'd be just fine on my own. But it was Sophia, and even if I tried to fight her, she wouldn't let me win. And I didn't mind losing to her.

We start walking, falling into step with one another. The night air is heavy with humidity, draping over us as we step outside. Underfoot, we navigate the old, haphazardly paved and never-repaired roads as we turn off my quiet side street. Old and new neon signs blink along the streets, painting shadows over various-sized groups on the street deciding on which bar to enter. A few blocks down, we come to my favorite one, Revolution House. The bouncer, a face I'm not ashamed to say is familiar now, nods, waving us in. Delicate string lights are hung up around the brick wall interior, the rustic but gentle atmosphere continuing up the stairs, where the walls open up and the air flows through.

Up here, they're still seating for dinner, though a decent crowd ebbs and flows as music plays overhead. Groups are scattered between the bar and the high and low-top tables situated around the porch. Sophia drags us to the host stand, who happily takes us to a table in the corner near the edge, where we can see the downstairs porch from above. We bid her thank you as she hands us the menu.

"What do you want?"

"To drink?" She nods. "Whatever you get."

"It's nice to know you still want to be me."

"How did Mom and Dad put up with you before I came along?"

Sophia rolls her eyes as my lips quirk. Before she can respond, the server arrives, and she orders two glasses of wine. In a moment of silence, we both scan the menus, Sophia's nails tapping against the lamination until we both set them down.

"Do you think I can convince Kian to bring breakfast tomorrow when he comes to get me?"

"You could convince Kian to do anything." Glancing at her, she shrugs with a soft smile, knowing that I'm right. That there isn't a thing that man wouldn't do for her. Or for his daughters. Or me, for that matter. "Tell him I want French toast."

The server returns with the wine, and we place our order. When she walks away, Sophia meets my eyes. "You can text him yourself. He answers you more than me most of the time anyway."

"Brilliant idea."

I grab my phone and send a quick message to him.

Me: French toast tomorrow morning 3

Kian, the Gremlin Herder : I didn't know I was taking orders.

Me: At the request of your wife of course

Kian, the Gremlin Herder : And you had no part in it I'm sure

Me: Not one

Kian, the Gremlin Herder: French toast will be there. Tell Soph she looks pretty.

Rolling my eyes while my heart swells, I show the message to her. Even now, after all these years… I remember when she came home at fourteen, I had just turned ten and still thought boys had cooties (including him ), but Sophia… she talked about Kian like he spun the world into creation just for her. She talked about that kiss like it was the only thing that had any real value.

Never would've guessed that fifteen years later, they'd still be those two kids who had never known what it was like to not be in love with each other.

Sliding my phone back into my bag, I take a long sip of wine as my sister lets her eyes travel around the bar, people-watching. One of my favorite parts of living in a city, of life in general. But when I return my eyes to her, her features aren't one of open curiosity.

"Why are you making that face?"

Her brown skin looks pale under the warm lights, and she forces her lips into a sheepish smile, though she fails at pulling it off. "It's nothing, Ro."

But I watch as her eyes return again and again to the same spot over my shoulder. Before I can tell myself not to, I turn and follow her gaze. I wish I hadn't. I wish I believed my terrible liar of a sister when she said it was nothing. Even if it wasn't.

Seeing Isaiah for the first time in six years was the opposite of nothing.