by Melissa Wade
latte
The glib undercurrent of my sister Angela’s words
cut. If only it were that simple: this is an enormous life changing event. Over
ten years, mind body and heart had got used to being part of another: the
comforting reassurance of his muscular presence.
I'm definitely not jealous of Angela, who
whispers, 'so get over it and get on with your life' whilst throwing out
the hymn as if we were singing to a crowd at the O2 rather than in a church
practising for a concert. I might hate my life right now but I wouldn't swap it
for Angela’s, whose husband does nothing to help round the house and whose idea
of romantic is a bunch of wilted flowers reduced at the supermarket. Don't cry,
I tell myself as I think of Tim who'd buy me lilies, my favourite, because I was
suffering from a cold and feeling sorry for myself. As soon as the last words
of the hymn are left echoing I make a hasty exit. Today, Angela foregoes talking
to the vicar and links her arm through mine, marching me to a cafe. I sink into
the sofa as she orders a latte for me, iced coffee for herself and cinnamon
pastries for both of us.
'So he left you,' she says setting the tray of
goodies down on the table. No plonking down for Angela, who smooths her skirt
out before sitting. Thanks Angela. I'd completely forgotten Tim had walked out
on me. ‘After all, you did have an affair.'
I take a bite of the light, flaky pastry.
'And it was a stupid, stupid mistake, which I
deeply regret.' I didn't even love the man. It was fun, nothing more. Tim
worked away from home. I couldn’t talk to him about the army. He felt so distant
and I needed something.
'But that's no reason to stop taking care of
yourself. Why don't you come swimming with me, you're gaining weight.'
Says she, whose idea it was to get coffee and
pastries. I stare at her.
'Okay, you have hydrophobia. Running
then?'
I don't even run for the train when I'm late
for work three times in a row.
'Or Pilates then?'
'Pilates will make me lose weight?' I ask skeptically. 'I just want Tim back,' I whisper. I don't want Angela to see me
cry or this tough love approach.
'Well he's not coming back, sweetie, and you
need to move on. It's not even as if you were married.
Unbelievable.
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