Chapter 13
Avice asked about Diane when she was five.
Two years later.
“Purple aunt.”
Apparently that was her internal label.
“Yes.”
“She old?”
“Do not let her hear you.”
Avice giggled.
Then:
“She still mean?”
Good question.
“Sometimes.”
Truth.
“Can see?”
“Do you want to?”
She nodded.
We arranged lunch at the marine museum.
Same building.
Different room.
No gala.
No pregnancy costume.
Diane arrived early.
Avice arrived holding my hand.
My sister’s face changed.
She had aged.
So had all of us.
She crouched carefully.
“I’m sorry I pulled your chair away.”
Avice remembered.
Her eyes narrowed.
“I fell.”
“Yes.”
“I had card.”
“Yes.”
“You said not family.”
Diane swallowed.
“I was wrong.”
Avice looked at me.
I stayed silent.
Not my answer.
She looked back.
“I family.”
“Yes.”
Diane’s voice broke.
“You are.”
Then Avice asked:
“Why you do?”
Diane answered better than I expected.
“Because I was scared people I love would leave, and I tried to control them.”
Avice frowned.
Too abstract.
Diane tried again.
“I wanted your daddy to stay close to me.”
Avice understood.
“Daddy lives beach.”
“Yes.”
“You can visit.”
Children.
Brutal simplicity.
Diane laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
Avice ate fries.
Apology complete.
No hug required.
Twenty minutes later she showed Diane jellyfish.
May you like
Relationship resumed at the level of marine creatures.
Probably healthier.
