Sisters – Part 3
“What do you think made her send it now? Melissa and I have long since made up, but at the last reunion Lisa was still snobby towards me.”
“No, she wasn’t,” my dad said.
“Yes, she was, David,” my mom responded. “You didn’t notice it because you were busy with being the family patriarch, but Lisa was pretty rude to Ashley. Why do you think Ashley and her kids spent most of the time apart from the rest of the family?”
This was a more recent, fresh wound on my soul. I almost couldn’t go to the first family reunion since Grandpa died. My husband was working as a long-haul truck driver and unable to go to the reunion, and I wasn’t working at all because the daycare costs were more than my paychecks would have been. The kids were only 3, 4, 8, and 12. My parents paid for the hotels on the drive down to Utah, and my cousin gave me a discounted rate for the room rental at the resort as the rest was paid for from Grandma and Grandpa’s family reunion fund they left in their will.
But Lisa couldn’t resist reminding the rest of the family that I was adopted and not a true Blackburn. As a result, I felt ashamed and kept myself apart from the main family group. Sensing my reservation, hardly anyone talked to us or wanted to team with us for the family sports competitions and a scavenger hunt. Lisa even made sure to tell the photographer that my children and I had to be photographed separately because we weren’t really part of the family.
As I listened to my parents discuss Lisa and the family reunion, I felt my cheeks growing warm. I couldn’t tell if I was angry or humiliated. I excused myself to the restroom and splashed some cool water on my face. I returned to the kitchen just in time to hear my dad ask about Melissa.
“She seems to have accepted Ashley finally,” he said.
“Well, yes. But remember, David, Melissa lived with us for a bit when we first got married. She has the closest relationship with Ashley out of all the girls.”
My fearless, talented youngest older sister Melissa was the one I spent the most time with as a child. In my mind I could hear the song she used to play on the piano in her room across the hall from mine. I used to beg her to play the “Spinning Song” so I could put on my twirly skirt and spin around and around. Melissa had practiced that song a lot and could play it faster than it was supposed to be played; and, oh, how I loved it. I didn’t know until I was seventeen that the song was actually titled “The Spinning Song,” and not called that just because it made me want to dance in circles.
Two years ago, Melissa came up to Coeur d’Alene with her friend to run the Ironman Race. Of course, they stayed at my parents’ house and I made the obligatory visit to see her. As soon as I walked in the door, there she was with her arms around me.
“Hi, Sis! I haven’t seen you in forever. Since the reunion, I think. That’s what, four years ago?”
“Five,” I replied, hugging her back. “You look great!”
I took a step back, feeling awkward. We had never hugged like that before, and I was leery that she was putting on a show for our dad.
Melissa laughed. “I look the same to me! I hear your kids have a soccer game tomorrow. Can I come?”
“Of course! That would be great.”
I watched her at my children’s soccer game that bright May day. She cheered them on, hugged them when the game was over, and then took us all out for ice cream afterward. My little girl asked me in a not so quiet whisper who she was. Melissa was the one who replied, “I’m your mom’s big sister. One of them, anyway. So that makes me your aunt!”
It was strange and wonderful, but just like that, we were truly sisters instead of rivals for our father’s affections. Or maybe it really happened before that, when we found out my dad had an aggressive form of cancer that couldn’t be cured, only slowed down.
Four years before, my mom called me. “I don’t know who else to talk to. But you have to promise not to tell anyone except your husband.”
“Um, okay.” Usually, my mom wanted to confess that she spent extra money on a gift for my children.
“Dad has bone cancer. They just found it. It seems to have started in his prostate and metastasized. They said it’s extremely aggressive because he was just in last year for his checkup and there was no sign of anything then.” Her voice was shaking. “We don’t know exactly how bad it is yet, so you can’t tell your sisters. He doesn’t want anyone worrying. But I had to tell someone. I needed someone to talk to.”
I realized then that my mom and I are best friends. Actually, I knew it before, but it really sunk in during that awful phone call. I also knew that I would have to tell Jake because there was no way I could be my mom’s support that she needed without having someone supporting me. It wasn’t a hardship to keep a secret from my sisters. They never talked to me anyway, even when I saw Judy. She lived the closest besides me, and it was a two-hour drive to her house.
Later, after my dad had called each of us and told us about his cancer (I had to pretend I didn’t know), Melissa made a Facebook group for us girls and called it “Sisters.” Her first post said she made the group to make it easier for us all to communicate with each other and keep up with dad’s health. I was a little shocked when Melissa’s next post asked me to keep them updated since I lived the closest to dad out of all of us. For the first time, she was treating me like a person and not something to scrape off her shoe. As a bonus, she was also treating me like the adult I was, and not the annoying little sister from her college days.
“We just talked to Lisa a few days ago. We talk to each of you girls on Sunday, you know.” My dad leaned back in his chair. It was his storytelling position. “You know she moved from Virginia back to Utah a couple of months ago? She’s been having a hard time finding a place to live. Even though Melissa has said she can stay with her for as long as she needs. Lisa is sort of like you in that she likes to be independent as much as possible. Now,” my dad pointed his finger for emphasis, “it’s not that there is a lack of apartments in Salt Lake City. But Lisa has to find a new job. And she’s not divorced from what’s-his-name yet.”
“Kevin,” my mom supplied, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, him. They aren’t divorced, just separated, so Lisa still has some things to take care of in Virginia. On top of being a beggar of her sister…”
“That’s what family does, David,” my mom interrupted.
“Besides that, she’s in a complicated relationship. Her children are all in different states so she doesn’t get to see them much. Actually, didn’t Jenny just pay for Lisa to come to see them?”
“Yes. Jenny bought Lisa a bus ticket to go to Arkansas for Thanksgiving. Jenny wanted to buy her a plane ticket but Lisa wouldn’t let her.” My mom looked pointedly at me.
I understood her meaning. I refused to take money from anyone unless I was desperate, and then I always paid them back. Maybe Lisa and I were more alike than either of us realized.
“So, Lisa just said she has an interview this week with her old company that she worked for before she married what’s-his-name. Okay, Kevin. And she thinks she will be able to start work soon.”
“That’s great!” I said. “When is her interview?”
“Today, actually,” my mom said.
“It’s really quite nice of them to give her a second chance,” my dad went on. “What with her leaving without notice to go on a motorcycle tour of the country and then ending up staying in Virginia.”
“She followed Kevin. He wanted to do to the cross-country motorcycle tour, and she thought she was in love with him.” My mom got up from the table and went to the fridge. “What do you want for lunch, dear?”
“Oh, whatever is easy,” my dad responded. His taste buds were practically nonexistent due to the chemo but he ate whatever my mom put in front of him.
“Is this the same guy she was with when we went to the family reunion in California? Back when grandma and grandpa were still alive? I was pregnant with Chris, at the time.” I recalled meeting her second husband and thought he looked like the rough biker type.
“Same one. I never liked him, though.”
“Obviously,” my mom quipped. She put a plate of leftover spaghetti in front of him. “Can I get you something?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
My mom shook her head at me as she went to the cupboard for a glass. “Are you on another restrictive diet?”
“Nothing new,” I said. “I keep trying the same ones. It’s just hard to stick to them when no one else in the family is eating the same way. And some of the food is expensive to make everyone eat like I do.”
My health had been up and down, mostly down, over the last ten years. The doctor had prescribed medications to help with the symptoms, but all they seemed to do was make me feel fuzzy-headed. After several times of not remembering driving home from picking the kids up at school, my husband demanded that I quit taking the pills. Since then, I had been trying various combinations of diet and supplements to control my pain levels and other symptoms. Fibromyalgia was not easy to live with. I knew my mom tried to understand, and she was more sympathetic since my dad started chemo as, crazily enough, some of his symptoms were the same as mine. It made me wonder if my sisters thought I was faking it all these years. There had been many times I would leave family dinners early because I was worn out and in pain.
