The Words We Leave Unspoken(6)

“Let’s set aside the fact you were watching my kids for the night and they could have walked in on you at any moment. Which is completely irresponsible, if you ask me. But besides that, Aidan is only twenty, not even old enough to legally drink. I’ve known him since before puberty, Charley. He’s just a kid. And I have to live next door to these people.”

“First of all,” I say, holding up one finger. “Trust me when I say that Aidan is most definitely an adult. A pretty hot one in fact.”

Gwen shakes her head at me. I hold up two fingers.

“Second of all, the kids were passed out cold. And we were being discreet.”

“Discreet? I have images in my head that should never be in my head, Charley.” She places her fingertips on her temples, thrusting her big eyes at me. “And trust me, these images are not appropriate for children. Not to mention my couch. Eww.” Her face contorts in disgust. “One night. You couldn’t go just one night without sex?”

“Sorry. I don’t know what else to say. It was impulsive and crazy, I admit, but it was hot. Or at least, it would have been hot if you hadn’t interrupted us.”

“I swear, you’re worse than a guy,” she says, shaking her head again but smiling. And then she giggles. I can’t remember the last time I heard her laugh like this.

And then I start to laugh too. And before we know it we’re both laughing so hard that tears are running down our faces.

We recover, wiping the tears from our eyes and she says, “I love you, I do. But I stopped trying to understand you a long time ago.” She says this out of love and her words are endearing in their own way.

Changing the subject, I ask, “So what’s going on with you anyway? You’re acting weird. What’s up with the last minute weekend visit?”

I see her tense, but her tone is contradicting, easy.

“I’m not acting weird,” she says defensively. “I just needed a weekend away and I missed you.”

“A weekend away? Since when?”

“Since now,” she says, picking up her chopsticks and stuffing a spicy tuna roll in her mouth. She chews slowly as I eye her with suspicious curiosity.

“Is John having an affair?” I ask.

Without a second thought she rolls her eyes and replies, “Oh please. It wouldn’t occur to John to have an affair.”

She’s right. He’s as loyal as they come. He doesn’t have a cheating bone in his whole body and he adores Gwen, practically gushes over her, even after all these years. Theirs is a relationship to be envied.

I change tactics. “Oh my God. It’s you. You’re having an affair,” I say, shocked at my own idea, trying to imagine Gwen having sex with someone besides her husband. The idea is too far-fetched and absurd, and yet I wonder.

“No, I’m not having an affair. I would never do that to John.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

“Nothing. Can’t a girl just want to see her sister?” She brushes off my interrogation but it’s hard to miss the way her face falls or the way the breath she takes is so deep, that her shoulders raise at least three inches before her entire body shudders on exhale. And my gut is so twisted that I can’t imagine eating another bite of sushi.





Chapter 5





Gwen


I know I should tell Charley. I know this as I watch her, ready to pounce at the first sign of admittance. I evaded her questions gracefully, but I can tell from her sudden silence that she knows I’m keeping something from her. She doesn’t push, she never does. She knows me too well.

We finish our dinner in almost complete silence except for the random comments about the food or the weather. We walk back to Charley’s in complete darkness, the damp cold seeping into my bones with each step. We both comment on how exhausted we are, so I wash my face and change into a pair of Charley’s pajamas. I crawl into her queen-size bed with my Kindle and stare at the ceiling while I wait for Charley to do the same.

“Are you going to read for awhile?” she asks, pulling the covers back and sitting next to me with her back against the wooden headboard.

“Yeah, how about you?”

“I have a few issues of Vogue I could catch up on,” she says, applying a lavender scented hand cream to her palm and rubbing her hands together.

“Okay.” I prop my Kindle on my torso and wake the screen. I attempt to read a book I started in the doctor’s office earlier, but not one word is registering in my mind. I am consumed with thoughts of my appointment earlier today, my prognosis, and my family. And once again I am filled with fear, fear of telling John. Do I just go home, sit him down and tell him that I’m going to die? Just like that? It reminds me of when I told him that I was pregnant the first time. Much different circumstances, with far more optimism. But I was scared to death, nonetheless.

I can remember the exact moment that I found out I was pregnant with Olivia. I remember pacing the worn wooden floors of our first apartment we rented as a married couple. It was small and old; it smelled of mildew like most apartments in Seattle. I can remember lighting scented candles in every room in an attempt to obscure the damp smell. The scent of cinnamon still conjured memories of the early years in that old apartment.

John and I had just barely graduated from college. John’s next step was a master’s degree in business. I had just started a job as the manager at the Hotel Belmont, working crazy hours, but it was all part of my initiation into the world of hotel management. We were barely scrapping by on my measly salary.