mañana,
Jess
“Well, at least one of us is having a good night,” I mumbled into the air, while tossing the note into the recycling. I had forgotten that Jess was going out with one of the teachers from her school, some guy who taught the advanced classes to sixth graders. Personally, I thought he was all wrong for my sister, a guy filled to the brim with his own self-importance. The first time I met him, the douchebag somehow managed to “slip” in that he had published a book and was voted Teacher of the Year in the state of Virginia—ten years ago. And that meeting had only lasted fifteen minutes. Jess didn’t usually have a lot of patience for what she called puffed-up-peacock arrogance, but she had heard his back story during lunch with some of the chattier staff members, about how his wife was killed by a drunk driver years ago. Just like our parents. And that’s all it took. My sister was a sucker for romance and lost causes, a die-hard rescuer. Couple that with a shared tragic history and I knew that spelled at least getting to third base with my sister.
“I give it two months,” I said to no one but myself, while looking in the fridge and seeing nothing I wanted to eat, in spite of being half-starved at this point. So instead, I opted for a glass of red wine and went to my room. The one I had been in since my first memory. Of course, I had redecorated it as soon as Jessica and I had moved back after our parents’ accident. It went from swirls of pinks and purples, well-loved during my teen years, to its current palette of celadon blue and white with touches of green apple accents. I stripped out of my beloved Gucci dress, kicked off my heels as if they were on fire and plopped myself on my bed. My stomach growled, which made sense because I hadn’t eaten since lunch and, because of that, the wine went right to my head. My brain was now fuzzy and warm and my belly had been quieted. And there, alone in the dark of my room, wearing nothing but my underwear, I let the tears roll down.
Silently. Steadily.
I missed my mom and dad. Like a phantom limb. I longed to be able to hear their voices, especially after a disaster of a night like tonight. Usually, if this had happened while they were alive, I would have gone back to my apartment and called them. Or waited ’til my next visit to Vienna, when I would spill the sordid details over my dad’s French toast and my mom’s perfectly crispy bacon. And by the time I would have finished with my story, both of them would have had me laughing ’til my sides hurt. My mom would have reached out to play with my hair, which she loved to do, and say in that melodic, breezy cadence of hers, “Sam-Sam, when God feels it’s time, He’s going to bring a man worthy of you because you are one of His most extraordinary creations. He will not be perfect, but he will be perfect for you.”
Then my dad would stop eating and stare at my mother. With awe. With even a tinge of incredulous disbelief, like a man who had won the lottery and couldn’t grasp the magnitude of his good fortune. My mom would beam back at him, wink at me and proclaim, “Samantha, that’s the kind of love worthy of a girl like you. Enjoy your playtime for now, but when the time comes to settle down? Don’t settle. Never settle.”
Both my parents considered themselves blessed to have found the other, but there was always an extra element of wonderment for my dad. I always figured it had been because he was the guy from the wrong side of the tracks who had fallen head over heels in love with a breathtakingly beautiful redhead from Southern Virginia. A girl who came from family money and impeccable breeding, someone expected to marry a physician or a senator. They had met at the College of William and Mary, where he was on full scholarship, studying economics. She was a sophomore and he was a senior, just accepted into the combination master’s/PhD program at Princeton University. A handsome man
Jess
“Well, at least one of us is having a good night,” I mumbled into the air, while tossing the note into the recycling. I had forgotten that Jess was going out with one of the teachers from her school, some guy who taught the advanced classes to sixth graders. Personally, I thought he was all wrong for my sister, a guy filled to the brim with his own self-importance. The first time I met him, the douchebag somehow managed to “slip” in that he had published a book and was voted Teacher of the Year in the state of Virginia—ten years ago. And that meeting had only lasted fifteen minutes. Jess didn’t usually have a lot of patience for what she called puffed-up-peacock arrogance, but she had heard his back story during lunch with some of the chattier staff members, about how his wife was killed by a drunk driver years ago. Just like our parents. And that’s all it took. My sister was a sucker for romance and lost causes, a die-hard rescuer. Couple that with a shared tragic history and I knew that spelled at least getting to third base with my sister.
“I give it two months,” I said to no one but myself, while looking in the fridge and seeing nothing I wanted to eat, in spite of being half-starved at this point. So instead, I opted for a glass of red wine and went to my room. The one I had been in since my first memory. Of course, I had redecorated it as soon as Jessica and I had moved back after our parents’ accident. It went from swirls of pinks and purples, well-loved during my teen years, to its current palette of celadon blue and white with touches of green apple accents. I stripped out of my beloved Gucci dress, kicked off my heels as if they were on fire and plopped myself on my bed. My stomach growled, which made sense because I hadn’t eaten since lunch and, because of that, the wine went right to my head. My brain was now fuzzy and warm and my belly had been quieted. And there, alone in the dark of my room, wearing nothing but my underwear, I let the tears roll down.
Silently. Steadily.
I missed my mom and dad. Like a phantom limb. I longed to be able to hear their voices, especially after a disaster of a night like tonight. Usually, if this had happened while they were alive, I would have gone back to my apartment and called them. Or waited ’til my next visit to Vienna, when I would spill the sordid details over my dad’s French toast and my mom’s perfectly crispy bacon. And by the time I would have finished with my story, both of them would have had me laughing ’til my sides hurt. My mom would have reached out to play with my hair, which she loved to do, and say in that melodic, breezy cadence of hers, “Sam-Sam, when God feels it’s time, He’s going to bring a man worthy of you because you are one of His most extraordinary creations. He will not be perfect, but he will be perfect for you.”
Then my dad would stop eating and stare at my mother. With awe. With even a tinge of incredulous disbelief, like a man who had won the lottery and couldn’t grasp the magnitude of his good fortune. My mom would beam back at him, wink at me and proclaim, “Samantha, that’s the kind of love worthy of a girl like you. Enjoy your playtime for now, but when the time comes to settle down? Don’t settle. Never settle.”
Both my parents considered themselves blessed to have found the other, but there was always an extra element of wonderment for my dad. I always figured it had been because he was the guy from the wrong side of the tracks who had fallen head over heels in love with a breathtakingly beautiful redhead from Southern Virginia. A girl who came from family money and impeccable breeding, someone expected to marry a physician or a senator. They had met at the College of William and Mary, where he was on full scholarship, studying economics. She was a sophomore and he was a senior, just accepted into the combination master’s/PhD program at Princeton University. A handsome man
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