THE TRUTH US EXCERPT

The house was filled with what I wish I could say were memories of my childhood, but it wasn’t. It was a townhouse that my parents had purchased when they got married. Ma ended up moving in after the separation. It was a two-bedroom house, very quaint, nothing fancy. It was very different from the home I had known all my life up to that point, the place I had built some of the best friendships and papier-mâché volcanoes in. That house had a huge backyard, a pool, a swing set, and four large dogs. There was an enormous pond with a wooden bridge over it separating the main house from the flat on the other side of the property.

In that big house, Ma and Pop always argued on the third floor. Their bedroom, a sunroom, bathroom and walk-in closet spanned the entire floor. My older sister, Patricia-May, and I went up there a lot when our parents weren’t home. We’d rummage through ma’s closet and play dress up. We were princesses and high duchesses most days. On other days we’d sit at Ma’s vanity and do each other’s makeup. Needless to say, I’d always end up looking like a diva, and she’d end up looking like nothing shy of a clown. Regardless of this undeniable fact, she’d always marvel in the mirror when I was done and tell me what a good job I’d done. That was the beauty of having a big sister like Patti.

There was a 60-inch plasma screen TV up there too. We knew when they were bickering because the volume on the TV would be turned all the way up, still not muffling their shouting. When I was little, I hated that the house had three stories. As I got older, I still continued to joke about the dreadful three-story house. I suppose somewhere in the back of my head, which presumably seems ridiculous now, I thought that maybe if there were no third floor, they’d have no place to argue and hence, they wouldn’t.

On the December of the year I turned thirteen, they separated. That was potentially the worst Christmas I’d ever had. It was one filled with lots of tears and confusion. On top of that, Patti was preparing to go away to Florida for university, so she was always busy. Too busy for me anyway. I think all the heartache and drama had driven her to leave sooner. She started mid-year, in January. And by February, there was a sense of emptiness that no amount of “I’m sorry we’re getting a divorce” gifts could fill.

The townhouse was tainted with gloom, but to be fair, some moments of joy. Ma and I had gotten as close as we could with Patti gone. The good nights were those that we would find a movie we’d both enjoy (which was a rare thing) and fall asleep right beside each other. The bad ones looked like me sitting at the dining room table, with ma standing at the sink droning on and on about how manipulative my father was.

That night I was sitting there, eyes hazy, staring at the blank application form in front of me, trying to drown out what she was saying. The application was essentially shoved in my face two weeks ago. Since then, the only conversations had been about Cambridge or at least it seemed that way. It was almost beaten into my brain that an old friend of my parents had “put in a good word” with an admissions officer and so it was crucial that I fill out the application and send it in as soon as possible.

“Aurora Marie!” she said, turning around from the sink to stare at me, her soapy hands dripping on the floor.

She had my attention.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity; you have to go,” ma prodded, staring at me from the other side of the dining table. She had just switched from her previous topic of conversation, which I believe was her having an issue with how little time pop was spending with me because of work and meetings.

“Are you hearing me?” she asked.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I spat out and looked back down at the blank pages lying on the table.

“You are ready. You’ve worked hard for this. And who cares if you’re only seventeen, the time has just come early for you.” She said, grabbing my plate off the table and walking back towards the sink.

In hopes to hear something that I thought would be a dissenting opinion, I asked, “What does pop think?”

“He thinks you should go!”

The words she had just uttered surprised me to no end. “What?” I stared blankly at the wall. There was only the clatter of the dishes in the sink as ma washed for a moment.

“Everyone wants what’s best for you, sweetheart, Patti included.”

“How do you know this is what’s best?”

“Well,” she paused. The dishes suddenly stopped clanking against each other, and there was silence. What caught me off guard was what I heard next, “I don’t know. But I think that this is the right move and I just have to trust that God knows what he’s doing.”

She hadn’t thought up some grandiose, fluffy speech that would have honestly had no effect on me. Instead, she had told me…the truth. “I still don’t know. But I’ll think about it. Just give me a couple of days, please. And yes, I know. I don’t have a lot of time.”

I got up slowly from the table and made a stealthy exit while she turned away to carry on washing the dishes. I crept up the stairs, went into my room and closed the door. I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.

All I could think about was Jamie.