Page 125 of Muddy Messy Love

I release a heavy breath. “Don’t do that.”

“Aves, I’m not losing my sister over this. Please hear me out. I need you to understand why I played along with this shit. Jesus, I hate Mum right now. If she intended to finally tell you, she could’ve done so with tenderness—not during a bloody fight.” Beth sighs. “Are you still there? Tell me you’re still there.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “How long have you known?” I swallow the boulder in my throat and brace for the answer.

“Not even a year, and I found out by accident.”

“By accident?” My voice cracks.

“Do you remember when you were in hospital after you broke your arm?”

How could I forget? Rollerblading, age eight. My elbow still bears the faint silvery scars from surgery. Like my sculptures, I have a few metal parts. “Hard to forget.”

Automatic doors whirr through the receiver, then the city bustle dies, and Beth continues. “Well, being the nosey girl I am, I peeked at your medical chart. Your blood type stuck with me, but silly details often did when I was at uni crammingfor exams. Anyway, I thought little more of it, just mentally filed it away next to mine, Mum’s, and Dad’s. That is, until I helped with a divorce case last year. Our client’s son needed a blood transfusion, but our client was neither a match nor biological possibility, and it turned out the child wasn’t his. I learnt a few things about genetics as a result. But then, that night, I jolted awake with your blood type flashing in my head. Google confirmed the incompatibility between you and Dad straightaway. At first, I thought I remembered wrong, but I did some digging, then confronted Mum, and she broke down in tears.”

I stay quiet, processing everything Beth confessed, and that last spark of hope regarding Dad fizzles to black.

“Aves, are you there?”

I clear my throat. “I’m here.” Silence stretches between us. Beth’s known for a year—only a year—but still. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask but immediately suspect the answer.

“You were prepping for exams. It was your final year of high school. It wasn’t the time. A bombshell like that could have screwed up everything for you. Then Mum left, and that wasn’t the time. Then you were arrested, and that wasn’t the time. Then I had to leave for five months—you get the gist. I intended to tell you the minute I got back, when I could be there to support you.”

My limbs turn to spaghetti as relief rushes through my blood like morphine. Beth’s explanation makes sense. I haven’t lost my sister. My Jenga tower is safe.

Thank fucking God.

I put Beth on speaker and lay my phone on the pillow next to my head. “I thought you lied to me for years. It made me question everything I thought we were. I was shattered.”

“Aves.” Beth’s voice breaks. “You’re not only my little sister, you’re my best friend—a powerful combo. Your best interestslive in my heart along with my own. You can always bank on that.”

Oh God. I’m crying again, blubbering like a hormonal fool. It doesn’t help that my period is due and my pelvis feels like it’s full of wet concrete. “Sheila said Dad…died…because I broke his heart. That he couldn’t stand to look at me.”

“She saidwhat?” Beth’s voice screeches through the speaker, and I flinch. “You’re kidding me?”

“Afraid not.”

“Oh, Aves, I’m so sorry. Mum failed to mention that part. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with her?”

“Everything, Beth. Everything.”

“No wonder you kicked her out. You know that’s garbage, right?”

“Maybe?”

Beth huffs. “Dad loved you so much. Please never doubt that. Besides, kids are supernatural sensers. You would have felt any resentment aimed at you. Did you ever feel anything but love?”

I fiddle with the quilt cover as I flick through my carousel of childhood memories. “No. Not at all. Dad was all fluffy rabbits and rainbows.”

“See? Hold on to that. I know we never talk about it, Aves, but Dad battled severe depression. You were too young to know, and he hid it well, but I wasn’t. I saw it. He struggled daily. The curse of a creative mind, one might say. Mum’s antics wouldn’t have helped, of course, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. You were his little princess. So much so at times I was jealous.”

I frown at the phone. Dad had depression? Beth was jealous…of me? What else didn’t I know?

Beth snorts. “Jesus, I can’t believe Mum said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” Beth doesn’t answer, but her silence speaks volumes, as does the weary sigh that follows. “You know I’m done with her, right?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she whispers, “and you know I’m not. But I get it. Do what you need to do.”

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