Page 3 of August's Angst

“Hey. How are you?” I ask, trying to match her vibe.

“I’m great. I miss you though.” I miss her so much. We have always been super close.

“I miss you too sis. So what’s up?”

“Well, I want to come and stay with you guys for a few weeks. You know catch up, hang out.” Shoot. My heart begins to speed up because there is no way she can come here. My sister doesn’t need to know about this either. She suffered just like I did with our mother being ill. I don’t want this for her again.

“Now is not a good time, Connie.”

“Really? Why not?” She has always been the inquisitive one.

“We have a lot going on. I am looking for a job, and Dec is still building his construction business. We are just too preoccupied.” She hesitates, and I hold my breath, hoping she takes that and lets it go.

“It’s not like I am a baby. I don’t need a babysitter.” Of course, she couldn’t let it go. “Is everything alright? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Look, Connie. I’m sorry you can’t come right now. I have a lot of stuff to do today. I will talk to you later.” I barely hang up the phone, and tears are coming out of my eyes. I have neverbeen that short with my sister, and it doesn’t feel good. I feel like shit right now, and I need to talk to someone.

I pick up my phone and call January. She is the sister I found out about six months ago. We are both the biological daughters of the President of the United States. Yeah, I know. It’s wild and a long story.

“Hey, sweetie. I was just thinking about you, " she says, answering the phone. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit and not just physically.”

“What’s going on?” Sniffling, I tell her about my conversation with Connie because my emotions are a wreck. Her silence says a lot.

“August, you know I love you, but that is messed up. She was with you through all of it. Don’t you think she deserves to know? I think you should tell the people who love you.” I am about to say I did when she reads my next words like an anticipated book and beats me to it. “And I don't mean me and the others. I mean the ones who were with you as a teenager suffering like you and beside you. They would want to be here for you now.”

Logically, I know she is right, but putting them through this again feels selfish. I tell her as much, listen to her disapproval, and then we hang up. I look up at the clock and realize I am late for my interview.

Jumping in the shower, I begin washing up, and then suddenly, pain in my abdomen hits me, and I double over, clutching my waist. “Oh God. Not now,” I beg, just wanting to get through this appointment. I silently pray for a few hours of not doing this when it hits me. There will be no few hours or no moments. This is my new state of being. “What’s the point?” I cry out. What’s the point in interviewing for a teaching job when most of the time will be spent not working, in pain, and in bed?

It's fine.

Just another dream I am giving up.

CHAPTER 2

DECLAN

I’ve beenon the job site since four this morning. By three, I’m done for the day and head over to my best friend, Paddy’s, bar on the southside, O’Toole’s. Paddy and I met in high school, and he’s been there for everything with my mom and with August. I even invested a little in his bar when he opened it a few years ago. August and I even work on Saint Patick’s Day. Last year we made over two thousand dollars each in tips alone. We spend weekends here drinking and hanging out with friends. I love our life, the only I want to change is that I want her to be my wife. I need it.

“Hey bro,” he says as soon as I walk in. He comes out from behind the bar to greet me.

“Hey. Long time no see,” I reply, shaking his hand. That hand shake turns into a bro hug. It’s been about two weeks since August and I’ve been into O’Toole’s.

“It’s been a while. I’ve been so busy at work. The Fording Building isn’t going to build itself.”

“I hear that. Want your usual?” Paddy asks and I nod. An ice-cold Guinness will hit the spot.

“That’d be great.”

I take a seat at the bar as he slides a pint down to me. I take a long drink of the frothy brew and let the work week fade away. I’ve had to be at work at four all week and I’m exhausted. I don’t drink during the week, but on weekends, I like to let loose.

“How’s August?”

“She’s great. I’m going to ask her to marry me next week.”

“That’s great, man. Congratulations. She’s the best.”

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