Page 8 of Isle of Pain

“He dumped me,” Lisa sighs with dramatic flourish as she launches herself on my bed, face down. Her maxi dress flows around her like a halo of wool and chiffon.

Twenty years of sisterhood, yet she still grows more theatrical. I’m pretty sure she’ll use her pregnancy as an excuse now to be even more dramatic. She’s gonna be insufferable. I roll my eyes but a little smile tilts the corners of my mouth up. She’s one of a kind, my sister.

Then my heart pinches as I remind myself that she’s got cancer and refuses to treat herself because the life inside her is more precious to her than her own.

“What do you mean he dumped you?” I ask, then glide my fingers through her long silky hair, soothing her with scalp scratches like we’ve done since we were old enough to have nails.

“I can’t find him, Mimi. Hugo left, I’m fucking sure of it. I texted him that I’m pregnant and?—”

“Youtextedhim?” I ask, mouth agape.

“What was I supposed to do? Ask him to drive me to a secluded place and then tell him? What if he killed me?”

“A little late to be worried about that, don’t you think? You’ve been alone with him all the fucking time, that’s why you’re pregnant.”

“That’s not the same,” she whines. “I’ve heard horror stories of girls telling their boyfriend they’re pregnant, only to get beaten up.”

I know she’s not sad, just disappointed. It’s the first time someone isn’t doing her bidding and I’m sure she thought Hugo was eating in the palm of her hand. He was eating alright from what she told me.

Lisa moves her head to rest on my lap and I continue to soothe and cajole her. I was born two minutes before her and for some reason, I’ve taken the role of the older sister seriously. Considering we’re the babies of the family and treated like ones more often than not, it’s the only moment I really feel like an adult, like I can control something, even if it’s just my sister’s emotions by giving her what she needs.

“What are you going to do?”

Lisa doesn’t answer for a long moment. I keep my attention focused on her breathing while my eyes drift to her bedroom through the open doors of the bathroom. While the walls are a soft eggshell, the rest reflects the contradiction of who we are. The high thread count sheets of her bed are black but the pillow cases are bright purple.

Her nightstand is full of stuff—keys, a strawberry chapstick, her retainer in its purple plastic box, a metallic purple bottle of water with a night sky design, a green notebook and its fluffy purple pen—and mine is devoid of any clutter. I use the drawers like a normal person, thank you very much. Yes, they have organisers in them but that’s because it’s easier to find my shit this way.

I love the familiarity of her clothes peeking out of her open wardrobe.

“I don’t know. I’m scared,” she finally says, her throat clogged with emotion.

“Of what?”

“Of dying.”

I nod though she can’t see me. I’m scared of her dying too. More than anything I’ve ever been afraid of before. More than when our sister Lana left for her loveless marriage and I watched her sparkle snuffed out by a vile man. More than when our mother was in the hospital for her kidney stones. More than when Daddy was shot.

But I can’t tell her that. I’ve always been her rock and that’s not going to stop today.

“Whatever you decide, I’m here, Lili,” I tell her softly.

“I know, but I’m scared anyway.”

“You want it.” It’s not a question. She already said it at the doctor’s office.

“I wanther,” she says with renewed fervour.

“Okay.” Determination pours out of me and Lisa tilts her head up to look at me. Her eyes shine with hope and love. I’d do anything for her.

“Okay?”

“How do you want to approach this?”

Lisa sits up. “I don’t want to tell anyone until the last moment. For both situations.”

“Lisa! You won’t be able to hide a pregnancy forever!” I whisper-yell. I’m sure there aren’t any microphones in our bedroom but what she’s asking is down-right stupid, and impossible.

God, I need a fucking drink. Or three. The clawing sensation is sudden and takes over all the other sensations. I can almost taste whiskey on my tongue. Smokey and warm exactly how Ilike it. I’ll have to wait until Lisa falls asleep to retrieve it from its hidden place under the sink in our bathroom. My sister loves a mess so much she never checks what’s inside all the filing boxes I use all around our space. The number of alcohol bottles hidden in there would raise even her brow.

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