Page 91 of As the Rain Falls
“That sounds like a lot.”
“Ai, I don’t mind.” She shrugs. “I’m tired of doing nothing all day anyway.”
The house does seem quieter than usual. Her dad must be sleeping, getting ready to pull another night shift later today. Usually, there’d be sounds of television playing or radio music coming from Angelina’s bedroom.
It’s a small home, with white-painted walls, two bedrooms, and a shared bathroom. Simple, but cozy, with each piece of furniture carrying some sort of imperfection that tells you it’s been used by someone else before them.
“What about your parents?” Angelina asks, her voice softer than before. It’s like she doesn’t want to overstep, which makes my embarrassment return tenfold. We shouldn’t be tiptoeing around each other like this. “How… How are they?”
“Dad flew back to handle paperwork. Pretty sure he has a new girlfriend.” I grab three cups and stack the plates with the cups balanced on top. “Mom’s back with Grandma in London. I don’t know. They’re fine, I guess.”
“I see.”
We finish setting the table in silence.
I hesitate to bring up everything that led her to the hospital, but she won’t look me in the eyes, and I take it as a sign to let it go for now.
“Alright, we’re good.” She wets her lips, finally glancing at me. “I’ll call Mom and help her with serving the food. You can go ahead and… You know, just sit. Make yourself at home, or whatever.”
“Thanks.” I nod quickly, forcing a smile.
***
Lunch is a little awkward, with tense moments of silence. If it weren’t for Angelina’s mother, I doubt we’d be able to carry the conversation. What happens after is even worse.
Clara practically shoves us out the door, claiming she needs to watch hernovelasand that we should talk things. Angelina and I end up walking around the block, and if the silence had been awkward before, it definitely becomes more defeating the further away from the house we get.
The air feels thick, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us, and I start to believe that maybe I should’ve called first. Having this conversation months ago would’ve prevented all this.
“So…” My stomach starts getting all nauseous, too full from the mountain of food she insisted I eat. “This is really weird.”
“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “Remind me again why we didn’t do this over the phone first?”
“That’s what I was thinking.” I wince. “But you know me.”
“Right. You’re never one to shy away from confrontation.”
Her words sting. I don’t want Angelina to think I’m still holding something against her. I’ve had time to cool down and reflect. What happened must’ve been a misunderstanding on both ends.
“Are you thinking about moving out of the house?” Angelina asks, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Her voice is small and uncertain, reminding me that she is no longer the same little girl I used to know. She used to be a lot bolder and louder as a child. After her younger brother’s death, things got quieter. Gustavo went into sudden cardiac arrest. Epilepsy runs in the family.
“Eventually,” I answer, voice low.
It’s something I’ve been thinking about lately. Moving would do me good. I already didn’t like Port des Ondes before, but now the feeling’s gotten worse.
One of her neighbors is scrubbing up their balcony, a mixture of soap and water sloshing onto the pavement below. An older man sits on the curb a few houses down, flicking marbles across the sidewalks with a friend who looks decades younger. No one looks our way, but I feel them watching even if they’re pretending not to.
Lucia and Angelina’s friendship stuck out.Not a lot of rich girls like to hang around this side of town.I bet they all thought it was strange that she did. People noticed her, the way she talked and the way she dressed. They called herpatricinha, a word meant to paint her as this spoiled, shallow girl.My sister never tried to correct them.She knew this was exactly what she was.
“Really?” She tilts her head back, wincing as the sun hits her face. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“I’m not moving yet,” I add quickly, wanting to reassure her. My gaze softens as I notice a flicker of worry in her gaze. “But I might start looking soon, just in case.”
“I think I get it,” her voice is quieter. “It must be weird, living in that big old house without her.”
Our estate holds so many of Angelina’s best childhood memories with Lucia. It is her home too in a sense, though I wonder how she feels about it now that the memory is also tainted by my sister’s death. I can’t help but ask myself if it’s tainted for her the same way it is for me.
