Page 64 of Ghosted
“Well, there were these blissful twenty-two months before you were born…”
“Fuck off,” she says with a laugh, pushing my shoulder and yanking the bag back from me.
“I’m not even allowed one full day of wallowing?” I ask when she hands me a bag of M&Ms to toss with the popcorn.
“It’s been like eighteen hours. I’d say that’s enough,” she says, tweezing a piece of popcorn from the bowl with her long nails and popping it in her mouth. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened? All I know is that Misha ran out of there, nearly taking me out with the door, and then you followed him.”
While we polish off the popcorn, I tell her all about Misha and Ivan, leaving out the more sensitive details from Misha’s past. I tell my sister damn near everything, but other people’s trauma is where I draw the line. Especially since she works with him almost every day.
“Well shit. Ivan is an asshole in life and death. I can’t believe he left you hanging like that!” she exclaims, looking as though she’d like nothing more than to punch his ghostly face.
“I can. I could tell he really didn’t want to come forward. But I was so mad on Misha’s behalf that I kind of forced him. I should have known better. I let my anger get the best of me. Now I feel bad because Misha didn’t get the closure he wanted, and he feels like I betrayed him. Not to mention he thinks I'm a fraud and exposed me to the whole community.” I scrub my face with my hands, wishing I had a time machine so I could go back and stop myself from ever going in that room last night.
“Rae, I’m going to say this to you as gently as I can becauseI love you,” Wren says, surprising me by taking my hand in hers. “No one cares that you’re the medium. No one. Are people surprised? Yeah, I’m sure they are because you’ve lived here your whole life and no one knew. But no one got their pitchfork. Sure, some people will probably treat you differently and that sucks, but the people who matter won’t. The people who love you won’t care, and they’ll just think it’s an extra interesting thing about you.”
“But I didn’t want anyone to know,” I say, fighting the tears back. I’m so sick of crying.
“Listen, I’ve respected that you wanted to keep this part of your life private, but now that it’s out there, I think you need to own it. You get to set your own boundaries around this. If people ask you about it, you can say no. This doesn’t have to change anything for you unless you want it to,” she says, squeezing my hand for emphasis.
I give her a trembling smile and squeeze her hand back. Sometimes I feel guilty about how much Wren takes care of me. I’m the older sister. I’m the one who is supposed to take care of her. Her personality has always demanded to be the one doing the protecting and the pep-talking, though. I can’t pretend I’m not grateful for it, even if I do wish she didn’t always have to be the one looking after me.
“Thank you for barging in here, even though I told you to leave me alone,” I finally say, once I’m sure my voice won’t break.
“Rae, that’s practically the job of annoying little sisters. I’m always supposed to barge in,” she retorts, squeezing my hand one last time and letting go.
We settle in and finish the episode. Wren complains the entire time about how unrealistic and overdramatic it all is, butI can tell she’s enjoying herself. Even when she tries to pretend she’s scrolling on her phone, I can see her peek over the top of it and track the TV screen.
Wren, predictably, is more outraged by the outcome than I am. “How thefuckdid Trevor and Stacia win? There’s no way! She totally hates him. This ‘love score’ is bullshit.” She sits back on the couch, arms crossed, glaring at the TV where Trevor and Stacia are frolicking in multicolored confetti.
“I thought you didn’t like this show,” I state, feeling myself smile genuinely for the first time all day,
“I don’t!” she exclaims defensively.
“So, are you going to help me pass out candy tonight?” I ask to change the subject. If I push too much, Wren will never even look at another TV just to prove her point.
She crunches down on a piece of popcorn and says, “Duh. It’s my favorite part.”
“You’re not wearing anything scary, are you?”
“It’s not that bad,” she says defensively. I sigh because Wren has a history of wearing terrifying costumes for the sole purpose of freaking out trick-or-treaters.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, raising my eyebrows at her devilish smirk.
“Oh my god,”I groan.
“What?” Wren’s muffled voice replies.
“How much did you pay for that abomination?”
“I really don’t think that’s important.”
Wren struts out of my bathroom wearing a costume that Ican only describe as the result of a spider and a fly having a baby. A little, gross abomination baby.
An ababy if you will.
The mask, which covers her whole head, looks like a spider's head with six bulging green eyes and giant pincers. The sleek body glistens with exoskeleton-like plates. She’s strapped iridescent wings to her back, and her hands end in pincer-like claws.
“How are you going to pass out candy like that?” I ask, gesturing to her claw-covered hands.
