Rachel Ratajski
My sister and I are sitting at a table in The Coffee House & Deli in Uptown Normal. A community hub for activity, Uptown is the perfect place to hang out with friends, grab some coffee or a bite to eat, or window shop for clothes, records, and comics. I come here often, especially to The Coffee House. It always makes me feel relaxed, but today is different. Roxy is staring at the wood grain of the wobbly table, and I am nervously wiggling my foot and sipping my iced Thai coffee. We are both quiet people, but we are unusually quiet now. Neither of us want to say what should be said.
A waitress comes and places my food on the table. Vegetarian chorizo quesadillas. Just my luck, it has jalapeños in it, and a lot of them. I can’t take more than two bites. My mouth is on fire. It’s like the universe decided I needed an ironic cherry on top of my day, but I don’t say that out loud.
What am I supposed to say? I thought I was doing the right thing when I told her we were going to town. And even though the car ride was completely silent the twenty minutes it took to get into town, I still felt I was doing the right thing. I am the big sister; I am supposed to make things better. Right?
“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”
Roxy is quiet. I try to eat another bite because it will occupy my mouth, but my tongue is in so much pain I have to spit it in a napkin and take a long drink of my coffee. My taste buds feel like they have been burned off. My eyes start to water, and I’m thankful I have a different excuse now.
“I know this is hard. I’m really sad about it, even if it doesn’t seem like it.” My words are true even though I have yet to cry. I know that I can’t. Someone has to keep it together today. And that has always been my role.
My hands fall to my lap. She still hasn’t looked up, and I pick at the anxiety-ripped skin around my fingernails. “But I think that I need to be strong for them right now. But if you need to, like, deal with this your own way, that’s fine too. You can cry if you want. That’s perfectly normal. Everyone copes in different ways and-”
Stupid. My babbling isn’t helping, and it definitely isn’t needed.
“I don’t know what to say,” I begin again. “Because there isn’t anything I can say.”
Roxy finally looks at me. Her eyes are red and swollen even though they have stopped watering. We both just look at each other for a moment.
“My mouth is on fucking fire.”
“What?”
I gesture towards the abandoned quesadilla. “I didn’t realize there were jalapeños in it, and now I am literally dying.”
“That fucking sucks.”
“Yeah.”
Quiet falls over us again, but it isn’t as uncomfortable as before. I finish my coffee, and she looks around the shop. I do the same. Like usual, hipster-y college students are scattered across the tables, some typing on laptops, other talking with friends, one is reading a book. The cover is turned away from me, so I can’t see the title. Everyone looks quietly serene, soaking in the atmosphere and the notes of bitter coffee. I wish I was reading a book right now.
“Do you remember that exploding kittens game we played at the Naumans’?” I ask, breaking the silence. My thoughts had suddenly gone back to one of our cousin’s birthday parties.
Roxy nods. “Yeah. Josh kept targeting me. Butt munch.”
“I’ve been thinking about buying that game.”
“Red Racoon is close by. We can go there if you want.” Roxy has told me about our local board and card game shop before. Sounds like a decent spot to hit up next on our escape tour.
It is better than staring at this quesadilla I’m never going to be able to finish without permanently damaging my ability to taste. And it is better than me babbling as I try to cheer up my younger sister two hours after our parents sat us down with a table between us to tell us they are getting a divorce, and dad is fully moving out after we go back to college in two weeks. Maybe they want to give us some time to pretend we are somehow still a family, cherish our last two weeks together. Or maybe it is just a good time now that the family Christmas parties are over.
Roxy stands up, and I gather my trash to throw away before we head for the door. The little bell tinkles above us as we walk out.
*
When they call us down this morning to break the news, I know something is wrong. My sister is joking around, asking why they are being so serious. We both sit at the kitchen counter, the dining room table between my parents and us. “Are you getting a divorce?” She asks sarcastically.
They don’t answer. I do. “Yeah. They are.”
Roxy laughs when she turns to look at me, but I stare down my parents. There they are, sitting in the large blue chairs that hold so many childhood memories. Memories of cuddling with my dad, squished between him and the cushions. Playing tug-of-war with the armrest covers with my dog. My mom making us sit quietly in timeout because we were fighting or refused to eat our vegetables.
They nod, slamming the last nail in the metaphorical coffin that now represents our family’s official disintegration. Roxy’s smile slips from her lips and is replaced with a broken frown. My mom is quiet while my dad explains to us what this means. They don’t love each other anymore. They wish they could, but it is not possible. They aren’t happy.
They ask if we have any questions. My sister runs upstairs crying. The wood barstool I sit in has been used since we were children, so much that there is a perfect dent where our butts rest. Usually it is comfortable, the wood warm. But today I can’t stand it.
The only time I have seen my dad cry is when our two dogs passed away. I was younger at the time, only a sophomore in high school. This time is different though. Both of my parents look so small, so fragile. They used to be too big in my eyes. Powerful people who always knew what to do. Now, I see them for what they are. They are human like me.
“It’s okay.” My voice is shaky from the tears I am holding back. “I’ve…known. For a while now. Years even. That you were going to get a divorce.” Both are watching me. I remind myself that this is hard for them too so I can continue with what needs to be said. “You haven’t been happy for a long time. And I know that. I love you both, and I wish more than anything we could stay a family. But…I wish more for you both to be happy. You’ll never be happy together. So…I guess this is what needs to happen. It’s okay.”
My mom is still quiet, but I think she nods. It is almost unnoticeable. My dad’s hands are squeezed together in his lap. We make eye contact.
“Can I have a hug?” he asks. His strength breaks, and the tears begin to fall.
I nod and close the distance between us, pulling him into me and burying my face into his neck. The hug is warm and stable, even though everything around me is crumbling. After a moment, we pull away. My mom stands for a hug too, and it is just as loving and nurturing as it always has been.
I wipe at my eyes and force a smile. “I’m going to go talk to Roxy.” They will be okay. I know where I need to be.
*
In the traditional sense, “family” is considered a unit—a group of people related by blood or legal bindings living under the same roof. Its purpose: raise children, provide nourishing love, instill loyalty, help each other out financially and emotionally, and above all else, be happy. They all coexist on the same island, occasional earthquakes or tornados, but nothing that destroys it completely. Maybe at one point my family was that. I can at least count a few moments when everyone was happy at the same time. Maybe enough to fill one hand.
But it has been a long time since I have felt a sense of unity. We are all our own islands with fragile, poorly maintained bridges connecting us. The bridge between my mom and dad collapsed, and their bridges connected to my sister are in varying states of disintegration. My bridges are intact—shiny and maintained through arduous work and dedication, each a little different from the rest, but there.
I cherish the bridges I can take care of. As I watch the bridges around me crumble bit by bit, I tightly grip my bridges, fixing any loose screw or missing plank as soon as I see it. I can’t let my bridges fall, I can’t let the thing I know as “family” crumble and leave me alone.
My family was Pangaea. We started out strong. Love flourished on our island. But slowly the world did what it does best, and cracks spread across ground. Our islands broke off one by one, my sister the first to go, my parents soon after, and me, left alone, trying desperately to keep our bridges intact.
We used to be great like Pangaea. Now, we are divided. In the future, we will be alone.
*