Most of Lauren's things are packed. There are boxes all over the living room and bedroom with words like "Books" and Bathroom Stuff" scribbled in black Sharpie. The moving truck is on it's way. Lauren is in the bedroom packing shoes. I can hear each one land on the cardboard as it is chucked.
I grab a few of my things and prepare to leave. I can't stay here for this. I can't watch it happen. I am glad she is leaving. I really am. I keep telling myself that over and over. I keep thinking of my new freedom. But I realize that I don't really know what it means--freedom. I don't know anything of the practical ramifications of my actions. We have covered only the basics in terms of our preparation. We haven't talked about what it would feel like or what our new life would look like. We've stuck to numbers and figures. We've talked about how to divide our bank account. We've talked about how to afford two rent payments. How to keep her on my insurance. Whether we need to file legally. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Lauren said, and I let it go. That answer was good with me. I certainly didn't want any of this in writing.
I told Lauren last night that I didn't want to be here to see her leave. She agreed that it might be best if I left for the weekend and gave her space to move out as she wished. "The last thing I need is you critiquing the way I pack my toothbrush," Lauren told me. Her voice was jovial, but her words were sincere. I could feel the tension and resentment underneath. The smile on her face was the sort of smile car salesmen have, pretending everybody's having a good time when, really, you're at war.
I pick up my deodorant and my face wash. I pick up only the most necessary pieces for my makeup bag. I grab my toothbrush and put it in my travel case, snapping the toothbrush cap over the bristles so they won't get dirty. Lauren usually stuffs hers in a plastic bag. She is right to be defensive about the way she packs toothbrushes. She does it wrong. I put all of it in my bag and zip it up. For better or for worse, I am ready to go.
My plan is to drive straight to Dinah's house. Dinah knows that things with Lauren and I aren't going well. She's noticed how tense I've been. She's noticed how often I criticize her, how I rarely have anything nice to say. But I have been insisting things were fine. I don't know why I've had such a hard time admitting it to her. I think, in some ways, I hid it because I knew telling Dinah made it real.
I had already told Normani about all of this. The tension, the fighting, the loss of love, the plan to separate. For some reason, in my mind, Mani could know, and that didn't seem tantamount to carving it in stone. But with Dinah, it would be official. A witness. I can't turn around and pretend it never happened. Maybe that's the between a friend and a sister: a friend can just listen to your problems in the present, but your sister remembers and reminds you of everything in the past. Or maybe it's not a difference between friends and sisters. Maybe it's the difference between Normani and Dinah.
But this really is happening. The moving truck is coming. And if I am going to deal with this, I need Dinah. Dinah, who will hold my hand and tell me it's going to be okay. Dinah, who will believe in me. I have to admit to her that my marriage is failing. That I am failing. That I am not the successful and together older sister I have been pretending to be. That I am no longer the one with her shit together.
I find Lauren in the bedroom, grabbing boxes of clothes. We have already split up the furniture. We are both going to have to go shopping on our own. I now need a new TV. Lauren is going to need pots and pans. What had seemed like a whole is now two halves.
"Okay," I say. "I'm going to leave you to it." Lauren has friends coming over to help. She doesn't need me. "Okay," she says, looking into the closet. Our closet. My closet. She finally looks up at me, and I can see she has been crying. She breathes in and out, trying to control herself, trying to take control of her feelings. Suddenly, my heart swells and overtakes me. I can't leave her like this. I can't leave her in pain.
She does need me.
I run to her. I put my arms around her. I let her bury her face in me. I hold her as she lets it out, and then I say, "You know what? This is stupid. I'm going to stay." This whole idea has been far-fetched and absurd. We just needed a wake-up call. And this is the wake-up call. This is what we needed to see how foolish we've been. Of course, we love each other! We always have. We just forgot for a little while but we are going to be okay now. We have pushed ourselves to the brink and learned our lesson. We don't have to go through this. It is over. We can end this strange experiment right here and go back to the way things were. Marriages aren't all roses and sunshine. We know that. This was silly. "Forget this," I say. "You're not going anywhere, sweetheart. You don't have to go anywhere."
She is quiet for some time longer, and then she shakes her head. "No," she says, drying her tears. "I need to leave." I stare at her, frozen with my arms still around her. She pushes her point further. "You should go," she says, wiping her own tears away. She is back to business.
That's when I fall apart. I don't melt like butter or deflate like a tire. I shatter like glass, into a thousand pieces. My heart is truly broken. And I know that even if it mends, it will look different, feel different, beat differently.
I stand up and grab my bag. Thunder follows me to the front door. I look down at him with my hand on the knob, ready to turn it. He looks up at me, naive and full of wondering. For all he knows, he is about to go for a walk. I'm not sure who I feel worse for: Lauren, Thunder, or myself. I can't bear it a second longer. I can't pet him goodbye. I turn the knob and walk out the front door, shutting it behind me. I don't stop to take a breath or get my bearings. I just get into the car, wipe my eyes, and set out for Dinah's house. I'm not strong enough to stand on my own two feet.
I need my sister.
