Beginning of the end

Part 33 [May 27, 2022]

Blake knew that in a rom-com you could twist your finger around the chord of a phone. She saw her phone on speaker phone, sitting on the edge of her bed. She told Rosie that she was folding laundry. She wasn't.

"I was thinking June 19th. It works for the band, and... I guess that includes me." they didn't really have schedules. So she claimed. She was wrong. They had appearances. They had meetings. They had recording sessions, writing sessions, and maybe sleep. Zelda had a play date. Blake was booked solid, but she had carved out a singular day for her baby sister. Rosie kept Sundays free. Sundays were her "last minute plans or chill" days. Sunday would, obviously, be fine.

Rosie did not answer.

"So I should put you down?"

The silence knotted Blake's insides.

"I am actually busy that day."

"Sundays are good, right?"

"Just not that Sunday."

"why? What is on that Sunday?"

This was so weird for Rosie. Yet Blake's phone vibrated all the same. She pulled it to her lap, opening a picture, sent from Rosie herself. But why send it without context? The other end of the line was quiet enough, Blake was sure that her sister had hit mute temporarily. Two adults with golden brown tans, and black hair. The man had a moustache, the woman had makeup obvious even from a distance. She was pretty though. There was some younger person, and there was Rosa. Standing between the two adults, in front of the younger person, their arms around Rosa. She was smiling, and it occurred to Blake that the woman bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Rosa. Worse, she actually looked like Tia Val. Worse still was when Blake recognized a necklace and heard herself inhale.

She heard noise, that signified the end of a mute. No words though. Blake didn't answer. She swiped the image away. A tone she didn't recognize tinted her words.

"What was that?*" She flipped to Spanish in her irritation.

"Oh... um..." Rosie did not expect the question. She faltered. She remained in English. "Its... maybe you don't recognize them, but that's our parents."

It was hard to deny such a blunt comment. Blake considered some kind of denial. Technically yes. In practical ways? Absolutely not. She loved Rosie too much to just snap. Blake didn't snap. She clenched her fists to keep them from shaking. Kiefer. No. No. She couldn't call him. He was... gone with Mary.

I need you. To not need them.

"... Blake? Its our pa-"

"How long have you been seeing them?"

Defense sounded aggressive, but it was shrapnel pulled close to keep more damage away.

"Que? Uh... its..." The words droned on as if underwater. Years. More than two. At least since Rosie turned eighteen. More than five seconds. More than since the last conversation. More than once. Ongoing. She clicked the red button.

A safety switch like any other escape button. Exit. Escape. End. Abort. Stop. Blake hated every second. Rosie. Rosie couldn't be doing this. More than ten text messages, expressive of emotional points. Rosie wanted to talk to their parents. She didn't explain how contact had been established, sometime in the last two decades.

They had a-

Drop it Rosie. Bye.

Blake turned her phone off and shoved it at Kaleb when the poor innocent man walked up to her. She would tell Carla later. Kaleb, awkward as he felt, managed to pause, ask Blake to step closer, and give her a hug. Kaleb was good. Why couldn't.... no.

Blake starred at the blank concrete beneath her feet. The bat in her hands hanging low. The ball pitched inches below her face. She didn't care. It would hit the same... spot. Again, inches below her face. She knew this. She felt the wind from the ball. Carla had turned off all but a few people for texting. Blake would turn them on again. Maybe. Eventually. Eventually. Maybe when her sister didn't try to-

Blake clenched the bat. Straightening her bat she looked up. A pitch. Past her face. Fine. She knew the line. She fixed her stance, tensed her hands, and swung into the pitch.

[The End]