The Language of Sisters (42 page)

I also hadn't washed my hair. Again. Too much hair to wash, so it was stripped back into a ponytail. I paused. How long had it been since Valerie and Ellie had washed my hair? There was nothing I could do about the circles under my eyes.

“How are you, Toni?”

Dying. Lonely. Alone. Miss you. I smiled—bright and cheery. “I'm fine. How are you?” I fell into step beside him up the dock.

“Fine.”

“How's work?”
Can I hug you? Can I kiss you?

“It's busy. People want to sell drugs so they can make money off of other people's misery and addictions, and we don't want them to do that, so there's a clash. It's the usual.”

He had a black jacket on. I could still see the gun. “Be careful.”

“I am. How's your job? I saw the house out in eastern Oregon with that view of the mountains that you wrote about. I liked the article.”

“Thanks. Writing about houses is more pleasant than writing about crime.”
I think about you all the time. I can't get you out of my head. I want you, Nick.

“What are you working on next?”

“I'm going down to the beach tomorrow to write about a house that was built by the owner's grandfather. The family has remodeled it.”
What kind of house would I have with you, Nick, if we were together?

“It's supposed to be sunny tomorrow. Perfect beach weather.”

I wanted to say, “Want to come?” but I didn't. He would have said no, and then my heart would have felt as if it had been dropkicked. We had climbed the stairs from the dock and were at our cars.

“Okay. Well, nice to see you, Toni.”

“Nice to see you, too, Nick.” The formality crushed me. The lack of intimacy. The coldness, the distance in Nick's eyes. I smiled again, bright and cheery, so I wouldn't crack.

He pulled out of the parking lot first, in his black truck. I waited, pretended to follow, then when he was off, I parked, laid my forehead against the steering wheel, and let the waves of pain in my body rush on through.

When the destruction was done, I drove to work and shoved my emotions down hard and fast so they wouldn't come up and throttle me.

* * *

I drove to the beach the next day to interview the family that had gutted and remodeled their grandfather's beach house. The captain's wheel of his old boat—which had sustained irreparable damage in a storm—was in the family room by the window. They'd taken the deck of the boat and nailed it up as a hearth for the fireplace. The anchor was leaning against a corner, and a thick rope from the boat hung on a wall.

After the interview, I sat on the sand.

I needed the ocean. Needed the waves, the view, the sunset that I stayed to watch as the colors danced off the water. I missed Nick.

And yet. I couldn't get myself to walk down the dock, tell him I was sorry, tell him I could be in a relationship with him, that I would trust and love and be with him forever. There was a wall between him and me. The wall was made of Marty, a kayak, a wedding ring, a hospital bed, chemotherapy, a last kiss, and a coffin.

I was trying to be brave, but I was immobilized. I was frozen. I was in an emotional morgue where I'd buried one man and didn't want to betray that man and then bury another who had a dangerous job. I was stuck.

The waves rolled in. The seagulls dove. The burgundy, golden yellows, azure blues, and purples stretched across the sky until it was dark, the sun down, only the white foam of the waves visible.

How long are you going to live like this?
I asked myself.
How long?

22

It was Pavel's night.

Our whole family went to his school's musical,
Bennie and the Music
. I went from work straight to the theatre. I was in jeans, a T-shirt, and boots. No makeup. No earrings. I had forgotten about the play, or else I would have dressed up more. My mother would have a fit. I braced myself.

My father hugged me and said, “I no see you for a week. Start with Monday. What you do?”

Before I could answer, my mother, resplendent in a black dress and black heels, eyeballed me in the lobby of the high school, frowned, and dragged me off to the bathroom with JJ behind her, who saw me and rolled her eyes.

“I brush this rat in the nest,” my mother said, digging in her purse for a brush after manhandling me in front of the mirror. “I say to you, many times, Antonia, always put on the lipstick and earrings before you leave the house unless the house on fire. Your boat on fire? No? Then why you look like that?”

“I'll do it, Mama.”

“No. I do.” She held the brush up and away from me. “You stand still, Antonia.”

I had finally told her and my father about Nick because they were upset and confused about why I was upset. My mama cried with me, but that was no excuse to have a “rat in the nest,” in her eyes.

“Here, Aunt Svetlana, it's my job.” JJ took the brush.

“No, don't, JJ,” I said. “My hair is fine. I'll do it.”

“It is not fine.” JJ kneed me—not gently—so I was up against the counter. “Stand still. What did you do, electrify yourself?”

Zoya and Tati burst through the door, laughing and chatting. I'm sure my father told them where we were. They were both in lacy bustiers, silky shirts, tight pants, heels, hair all floofed up.

“What happened?” Zoya said, hand to throat.

“What the heck?” Tati said, hands on hips.

“What is wrong with your hair, Toni?” they said together.

“Nothing is wrong with it.” I fought for the brush. I grabbed it from JJ, she grabbed it back.

“Stop it, Toni!”

“You be still, Antonia!” my mother said, shaking her finger at me and swearing in French. “You let JJ fix the rat in the nest.”

“I'm not seven, I'll brush my own hair.” I grabbed the brush again.

JJ wrapped one arm around my waist and with the other hand struggled to get the brush. “You don't. You won't. I'll do it. I have a curling iron in my bag.” JJ was panting. She lifted me up with a Tarzan/Jane yell.

“Put me down!”

“No. Not until you give me the brush and agree that I can brush your hair!”

I could not believe she was lifting me up like she did when we were kids. I put my foot against the counter of the sink and pushed. She slipped. She was wearing four-inch heels, and I fell right down on her.

We rolled on that bathroom floor. I grabbed the brush and held it high over my head as she lay on top of me. I was ticked. This was all stubborn, bossy, aggressive JJ's fault. “Get off of me, JJ!”

Ellie walked in. Her black hair was curled and clean, and she continued to breathe without a bag. “Ah. I see we're having a family fight.”

Valerie was behind her. “Who's winning? Hard to tell.”

“I think it's Toni,” Zoya said. “Wow. She's really mad.”

“No, JJ's winning,” Tati said. “No, Toni. They're noisy!”

“What's the problem?” Valerie asked.

“I can brush my own hair!” I shrieked.

“No, she can't. She doesn't,” JJ gasped. “It's a disgrace. It's been weeks, maybe years.”

“She's right, Toni,” Ellie said. “Your hair is a disgrace. When was the last time you washed it?”

“JJ, fix the hairs,” my mother announced. “Antonia! You lie flat and let her give you a quickie. The brushing be all done soon.” My mother peered down at me, on the floor of the bathroom. “You feel good when she done.”

Anya walked in and gasped as if she had just come up for air after nearly drowning. She slapped her hands to her cheeks. “This isn't happening.” She reached for both of us. “Get up, get up right now. There's bacteria and viruses and feces and urine on a bathroom floor. I'm going to be sick, sick, sick right here unless you two get up.”

She put one high-heeled foot on either side of us and tried to yank us apart. JJ took a furious swipe at her with her foot, and Anya tumbled on top of us. “Oh no!” Anya howled, hands in the air so she wouldn't touch the floor “Germs! Germs!”

Because Anya would not push herself off the floor with her hands (bacteria, viruses), she lay on top of JJ and me, like a cross, my ears suffering from her high-pitched howls.

“If this is as entertaining as tonight gets, I'm going to be happy,” Ellie said.

“I haven't seen JJ and Toni roll around on the ground for a long time,” Valerie said. “Ouch! Toni, you should say you're sorry. I think you kicked JJ in her personal flower.”

“This is making me think we should get into making outfits for the women's mud wrestling business,” Tati said.

“Tati!” Zoya clapped her hands. “What an idea!”

“... also on a bathroom floor is old vomit,” Anya said, anguished, still teetering on top of us, hands toward the ceiling. “Remnants of animal defecation brought in by people's shoes—”

“I had enough!” My mother swatted all three of us, then wrenched the brush out of my hand. JJ and I struggled up, panting, JJ's hair now a mess. Anya had to be helped up, complaining vociferously.

“Antonia!” my mother reprimanded me, smacking me on the butt with the brush. “You let JJ do it to you. She fix that.” She circled her hand around my hair.

JJ and I were both sweating.

“Fine!” I shouted, wiping my brow. “Fine!”

“If you had given in from the start, we wouldn't have had to go rolling around on a bathroom floor.” JJ pushed me toward the mirror, ripped out the rubber band holding my hair in a ponytail, and brushed it.

“Ouch! JJ, not so hard!”

“It smells, Toni. Wash it tonight.” She dug in her voluminous bag, plugged a curling iron in, then sprayed my hair with something that smelled yummy. I sagged, defeated.

“Put a couple of those long, skinny braids in it, JJ,” Valerie said. “I love that style on her.”

“Stop squiggling, Toni,” Ellie said. “Be still.”

JJ brushed my hair, then added a couple of skinny braids on each side. “There, better.”

It was better, up in some doopty-doo design. Not so rat's nesty. I would not admit it. “Done, JJ? Happy now, Mama?”

“You are hair talented, JJ,” Zoya gushed.

“And you are beautiful, Toni,” Tati said. “Sorry about Nick.”

“Me too,” Zoya said.

“I will have to immediately wash all the viruses and bacteria out of my clothes... .” Anya muttered, hot water blasting on her hands.

My mother took out her lipstick and pointed it at me. “Hold the lips still!”

“Mama, I can do it.”

“No! I do.” She swung the lipstick back like a spear. I gave in, furious, knowing if I moved, she'd wipe that lipstick all over my face, or JJ and my sisters would jump me and hold me down.

My mother dug in her purse and stuck earrings in my ears. They were red feather earrings. Four inches long. “Your papa, he like those.” She winked at me. “Turn the men on.”

Tati whispered to me, “That'll teach you to remember to put earrings in your ears. Never leave your home without earrings and lipstick unless your home is on fire or you'll end up wearing red feathers.”

I sighed in defeat.

We Kozlovskys stood in front of the mirror, straightened our clothes, patted our hair, checked our lipstick, and walked out as if nothing untoward or frighteningly odd had just happened.

JJ slung her arm around my shoulder. “Love you, Toni.”

“Love you, too, JJ. Sorry about that.”

“No problem. I understand. Sorry about Nick. I know I already said that a few weeks ago, but I'm saying it again: I'm sorry about Nick. You've had it rough, cousin, I get it.”

“I'm fine.”

“Whatever.” She kissed my cheek. “But do wash that hair tonight.”

* * *

In the lobby I hugged Hope, who said, “I feel like I've swallowed a bowling ball,” and cried. Shockingly, against all odds, her boyfriend, Macky Talbot, and she were still together. He hugged her. She smiled through her tears.

Chelsea came up, black eye shadow ringing her eyes like a drunken raccoon, fist-bumped me, then said, “I joined a new band! I'm the singer. What do you think of that, Aunt Toni? My first song is going to be about moms who are too paranoid strict.”

Kai hugged me off my feet. “Hello from a Hawaiian. Heard you had a wrestling match with JJ. Sorry I missed it.”

Uncle Sasho wrapped me in a bear hug. “My Antonia. One of my favorite nieces in my life. Pavel, he ballerina. He wear tights. He like the boys. But what of that?” Uncle Sasho's bushy eyebrows shot up. “I don't know. He has the high grades, he do his chores, he help me with the trucking business on the weekends and the summer. Fine son. How you? Ah. Hair is nice. JJ do it to you. Look my daughters, Tati and Zoya. How they marry when they dress like that? How?” Eyebrows up again, weathered face creased in a sad frown. “How?”

Uncle Vladan and Aunt Holly gave me a hug and kiss.

“I had a kindergartener ask me today if I was a hundred years old.” Aunt Holly groaned. “I have to retire, soon.”

“Woe on my life,” Uncle Vladan moaned. “Anya have crazy story about lying on bathroom floor with you. Now she think she may have the pneumonia or measles. At least her neck not disappearing. That what she thought last time. Bees in her knees, too.”

Uncle Yuri and Aunt Polina wrapped me up in a three-way hug. “How are you, Toni? We hear you and JJ have fight on bathroom floor. That not true, right? Ah, your hair pretty. JJ did it.”

Boris strode in with a new woman on his arm. “This is Rosa.”

We shook hands. She looked like a Mexican model. She was getting a doctorate in physics, so she and my father chatted.

Boris slid me two tickets for
The Pirates of Penzance
. “Be ready for it, though, Toni. We'll both be crying by the end of it, you know what opera does to us. I have reservations at Henry's for our discussion afterward. JJ should do your hair like that again when we go.”

We Kozlovskys sat in the center of the auditorium. It was packed.

Koa climbed across everyone and sat in my lap. He was wearing a blue monster outfit with huge rolling eyes on his head. “Hiya, Aunt Toni. I going to eat you up.” He growled. I growled back.

Ailani scooted over and said to me, “I've decided to study the psychology of serial killers for my spring fifth-grade project. I like your feathered earrings and the braids JJ did.”

The lights went down. The orchestra played. The curtains opened.

And there was our Pavel.

We clapped and cheered.

* * *

The show was incredible. The kids tap danced and sang. They had a modern dance number. A jazz piece. Two modern rock numbers. There was ballet. Pavel opened the show, he had a solo midway through, and he closed it.

Pavel was brilliant. He had obviously been working on ballet for years, diligently, with determination and passion. He spun, he twirled, he was on his toes, he lifted ballerinas up, he jumped, he twisted.

At one point I peered down the row, Koa on my lap, and saw Uncle Sasho blotting the tears on his cheeks. Uncle Vladan and Uncle Yuri did the same, as did my father. Rough men, raised in the Soviet Union, former boxers, noses all off to the side from punches, bawling their eyes out about “our boy ballerina.”

When the curtains closed, Uncle Sasho was the first on his feet, clapping, shouting when Pavel came out. “That my boy! Right there! That my ballerina! Good job, Pavel! Good job!” We joined him in the ovation.

We yelled and cheered. We cried. We cry too much, we Kozlovskys.

Uncle Sasho treated everyone to banana splits, including Danny, Pavel's boyfriend. When we were served he said, “Cheers. To my boy, ballerina. I love you, my son.”

We clinked our banana split dishes together. “Cheers to Pavel!”

“And cheers to family,” my father said. “To the Kozlovskys.”

“To the Kozlovskys!” We knocked our banana split dishes together again. Only two bananas slipped out.

* * *

Nick was home! I heard his footsteps on the dock, scrambled up the ladder to my wheelhouse, and snuck peeks through the windows with my sneaky binoculars. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to kiss that man. I did
not
want him to see me spying on him, because that would be pitiable.

Ah. There he was, coming on down. Blond. Strong. He seemed tired. He did not slow in front of my tugboat. Not a bit.

I waited until he was in his houseboat, then scrambled back down the ladder and slithered like a snake on the floor to my bedroom. I turned off the lights by my bed, then peered out into the blackness behind my curtains, again with the sneaky binoculars. Maybe he would go out on his deck. He loved being on his deck at night, as I did.

I scrunched down and ... shoot! He turned toward me.

I dropped to the floor and curled up into a ball, as if that would make me disappear.

No, it was dark.

No, the lights were off.