This Was Never Just a Love Story

Most mornings, I wake up to the sounds of nature stirring alive outside my window, or breakfast getting started in the kitchen, or sometimes even just silence.

This morning I woke up to the sounds of screaming. I recognize them to belong to my twin sister. I piece together that she's more than likely having one of her bad days. She has bipolar disorder and odds are one of the maids tried to force her out of bed when they should’ve let her be. It’s never good to do that to her.

I quickly slide on my slippers and slip into my soft cashmere robe and move with urgency mixed with morning grogginess. I arrive at my sister's door, knock twice, then enter. The scene before me displays the maid, Annie, coward back behind a chair as my sister lashes out with a mix of angry and sad tears in her eyes.

“Kira,” I say, my voice calm with a bit of firmness just to get through the sound of her screams, “Kira, listen to me. I understand why you’re upset. You didn’t want to get out of bed right? That’s okay, I don’t want to get out of bed sometimes either. How about we just take a pause, take some deep breaths and you don’t worry about school or anything today. Just focus on resting. It’s all going to be alright.”

I’ve seen her have so many episodes over the years it’s almost a script at this point, but I really do mean every word of it. Because these little moments don’t define who she is, and at the end of the day she’s helped me countless times too.

She stops and looks at me and nods her head. I can tell she’s already de-escalating. I help her back to bed and tuck her in. She’s still on edge but it’s already much improved from before. I’m really good at calming her down, but sometimes it can take a lot longer for even me to help her out.

“I’ll have your favorite breakfast sent up for you okay? You just stay in bed. I have to get to school but I’ll fetch Nana for you and she can watch out for you today okay?” I feel bad, because I should’ve known she would have a moment soon. She wasn’t wanting to go to her volunteering, and a couple nights ago I woke up around 3 to get water and she still wasn’t in bed yet.

She nods her head again, “Okay,” is all she says. I kiss her forehead and instruct Annie to wait there until Nana arrives. I walk out of her room and hurry down the steps. The many many steps. There’s really too many steps. As I do I’m already planning my day around getting home to Kira. She’s not any sort of burden, not by a long shot. Just sometimes I wish I didn’t have to plan my day around what kind of day she’s having. But then again, that’s rather selfish thinking of me, it’s not like she chooses to have these moments. Plus, if the roles were flipped she wouldn’t think twice about dropping everything to help me out. Because that’s the kind of sister she is.

When I finally make it down the ungodly amount of stairs, I find Nana where she always is. In her studio. She’s perched upon her stool, moving her brush across the canvas with a steady hand that speaks to her many years of experience in the craft. Right now it’s only an outline, but I know soon it will be yet another masterpiece.

I knock three times on the door frame before speaking. “Nana, may I enter?”

“Oh yes yes come in dear,” she says and sets her brush down and wipes her hands on her smock as I step into the room. “Is everything well with you this morning?”

“Well everything’s fine with me, but Kira had a moment this morning and I don’t want to leave her alone, but I really need to get to school. Can you sit with her for a while?”

“Oh poor thing, yes I will head up there right now.”

“Thank you Nana, love you.”

“Love you too darling, you have a great day at school. Oh, and would you be a dear and pick up a few things from the store after tennis today? I gave Martha the day off today, she’s been working herself to the bone.”

“Of course Nana, do you have a list for me,” I ask, mentally adding it to my schedule. Really this is the last thing I want to do today, but who am I to complain. It’s normally Martha running errands for us, and if she can do it every single day, then I can do it just this once.

“I put it up with the flower magnet on the fridge. Thank you dear,” she says warmly as she heads up the stairs. (How does she manage all of those stairs?)

I don’t know what I would do without her. She’s what holds this whole house together. Without her; mom, Kira, and I would all still be in that sketchy apartment in New York, waiting around for mom to land an acting job.

I check the clock and see I’m already running behind if I want to get to school on time. I hurry down the hall to the dining hall where I see the cooks have laid a smorgasbord of all of our favorite foods. I also see my mother sitting at the head of the table, making likely her only appearance for the day. She’s… quite the character. This morning she has on the frilliest pink blouse I’ve ever seen and a white and pink striped scarf wrapped around her bountiful blonde curls. She has these ridiculous pink heart sunglasses perched on her nose and some trashy magazine has her full attention for she hasn’t even noticed I’ve walked in.

“Morning mother,” I say as I pile my plate with bacon, toast, and pear slices. I can never get enough pear slices.

“Oh mornin’ hon,” she says, her voice much too peppy and high for this early in the morning, and she speaks with this way too forced fray in her voice like she’s from Hollywood. She glances up from her magazine for just long enough to say, “Watch how much you put on that plate, it’ll be rough on your figure.” And goes right back to Catching up with the Kardashians, or some other garbage like that.

She’s always saying things like this, and I’ve learned she doesn’t say them to be hurtful. I think that somewhere in her reality she’s just looking out for me. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. I’ve learned it’s just best to nod and move along.

I take my plate and go into the kitchen, again without any acknowledgment from mom, and quickly make my way to the head cook Fernando. Over the past few years we’ve been with Nana, Fernando has became like an uncle to me. He always smiles when he sees me. Makes a few corny jokes that I roll my eyes at. Asks me about my day. It’s nice, something I hadn’t experienced since Dad.

“Celine! One of my favorite Calloway sisters,” he says merrily with his signature smile, “Come to compliment your favorite chef?”

“Yeah I am, so uh- where is Cheryl,” I say standing on the tips of my toes, pretending to look for the sous chef.

He clutches heart like I’ve mortally wounded him, “Oh Celine how you offend me.”

I laugh at his antics, “Of course I’m only joking Fernando. You know you’re my favorite. Anyway, I’m in a bit of a rush, but could you possibly send up Kira’s favorite to her room?”

“Why of course! One fruit salad to the lovely Ms. Kira.”

“Thanks Fernando, you’re the best,” and I hurry deeper into the kitchen. I internally groan as I see the long list of items Nana has left for me. I quickly swipe the list off the fridge, and hurry out the kitchen. Down the hall, up the stupid stairs, and back into my room to rush to get ready.

I slide on the academy uniform; blue and white plaid skirt, white button up, matching blue blazer and tie, and white sneakers. I wince as I brush the knots out of my thick brown hair and throw it into a french braid. Just as I’m securing the elastic I get a text from my friend next door, Cole.

Cole: Hey CC, are we still carpooling?

Me: Yeah

Cole: So… senior year, how are you feeling about it? I know I’m just a train wreck in a suit.

Me: Good.

Cole: Is Kira riding with us too? There’s space for her.

Me: No

Cole: Can you give me a full sentence C? 🙃

Me: Srry ttyl

While Cole was texting me I was rushing around throwing on make up haphazardly (seriously I stabbed myself in the eye with mascara), throwing things in my tennis bag, and finally rushed to Kira’s room to check up on her before I headed out. I knock twice, pause, and then knock three times. Our ‘secret’ knock we made up when we were 5.

“Come in Celine.”

“Hey Kira,” I say as I open the door. I see she got the breakfast I sent up for her, and Nanas lightened her mood, but she’s got a look in her eye that I can tell she just wants to lay in bed for days, “I’m about to head out. I’ll let you know if anything important happens okay? Feel better. Love ya.”

She wrinkles her nose in mock disgust, “Ewwww.”

I smile at her, and shut the door, and make my way to the landslide of stairs. (If it wasn’t obvious before, I hate these stairs). I’m just about to walk out when I hear my mothers hot pink stilettos (I don’t even need to turn around to know they’re pink) clicking against the marble tile of the foyer.

“Kira! Or Celine whichever one you are! Don’t forget Toby’s coming over for dinner today! So do something about that raggedy braid before seven sharp,” she yells the whole thing even as she gets closer to me, and with each word I feel my stomach sink more and more. Toby is my father’s lousy replacement. My mother has been seeing him for the past year, and while my father died 7 years ago, it still feels way too soon. He’s not even a great guy. He’s probably just after the money.

I go to speak, but I find that there’s a lump in my throat, so I just nod and walk out the door. I see Cole’s limo is already waiting for me.

As I walk down the stone pathway I organize all my thoughts. After school, I have tennis practice and errands to run, and I still need to make sure I’m back by 6 somehow, to make sure Kira and I are both ready for dinner at 7. That disaster will last for who knows how long, and then I have homework to do to keep my perfect GPA.

I sigh and open the limo door to see Cole fixing his blonde curls for probably the 12th time that morning. A frequent, yet for some reason comforting sight. He smiles when he sees me.

“So CC, are we gonna talk, or am I carrying this conversation again,* he teases, but his eyes ask the question of ‘rough morning?’.

I slide into my seat and shut the door. I inhale and lean back into the headrest. I close my eyes for just a moment to collect myself. I can feel him looking at me, and I can feel him starting to think something is seriously wrong.

“Let’s just say I’ve had a long day, and it’s only 8 in the morning.”