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Mom used to tell me when I was a little girl that life wouldn’t turn out the way I expected or wanted, that eventually, everyone encounters that one thing that turns their whole axis off-kilter. For some, it would be getting fired from their lifelong job. For others, learning a secret. One that they never saw coming. Mom used to warn me that I needed to contemplate the unexpected while I still had a chance.
We used to be inseparable, did everything together, and though my parents told me they didn’t have favorites, I knew I was theirs.
Then, Shania was born. That’s when Mom changed toward me. She kept her distance, and whenever I’d ask a question or want to do something together, she’d say, “I’m busy right now. Maybe later.”
But later never came.
It wasn’t until Shania was almost a year old that I fully realized that I had completely lost what I once had with Mom when I asked her if she could take me to the park, and she snapped at me, “Can’t you see I’m busy, Em?” Then, she glared at me so severely that I broke down in tears.
At the sight of my tears, Mom got this look of thick concern in her eyes, like she was going to cry as well, and she even jumped to her feet and stepped toward me but reconsidered. She took a sharp breath and told me in a calmer voice, but still a strict one, “Why don’t you go outside? Go play with your brothers.” I couldn’t argue, so I left but didn’t head outside. Instead, I rushed down the hall into the room I shared with my baby sister, shutting the door behind me.
With soft footfalls, I clambered over to the crib that Shania was asleep in. I glared at the little blonde-headed toddler lying soundless on the mattress, sucking on her thumb, her eyelids fluttering over her eyes like she was witnessing something at great speed in her dreams.
“I hate you,” I spat at her, seething in anger. It was her fault. All her fault. For eight glorious years, I had an affectionate, loving mother, and Shania’s birth had ripped that away from me.
Shania blinked awake at my words until she focused on me with the green eyes that we shared glimmering. She pushed herself to a sitting position and smiled.
All the hatred I thought I felt for her washed away, and I couldn’t help but grin back. I couldn’t be mad at her. She was my baby sister, and it wasn’t her fault Mom loved her more.
Later that night, after I brushed my teeth, I was passing the door to my parent’s room. I came to a halt when I heard sobbing. Sneakily, I edged closer, desperate to know who was crying. My parents never cried.
“I can’t do this anymore,” wailed Mom. “You should have seen how she looked at me…I can’t do this.”
Was Mom talking about me?
“You’re right. I have to,” Mom said firmly. “This is too important.”
Before I could move, the door swung open, and Dad stepped through it, freezing when he noticed me. “Emajai? What are you doing? It’s bedtime.”
This was one of the thousands of times having three brothers less than a year older than I as siblings came in handy. It made me stealthy.
“I wanted to say goodnight,” I responded automatically, throwing my arms around my father’s middle. “Night, Daddy. Love you.” I released him and entered the room, approaching Mom, whose blonde hair lay flat, and her green eyes were bloodshot and puffy. I hugged her tightly. “Love you, Mommy. Night.” No matter how mean she became, she was still my mommy, and I would always love her.
Mom held me close, on the verge of crushing me through her chest. “I love you too, baby. Never forget that.”
I slipped out of her arms and looked at her, believing that Mom had realized just how mean she’d been and was now going to change. I believe that night was the turning point directly back to our old relationship.
If anything, it grew worse.
