Chapter 8 - CHLOE FINALLY SAID THE WORDS I NEEDED TO HEAR
It took two years.
Maya was five.
Kindergarten.
She remembered Christmas only in pieces.
Glass.
Blood.
Snow.
Daddy carrying her.
That was enough.
Chloe contacted Arthur through a therapist.
Not me.
She wanted to apologize.
My first answer:
“No.”
Six months later:
“Maybe.”
Then the therapist sent us a transcript of what Chloe intended to say.
No improvisation around Maya.
Good.
Chloe wrote:
Maya, when you were little, I gave you something made of glass that was not safe for you. When it broke, I grabbed you and tried to make you pick it up. You got hurt. That was my fault.
I stopped.
No:
You dropped it.
Good.
You did nothing wrong.
Then:
I was mean to your mother because I was embarrassed and did not want to admit I caused the problem.
Accurate.
You never have to hug me or talk to me if you do not want to.
Very good.
We consulted Maya’s therapist.
Then Maya.
“Do you want to see Aunt Chloe?”
Maya frowned.
“The glass aunt?”
Arthur nearly died.
“Yes.”
Maya thought.
“Will she bring glass?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
The meeting lasted twenty minutes.
Therapist’s office.
Arthur and I present.
Chloe looked different.
Less polished.
More nervous.
She read the apology.
Maya listened.
Then asked:
“Why did you make me touch it?”
Chloe cried.
“Because I was being cruel.”
No adult excuse.
Maya looked at me.
Then back.
“Okay.”
Chloe whispered:
“Can I say sorry?”
“You did.”
That was apparently enough for Maya.
Then she asked if she could color.
Meeting over.
Chloe laughed through tears.
No hug.
No reunion montage.
Afterward Chloe approached me.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I need to say the rest.”
So she did.
She had resented me because Eleanor constantly compared us.
Nora has a real career.
Nora balances a family.
Nora understands Arthur’s business.
Nora doesn’t need help.
I had no idea.
While Eleanor insulted me for being working class, she weaponized my competence against her own daughter.
Chloe hated the standard.
Then began hating me.
Again:
Explanation.
Not excuse.
“I wanted you embarrassed.”
She said.
“I wanted Maya difficult so Mom would finally stop talking about what a perfect little family Arthur had.”
I stared.
“That is ugly.”
“Yes.”
Good.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
We did not become sisters.
May you like
But hatred stopped being necessary.
That was something.
