Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,60
for sure.
There are several framed pictures on my nightstand of friends, family, and me at different ages. There’s one particular picture that’s my favorite, and I’m now holding it in my hands.
The picture is of Mandy and me at my first concert when I was fourteen. My mom took us to see the Jonas Brothers, and it was by far one of the best nights ever. Mandy and I had such a fun night, dancing and singing every song, and the picture looks like we are not only close sisters, but also best friends. It wasn’t too long after the concert that Mandy’s attitude began to change.
A tear drops onto the frame, bringing me back to the present. I lean against the headboard of my bed, trying to pinpoint exactly why my relationship with Mandy turned sour, but I come up blank. We were so close for so long, and then it seemed like she couldn’t stand me overnight.
I miss Mandy. At least, the old Mandy. The one who wouldn’t have dated a boy that I used to date. The one who wouldn’t have hired someone to date me. The one who used to be my best friend.
I miss my sister.
And as if she can hear my thoughts, she knocks on the door. “Misha?”
No, I’m not talking to her. The wounds are still too deep.
“Not now, Mandy.” I sniffle.
“Please let me in, Misha.”
I know that there is dual meaning to her plea.
“I’m not ready, Mandy.”
There is whispering outside the door for a moment but then silence again. I guess that she decided to respect my wishes for once.
The sound of a drill echoes through my room.
“Misha, I’m taking this damn door down.”
Dad.
He never once followed through with the threats to Mandy, but he’s not having it today. I jump off the bed and quickly open the door.
He pulls the drill back from the door hinge and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what in the hell is wrong with you two, but figure it out before your mother notices. She doesn’t need to be worrying over you two feuding. She’s already worried enough about Misha’s illnesses as of late. Misha, the lies about you being sick, so you can avoid coming here need to stop. Your mother might be naive, but I’m not stupid. Fix your shit.” He turns and walks away before either of us can answer him.
Mandy is leaning against the stair banister. Her hair isn’t perfect as usual, pulled up in a messy bun, and neither is her makeup. Her face is naked of any concealer or foundation, and she’s wearing cutoff shorts and a hoodie.
She looks like the old Mandy.
“Can I come in?” she asks quietly.
Turning from her, I walk back into the room, leaving the door open behind me. She follows and closes the door behind her as I reclaim my place on the bed. Mandy takes in my old room, as I’m sure she hasn’t been in here in years. She picks up the picture that I laid on the desk in the scramble to open the door.
She smiles brightly, holding the frame in her hand. “God, that was such a fun day.”
“Yep.” It might be childish, but I still refuse to look at her.
Mandy places the frame on the desk and spins the office chair at my desk to face me. She takes a seat and sighs. “Hurting you wasn’t my intention … not at first at least.”
Sure. She didn’t intend to hurt me when she started dating Noah.
When I don’t respond to her, Mandy puts her hand on my arm and squeezes. “Misha, talk to me. We’re never going to resolve this if you aren’t willing to hear me out.”
I glare at her hand on my arm. Her once perfectly manicured fingernails are chipped of the polish and appear to be chewed short. Moving my arm so her hand falls to the bed, I turn and look at her. Mandy has dark bags under her eyes, and I’m not sure if it’s because her face is void of makeup or because she’s actually having a rough time.
Her eyes are hopeful, but I’m not. She pushed, and now, she’s going to get a fight.
“Fine. You want to do this? Let’s do this.”
28
Misha
Mandy clearly understands from my tone that this isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. She doesn’t respond right away, and I’m not in the mood to prolong the inevitable.
“Come on. You wanted to do this, so let’s do it. Tell me