Sip by Sip

Chapter Five: Years Ago

Monday she brought in a starch white envelope.

She opened it and lay out multiple old photographs, spreading them in a semi circle across her side of the table. Looking to each photo, he slowly realized what he was supposed to figure out.

"Is this your family?" Noah asked, and she nodded happily.

    Pointing to the far right photograph, she stated, "this is me," and then moving left along the row she named off the rest. "Me and my brother Marcus, my sister Katie, my other sister Roseyln, and finally my older sister Jean. That's me, there, playing with a friend of family, and the last one is of my parents."

    "They look like nice people."

    "Nah, Jean is a bitch. Still love her, because that's how family works, right?" She laughed, and he gave a half smile.

    "Guess so." He looked to the table, his expression saddened.

    Her expression shifted as well, questioning the sorrow in his eyes. She watched with intensifying curiosity as he pulled out his wallet, and reached to a photo of a beautiful young woman, her short hair curled 50's style. Her eyes were round and dark, her cheeks rosy and lips curved up just enough to hint a smile.

    "Who is she?" She whispered, mesmerized by the woman's beauty, mesmerized by the mystery of her dark eyes. But before he answered, she had figured out where she had seen those eyes before.

    "My mom."

    She gave him a look to continue, to explain, and when he didn't, her eyes softened.

    "She is beautiful." Gemma pointed out the obvious, her tone still in a whisper, "The type of woman a man would buy the world for. The type of girl that causes people to stop and stare. Tell me if any of this is wrong."

    He shook his head, but finally spoke. "Jewels at her throat, and a gorgeous voice within it, her goodnight kiss sweet and loving. She lived well, Gemma. She lived the life of the rich, sipping fine wine and smoking the most expensive of cigarettes."

    Her gaze was bright and wondrous, consumed in his words. She rested her chin on her palms, and stared into his eyes.

    "She seemed like a goddess, yet if she were, she would've been invincible."

    Her eyes saddened.

    "Lung cancer. 61. I guess the smokes took her before her age ever got the chance to."

    "I'm sorry."

    He nodded, and cleared his throat. "That was years ago. It barely hurts anymore." The lie tasted bitter in his mouth and she could see it in his face.

    "How do you move on from something like that?"

    "Cheap, false, empty happiness," his laugh was cold, "material items; fast cars, pretty girls, expensive booze tasting just like the crap everyone else drinks. Big parties with strangers and distance from everyone else you could possibly love, anyone else you could possibly loose. It's the only way the world allows you to deal."

    Her breaths shook, her throat tight. Her voice was small, as she repeated his worlds from Friday, ignoring the rawness of her tone.

    "That doesn't mean it's the right way."

    He gave a small, sad smile. His dark brown eyes were so transparent, so incredibly transparent . . .

    "That was years ago," he said, for the second time, she realized.

    They spent the rest of their time drinking their coffee in silence.