Unforeseen

Content Warning: Suicidal imagery is a part of this story.

***

I often wonder what might have happened if even one thing had been different. What if I had broken up with Charly instead of her dumping me? What if I had just gotten over Mary instead of being stuck hopelessly in love? What if my sister hadn't decided to "do the right thing," despite my wishes? What if we hadn't had that emotional reunion? What if she had remembered her birth control? Endless chains of what ifs and could have beens.

But that's not what happened, and despite it all, I'm not sure that I'd change anything.

I'm getting ahead of myself, though. We need to start at the beginning.

* * *

It's hard to know when this started. I've always been close to Mary. My sister is two years older than I am, but she's never made me feel less than her. Always eager to include me when appropriate, never mean. Well, she did tease me a lot, but it was in fun and never cruel.

Mary and I each had our friends, but we were our own circle of two. Mom and dad divorced when we were both in elementary. We lived in a small, two-story, nondescript white house in the country just outside of town. It was really too cramped for four people, but it felt empty with just mom, my sister, and I. I still have a lot of affection for the old place, though.

Dad was always kind of distant, but he loved us. He remarried and had another child, but we saw him with regularity. Mom didn't remarry but instead went back to work and dated casually. By the time I reached high school, she was either out volunteering or having a good time most evenings. She clearly loved us but had partly abandoned us to our own devices. Our parents had married young, and I think she was reclaiming her youth a bit. Even as kids, Mary and I understood that she was immature and we both resented her for it.

It was this shared feeling of loneliness that brought us closer, I think. I'm not blaming our parents for it, but I wonder if things would be the same had either of them been just a little more present.

So we cooked at least as often as our mother did and took care of most of the household chores. I suppose it was good for us in a way because it made us independent. On the other hand, we often felt that we had no one to turn to except each other. As I grew older, I caught Mary looking at me often. She'd always smile at me, and I came to think of it as an expression of her natural protectiveness. Now, I wonder.

I was fifteen when I first understood how fucked up I was. I'd started dating Charly, one of my sister's friends, early in the year. She was bright and looked good in tight black shirts and skirts, and that more or less let me ignore that she was flighty and conceited. Even then, though, it was just in the way teens often are.

I guess what I'm saying is that yeah, I might have resented her for what happened, but it was honestly pretty standard as far as dramatic high-school breakups go. What was a little weirder, was the way Mary acted about the whole thing.

It was like she had her eye on us the whole time. Especially when we tried to be alone. At first, I thought that she didn't think I was mature enough for that kind of relationship and worried that I'd push things too far with Charly, maybe ruin her friendship. I didn't realize until later that her intentions were both purer and much less so.

Once, during a particularly hot make-out and groping session in my room, I realized that I had left the door slightly ajar. I walked over quickly to shut it, eager have my hands back on Charly's firm but yielding body, when I saw what I thought was movement in the dark hallway. The only other person in the house was my sister, but would Mary really spy on us like that? At the time I wouldn't give the thought any credence. Later, though...

In any case, Charly and I had good times. I won't lie about it. I think she cared for me at least a bit. I lost my virginity to her, although I won't give any details both because of our age and that, honestly, we were both pretty bad at it.

Right after the holiday break, in stark winter, was when I got the text.

I think we should break up.

One sentence, no explanations. It was ridiculous. I called her.

"Thomas," she answered, her voice nervous and cold. She never called me that. None of my friends did. I was always TK.

"What the fuck, Charly? Do I not even get a face to face on this? Or a phone call?"

"I didn't think it would be a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I thought you might get upset and..."

"You're goddamn right I'm upset. What's going on? Have you been cheating on me? Is that it?"

"No! But...god this is hard. Look, I'm into someone else, ok? I'm not cheating, and I want to be honest with you so I thought that the best thing to do would be to end it but..."

The truth rushed out of her like a burst pipe. At least I could hear the guilt in her voice.

"Who is it?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does if I know them."

"It's...Bradley Carson."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. My heart was breaking because she wanted to be with Bradley. Bradley who couldn't string a sentence together without talking about a girl he fucked or complaining about one that fucked him over. Bradley, the rich kid who'd never once tried to understand anyone else and probably couldn't.

To be left for someone else is awful. To be left for someone who used other people was worse. I felt betrayed, and confusingly, worried for Charly given his dating history. But it was her life to do with as she pleased.

"Is there anything I can do...or say..."

I hated the desperation and sadness in my voice. I loved her, though.

"No. I'm...really sorry."

Not sorry enough. When I spoke my voice was dead, and it felt like someone else was talking through me.

"Me too. Don't talk to me again."

I hung up. It sounds lame now, but I was really in love with her. I was still sitting there, on the couch, thinking over and over about what I might have done wrong when mom came home with Mary, having picked her up after swim practice. The cold air that they let in shocked me back to some kind of self-awareness.

I needed someone to talk to, someone who could give me some perspective. I did not want to go to my sister, because Charly was her friend. I didn't want to put her in a position of choosing her friend or me. At that moment I wasn't really sure she'd pick me, in any case. My esteem was pretty much at rock bottom.

So as mom went upstairs to get changed and ready to do whatever it was she found important that night, I followed.

"Hey," I said, quietly. I'm pretty sure my voice was brittle.

"Yes?"

Mom was trying to sound kind, but irritation shone through. She was probably late.

"Could I uh, talk to you about something? It's kind of important..."

"Oh, honey, could we talk later? I'm late and..."

I saw the distraction in her eyes, the complete lack of interest.

"Sure. Whatever."

"Thanks, sweetie," she said, kissing me on the cheek and disappearing into her room.

I went into my own room and closed the door behind me. Somehow our exchange had left me feeling even worse than before. Soon enough I heard mom's car start and roll back out of the driveway. I lay down quietly in the early dark of winter and eventually fell asleep.

* * *

I woke up to a gentle tapping at my door. I was bleary and confused for a moment. The door opened just a crack. Enough for light from the hallway to pour in and show my sister's worried face.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure," I said, turning on the lamp that sat near my bed. Mary walked in, ignoring the bean bag chair, and instead sat on the bed on one leg, facing me.

Even then she was beautiful. I didn't just believe it, I knew it for a fact. Gravity made you fall, fire could burn you, and Mary was gorgeous. That night she had her glossy black (dyed) hair in a medium-length bob, which made her storm-gray eyes seem even more intense. She was slim, still growing into her body, but already she had high cheekbones and sensual lips.

I guess it's possible that I already had kind of a thing for her.

"Did you forget that it was your turn to make dinner?"

"Oh...oh shit. Yeah...let me just get up, and I can get it started. I'm sorry..."

She just smiled.

"I made soup. It's fine. I thought you might just be tired, but when you didn't come down for food, I got worried. What's going on."

"Uh...nothing," I said, unconvincingly. She rolled her eyes.

"Come on. I'm your sister. Bullshit like that might work on mom, but not me."

I laughed, maybe a little bitterly, but I was grateful that she pushed.

"Charly...broke up with me."

"Oh shit, what?"

Her mouth dropped open with shock. I guess I wasn't the only one who thought that we were doing fine.

"Yeah. I got a text, then I called her. I guess she's found someone else and I was..."

I stopped being able to talk and dissolved into tears. I felt ashamed. Weren't men supposed to be strong when this stuff happened? Was I supposed to get drunk and go fight Bradley? I really didn't want to do either of those things.

"Oh god. I'm so sorry."

She moved beside me and put her arm around me and pulled me close like she would when we were much younger, and I'd had a nightmare. She made no demands, just held me, occasionally speaking quietly while I let my emotions have free rein. I stopped feeling ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she said after I'd calmed down a little, "I should have..."

"What would you have done? She's your friend, but she makes her own decisions."

"No, I know. I just meant that I had a bad feeling when you first started dating. She's always jumped from boy to boy, usually whenever things started getting serious in the feelings department. But you looked so happy with her, and I thought maybe things would have been different this time. I should have warned you."

"Do you really think I would have listened? I...I guess I loved her. I would probably have told you to mind your own business."

"Maybe. But...ugh. It's so typical for her. She might feel guilty but I guarantee you she never really gave any thought to how you'd feel, or that you'd been so much better for her than her prior boyfriends. I just want to beat her up a little. Do you want me to?"

"What? Like, punch her?"

"Yeah. Nothing serious. A couple of body punches and maybe a black eye."

I laughed. The idea of Mary standing up for me wasn't odd, but the thought of her fighting was almost unthinkable.

"What," she said, mock offended, putting up her fists, "I can fight! I'm tough! People fear me!"

"Yeah, ok, calm down Wolverine, I get the idea. No. I don't think I want her to get hurt. I just want to stop hurting."

"Well, that takes time...and distractions. So I guess we're going to be hanging out more."

"You don't have to feel sorry for me..."

"Do you think that's what this is? I mean, I do feel bad for you, but I like hanging out with you. We haven't really done a lot of that in a while. I'm a Junior, too, so we don't have that much longer until I go to college..."

I would miss her a lot, but I could tell that she felt most badly about abandoning me to our mother. I'd still see my father and our half-sister once every few weeks, which was nice. And while we didn't really think of her as our step-mother, his wife Rebecca was genuinely kind and cared for both of us, even if she was pretty bougie, and both of us loved our younger half-sister, Chelsea.

I don't know what I was thinking at that moment. I think I was probably just really grateful that my sister cared this much for me and I wasn't sure how to express it in words. So I put my hand on her cheek, gently, and said: "Thank you."

She leaned a little bit into my hand as if she really liked how it felt. Then she looked at me in a way I wasn't accustomed to, and I was worried that I'd crossed some kind of line. I hadn't intended to, at least not consciously. I could see in the warm light of the lamp that her face had become a little flushed. Then it happened.

Mary leaned in and kissed me. It felt sudden, although she moved slowly as if she was afraid of scaring me. I

was

scared, but not of her. I was frightened of how soft and yielding her lips felt, of how natural it was, of how I went from sad to aroused so quickly, of how her tongue slipped in my mouth.

I guess we made out. It didn't last long, maybe thirty seconds to a few minutes. It was so intense that as Mary pulled away, I sat there, stunned for a moment. We just looked at each other, breathing hard, wondering what had just happened between us. Finally, she stood.

"I'm, uh, going to go downstairs and watch tv if you want to join me. And you should eat something."

Then she left quickly, and I heard her footsteps almost running down the stairs. I waited for a few minutes for my pants to calm down, then I went downstairs too. I ate some of her soup, which was pretty good, and then I did watch tv with her. We were mostly quiet, and a little awkward, but by the end, we were kind of cuddled together like we were little kids again. It was nice, and things were fine between us and not really weird at all.

Except that I was thoroughly and uncomfortably aware of how my older sister was an incredibly attractive young woman. That would complicate things a bit in the future.

That's how it started, for me anyway. Before that kiss, I would have told anyone that I loved my sister and that she was a wonderful person. After that kiss, I would still have said that, but the love was mixed with a deep longing and an ever-increasing lust.

Neither of us took any other steps, though. We knew how immoral that would be, at least in the eyes of others. I also think that Mary also had a much deeper understanding of how pushing past that line would impact our relationship, which she valued tremendously.

We both dated. I felt an occasional pang of jealousy when I saw her showing affection to another guy. When she noticed me noticing, I could tell that she felt a little guilty, which in turn made me feel guilty. I mean, who was I to dictate who she spent her time with or loved? It was weird.

I dated too. I never really fell in love the way that I had with Charly, but my sort of sad bad boy image seemed to work to attract the kind of girls that I liked. And I was a pretty good boyfriend, too. I'm not really being conceited here, it's just that my early independence had forced me to mature more quickly. I was far more considerate and thoughtful than most of my peers. I found that after I'd gone out a few times with girls that they started falling for me quickly. That raised my self-esteem a bit, but as I didn't always feel the same way, I tended to break things off gently before things got too heated. I guess I learned that from Charly, although I never left any of my girlfriends for another woman.

Things went like that for a few years. Mary graduated and left for college. I ended up a senior, surprising myself with my good grades and scaring myself with opportunities to go to places that I had never even considered. It's amusing looking back. I had no problem with commitment at fifteen, but at eighteen the idea of choosing a major terrified me.

Mary and I were still close. She may have been at Vanderbilt, but we always spoke on the phone at least once a week and hung out when she was on breaks. She came home more than her friends did, and I knew it was to be with me, and be there if I needed support. Maybe she worried too much, but she was just a good older sister.

That's what I told myself, anyway.

Previously, Mary and I had alternated in the role, but with her at college but I was now Chelsea's regular babysitter. Dad and his wife Rebecca always wanted to pay me for it, but as much as I loved money, it felt wrong. Taking care of Chelsea mostly amounted to just hanging out around the house with her. So it was that I was with her the night things changed forever.

Chelsea was twelve at the time and was working on some difficult math homework. I was sitting close to her and reading, helping her when she asked. She had dad's eyes and her mother's brown hair. She'd styled it many times over the years to match Mary's.

Mary was her idol. The cool older sister who never minded hanging out with her and giving advice, talking with her about things that she wasn't comfortable discussing with her loving, but perhaps not as approachable, parents.

I was definitely Chelsea's big brother. Sometimes annoying her but mostly just taking looking out for her and making dumb jokes and playing video games or taking her places. People acted like I was some kind of super-good person for hanging out with her, and I wondered where they got such low expectations of boys. Then I thought of some of my peers in high school and I understood why.

Chelsea and our father got along, and in fact, he was a lot closer to her than he was to Mary or me at her age. Maybe I should have been resentful, but it looked like Dad was trying to learn from his mistakes in his first marriage, being more attentive to his wife as well. It made my little sister happy, so it made me happy. Her mother was a bit demanding at times, but there was also real love between the two of them.

All this made what happened worse.

As Chelsea finished up her homework, my phone buzzed. It was mom, which made me immediately concerned. Since she'd been coming home drunk more as of late, I'd had nightmares of having to identify her body. I guess its ironic that she wasn't the one in trouble.

"Are you with Chelsea?" Mom didn't even greet me, and her voice was cold. Not with lack of feeling but as though in shock.

"Yeah, mom, for at least another couple of hours. What's up?"

I heard a deep sigh.

"There's been an accident. I don't know much, but both your father and Rebecca have been taken to the hospital."

"Oh god," I said, aware of Chelsea's searching, intelligent gaze.

"Yeah. I'm sorry to put this on you, but would you mind..."

"Do you want to meet us there?"

"Yes...and, you should know...dammit, this is hard..."

"What, mom?"

"Your father's next of kin is Mary, and then you. You're eighteen. You might be asked to make some medical decisions. I'll be there to help, but..."

"I understand," I said, barely comprehending what was going on, "and we'll be there soon."

"What's wrong," Chelsea asked me as soon as I hung up, worry present in her eyes.

"It's dad and your mom. They've been in an accident. I don't know how bad it is, but they're in the hospital."

Chelsea's lips tightened, her eyes growing wide. I could tell she was desperately trying to hold back tears and maintain a brave face, just like her mom.

"Hey," I said, "It's fine to cry, ok? That's normal, but we have to get going, ok? Grab your stuff, and we'll get going."

We left fast, into the cold drizzle of the late fall night. Although I was worried about the situation, I was grateful that I was at least there with Chelsea. We drove in relative silence, Chelsea in quiet tears, but holding my hand every chance she could. When we arrived, the hospital was relatively quiet. It was a Wednesday, and apparently, there hadn't been much action. It somehow made it worse.

Chelsea and I were directed to a waiting room in the far back, exclusive for the Intensive Care Unit. None of this was good. We arrived before my mother, which was expected given that we had been closer when we got the call. I gave my name to the woman at the desk, told her who we were there for, and then sat with Chelsea. We were quiet for a few minutes before she spoke.

"Do you think they're going to be ok?"

I looked at her. Her face was pale, and her voice shook a little. Her core family had always been a tight, unshakeable unit, something that she had faith in.