Links to Our Truth

I think my sister-in-law knew I was interested in her long before that Thanksgiving, but I wouldn't learn that until we started talking in secret.

My wife's family are the typical Italian-American group. That day at her parents' house, they were all yelling at each other with such volume and intensity that you'd think they were in a heated argument, but they were only exchanging stories and thoughts - just loudly. Even so, for me and for Sandra, the volume got a bit too high, as our own families were a far cry from loud Italians, and we would sometimes find excuses to step out of the echo chamber.

I had just come out of the bathroom, my stomach still overfull from the massive meal, and found Sandra sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching the TV that had been left on while everyone was in the dining room. She met my gaze as I passed the noisy doorway, and I rolled my eyes and shook my head, and chuckled when I saw her do the same thing.

Sitting down in the chair next to the sofa, I said, "Another holiday in paradise, eh?"

"That's why I always make sure I can come to these," Sandra said. "I need some peace and quiet."

"I'm sure it's so different than home for you, too."

Sandra's slender shoulders rose and fell, and she inclined her head. "Night and day."

The mother of a five year old and an eight year old never had a break, I knew all too well, thanks to my own sister's family. I couldn't imagine Sandra dealing with that, on top of being such a busy business partner and town chamber head. All the more power to her, though--she managed to stay cool, calm, and not to mention in good shape, with very few lines of stress wrinkles touching her angular, pretty face.

"Is your house as calm and peaceful as mine?" she asked.

"Probably a <em>lot</em> noisier and more chaotic, judging by your logic."

Sandra snorted and shook her head, and as a loud, male voice shouted into the room, her whole facial expression changed. "Sandra!" bellowed Mark, her husband.

"Yeah?" she called back, and I watched with sad wonder at that look on her face; she was simultaneously on alert, like a clerk at a store being addressed by their manager, and a combination of annoyed and...scared? No--not even scared. Sad.

"Didn't the Olsons come on that Friday?"

"Saturday!" she shouted back, and I watched as her body seemed to collapse in on itself, and her floral-patterned dress, which had fit her form so perfectly earlier, seemed to sag around her.

When Mark didn't say anything else, she looked back to me, and I swear, she looked less like her 39-year-old self and more like a little girl sulking after being scolded.

I swallowed hard, tempted to change the subject, but instead heard myself whisper, "Are you okay?"

Sandra closed her eyes and nodded quickly. "Yup...yup."

"Oh. Good. For a second there I thought you weren't."

She shrugged. "I'd not say it if I wasn't."

Thinking quickly, I said, "Good. Because I wouldn't listen, anyway."

When she gave a confused frown, I curled my lips in a silent smirk, and my God, how her face seemed to softly glow. "I definitely wouldn't share how I was feeling with you, anyway."

"As you shouldn't. Especially not over texts or anything."

She mirrored my smirk as she said, "Yeah, those would be risky, anyway. Good thing you don't use Spectre, either."

"I don't even know what it is."

"Just some anonymous messaging app. Good for playing message tag."

"Well thank you. I'll be sure to avoid that one."

"Good. Never know when some, ah..." She looked down for a moment, licking her thin lips, then said, "...when someone with a screen name like 'bannedshe' might be looking to vent on there."

It went on like that for a few minutes, with us coyly "avoiding how to properly spell" that name, and me changing the subject by taking out my phone and scrolling the app store.

"bannedshe" soon after received a message from "muckraker," and then we put away our phones and watched the TV in silence until my wife came in and asked if we were ready for dessert.

That was how it started.