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Sometimes Sam would attempt to cook dinner. She was no natural at cooking, and certainly couldn’t cook anything from memory, although Lexie quickly learned that with some detailed instructions, Sam could manage. The meals usually turned out alright, though sometimes Sam would forget to check the cookies or flip the pancakes quickly enough. When that happened, the two sisters would each take a bite of their crumbly, blackened cookies and laugh.
”At least the birds are happy,” Sam would always add as they watched from the window while, outside, the wild birds pecked at the burnt remains of a pancake.
But sometimes, everything would turn out just right. When that happened, Sam would pour Lexie a glass of apple juice and they’d toast each other, pretending it was exotic wine and they were both guests at a fancy ball. Sam would always make spaghetti whenever Lexie asked, because spaghetti was Lexie’s favorite. Lexie would wonder if maybe Sam was tired of spaghetti, and she’d hesitantly start to apologize, but Sam would always stop her and insist that it was no problem at all.
Sam would always be sure to buy shredded cheese for the spaghetti, even though Lexie knew that she didn’t like cheese. Once, Lexie asked Sam why she always bought plenty of cheese, even though she didn’t like it. ”Because you like it,” Sam would reply. Lexie never asked again. Then Sam would put two bowls of spaghetti on the table, one with lots of cheese, and they’d have dinner together. Lexie always meant to ask why Sam’s bowl always seemed to disappear (even though she never saw her eating it) but Sam always managed to change the subject, and the thought slipped from Lexie’s mind.
~--*--~
Sometimes, Sam and Lexie would do nothing productive at all. Even though there were dishes to wash and clothes to fold, a stray pillow would somehow “slip” out of somebody’s hands, and hit another somebody’s face. Then they’d run around the house, sliding across the hardwood floor in just their socks, screaming and laughing and making too much noise as the pillow fights went on. Once the adrenaline of the fight died down, they’d make pillow forts out of bed sheets and chairs, with a flashlight as their candle.
Once upon a time they had used actual candles, but one day the bed sheet caught on fire and reminded Lexie of how her apartment looked as it burned to the ground, and how her family now looked like that too; blackened and burnt just like the apartment. Nothing but ashes. Although Sam quickly extinguished the fire, Lexie flung the candle across the room and started to cry.
After that, they didn’t use candles anymore.
But if Lexie asked her to, Sam would make some tea in the way only she knew how. Lexie tried to make the special tea too (Sam even showed her how) but it didn’t taste quite the same. Sam would always ruffle Lexie’s hair (just like Ryan used to do) and shrug it off with a laugh as she made some new tea. Then they would bring their cups into the pillow fort, reading books and magazines and waiting for the tea to cool as the sun began to set. Sam was always wrapped up in an armful of fluffy blankets. Lexie meant to ask why Sam was always so cold, even though she always wore long sleeved shirts and leggings and never showed her skin, but Sam would smile and talk about the latest book she had gotten from the library, and the thought slipped from Lexie’s mind.
~--*--~
Friday was always movie night. They would take turns picking movies; when it was her turn, Lexie always picked scary movies. She loved scary movies. Sam would always politely sit through the whole thing, even though she would tremble from fright at the scary parts. The two sisters watched intently as the movie’s villain began to crush the hero’s ribcage with his foot, grinning darkly as the hero squirmed and gasped for breath. Sam’s fingers began to twitch nervously, and suddenly she got up to “make some more tea”. She always meant to ask why that scene scared Sam the most, but as Sam came back with more tea and a fresh bowl of popcorn, the thought slipped from Lexie’s mind.
When it was her turn to pick a movie, Sam always chose less-scary movies. Lexie didn’t mind, of course, but they weren’t nearly as exciting as the horror films were. Sometimes Sam fell asleep during the movie, but only when it was the movie she had chosen. Once or twice Lexie had woken her up, but most times she just let Sam sleep until the movie ended. She always meant to ask Sam why there were always dark bags under her eyes, but as her gaze flickered from her sleeping older sister to the movie screen, the thought slipped from Lexie’s mind.
~--*--~
Sometimes Sam would come home bruised and broken, limping through the front door and towards the kitchen table where she’d sit down, head in her hands, staring out the window with a look that said she was fighting off tears. Lexie would always shut the door that Sam had forgotten to close, and Sam, disoriented, would eventually stumble into the bathroom to tend to her wounds. She would lock herself in the bathroom for hours. Lexie pretended not to hear Sam’s anguished sobs, and Sam pretended that nothing had ever happened.
They never talked about it. It was their system; their unspoken agreement, but it was alright.
Maybe one day, if they both kept pretending everything was fine, it would be fine, and they wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.
~--*--~
Sometimes Lexie and Sam said absolutely nothing to each other. The whole day was spent in silence; both girls lost to their own thoughts and painful memories and the inner demons threatening to overwhelm them.
But that was fine.