Split by Swati Avasthi Read Free Book Online

school.”
    I start tugging on the blue sleeve.
    “But that’s exactly what I mean, Christian. Choosing med school looks different to me now. Telling me you wanted your own space so we should move next to each other looks different to me now, too.”
    “See, that’s why I didn’t say anything. Now you think that taking it from my dad is everything, as if it’s all I’m about,” Christian says, his voice escalating.
    Fightology Lesson #2: Don’t be the first to yell or you risk being at fault.
    “Not all that you’re about, but important, essential even,” Mirriam says, hurried and louder.
    “It’s not that important,” he shouts. “It’s not. I doubt you’ll understand this—”
    “Now I’m too simple to under—”
    “It’s only as important as I let it be. I don’t think about it anymore. It’s over and done with.”
    “Right, keep telling yourself that while you kick your own brother to the curb.”
    Fightology Lesson #3: Fights have their own rhythm. Words accelerate until they start to run over each other—faster, louder. I’m expecting Christian to start swearing, name-calling. I’m waiting, but instead I get a silence. What the hell is this silence about?
    “All right. Maybe I should have said something about it.” When Christian speaks, his voice is quiet.
    “You shouldn’t have lied.”
    I tug harder on the blue sleeve, and a white thread hangs off. I begin pulling it.
    “I didn’t lie about it. I just didn’t mention it.”
    “Let’s dispense with those semantics right now, okay? You’ve been actively covering it up. You’ve worked at it. An omission is an ‘oops, I forgot’; a lie is making someone believe something false. I have to be honest with you. I’m not sure that I can be with someone who lies to me.”
    There’s a long pause. The bed squeaks again, and Christian’s voice sounds closer to me when he says, “Okay.”
    “So, wait, you’re willing to let us go just like that?” she asks.
    “You’re the one deciding, Mirriam. I will not stand here and persuade you. I’d never try to get a woman to change her mind about leaving me.”
    I hold my breath. It’s the first thing we have in common. Undeniably in common.
    “You won’t even … I’m not going to get … I don’t even get an apology?” Mirriam says.
    Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a pause, a glitch in the fight; they’re back at it now .
    “I’m sorry that it hurts you that I didn’t tell you—” Christian says.
    “Thanks. That was genuine.” In spite of myself, I admire her sarcasm.
    “But I met you when you were getting out of social work. And I remember you said—the first night we slept together, we were in bed—and you said, ‘I’m not sure I can handle all that sorrow 24/7.’”
    “I said that?” There’s a quick pause. “But those kids were hopeless, no future. They were broken.”
    “That’s right. I’m not, and I wasn’t going to be lumped in with them, with something you had to get away from.”
    Mirriam sighs and says, “See, now there’s a reason I can understand.”
    I turn my back to the wall and lean against it.
    “Are you all right?” Christian asks her.
    “I’m all right; I’m just … I know it’s hard for you to talk … I know that kids protect themselves and shell up and … the worse it was, the less they talk … I’m hurt. I thought we were closer.”
    “If it helps, this is the most I’ve said about it since I left Chicago.”
    “Oh, honey. You know you can’t just keep it bottled up. You have to talk about it.”
    “Not now, okay? No more arguing?” he says, his voice worn out.
    “Not now.”
    I wonder if I’m a broken kid. Was Christian ever broken? My mother would say, No, too strong , and would sneak a satisfied smile at her folded hands.
    What about me, Mom? I would ask.
    And the smile would leave her.
    She would be right.
    I hear a shuffle of feet against the floor as Christian walks toward Mirriam. In my imagination, he is