The Language of Sisters Read Online Free PDF Page B

brothers. It comes down the line, like genes, like our widow’s peaks. Father to son. Mother to daughter. Then the sisters and brothers, we hear each other.
    â€œIt’s a gift. It’s a curse. It is us. The Sabonises. Praise God and Jesus and, most especially, Mary, mother of God, who never got enough credit for her sacrifices and her courage.” My mother reached out to brush my hair back from my widow’s peak, then Valeria’s, then baby Elvira, who had a visible widow’s peak when she was born. She pointed to her own widow’s peak. “This is where it comes in. Through the widow’s peak. We all have one, my father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather.”
    We curled up next to her and she hugged us tight while Elvira cooed. She bent to kiss Valeria and me. “My two angels saved the youngest angel. Thank you, daughters.”
    â€œDo you think I’m a better angel than Antonia?” Valeria asked.
    â€œNo, I’m the better angel,” I told her.
    â€œYou are not.”
    â€œYes, I am.”
    â€œAm, too!”
    â€œYou are both angels,” she said, then glared. “Most of the time.”
    * * *
    That night, our curtains drawn against people who would spy on us, wish ill on us, especially as we were secret Christians, I peeked out at my parents from our closet-sized bedroom. My mother was still holding Elvira, and they both held straight shots of vodka. My father kissed my mother, tenderly, and she kissed him back, then they headed to bed.
    I heard them that night, as I did often.
    My parents didn’t realize how thin the walls were.
    It was like rock-a-bye baby music to me. I went to sleep to my mother’s laughter, my father’s whispered comments, then the bed’s headboard hitting the wall.
    Elvira slept in her crib that night, next to my parents, and Valeria and I slept together in our bed, curled up together, as usual.
    â€œI’ll always listen for you, Antonia,” Valeria said, tapping her peak. “In my head.”
    â€œI’ll listen for you, too, Valeria. I promise.”
    We put those widow’s peaks together, held hands, and went to sleep, clutching the stuffed bears our grandmother Ekaterina had sewn us.
    * * *
    I took three phone calls on my way home from work the next afternoon. This is why I’m glad I have a headset in my car. My family is large, complicated, and they like to talk on the phone.
    The first call was from my aunt Polina, who was in a tizzy about Ellie’s wedding. Aunt Polina wanted to make sure that I knew that she was not— not! —going to sit by my aunt Holly, as Holly is a “... body busy. You know what I say, Antonia? Body busy!”
    â€œA busybody?”
    â€œNo, body busy. She always want to know my business. That not right. And, I say to you, that body smell. Yes, Holly smell. She say it perfume, I say it like this: rat fart. You no put me by her at the wedding table. How you are, my sweet Antonia? I see your mother yesterday at Svetlana’s Kitchen. You know what name of special was? No? I tell you: ‘Antonia Quit Your Job.’ ”
    I groaned.
    â€œWe worry about you, Antonia. I bringing you my borscht. You love the beets and cabbage and the pig’s lard, eh?”
    My cousin, JJ (Nadja when we were in the Soviet Union), Aunt Polina’s and Uncle Yuri’s daughter and one of my best friends, called to confirm dinner next Saturday night downtown. “Don’t bail on me. You need to get out, Toni, and you know it. Boris, Anya, Tati, and Zoya are going. So is Valerie and Kai and Ellie and Gino. And Jax, of course.”
    JJ owns JJ’s Salon. She has ten stylists in her modern, brick, cement-floor downtown salon. Her brown hair is parted down the middle and curled on the sides. She wears fashionable clothes, impeccable makeup. I had heard her speak bluntly to her customers on numerous occasions.
    â€œNo, I won’t allow that