Things We Left Unsaid Read Online Free PDF Page B

years. On the day she finished, after months of hand-sewing, the twins counted the patches in both bedspreads to make sure they were equal in number. At the foot of each bed was a pair of
plastic house slippers, both red with yellow tassels. In a room where everything came in identical pairs, only the dolls were not lookalikes. Once I asked them, ‘Why do you like all your
things to look the same?’
    They pow-wowed together before answering. Armineh said, ‘This way, it seems like...’
    Arsineh finished the sentence, ‘...it seems like we are never alone.’ And she put her arm around her sister’s shoulder.
    When I asked, ‘How come the dolls aren’t lookalikes, then?’ They looked at each other, then at me, and said, ‘We don’t know.’
    I tidied up the room, thinking about the close rapport between my daughters, and hoping they would remain close friends as adults. I folded Arsineh’s pyjamas and put them under her pillow,
thinking about me and Alice when we were kids. Which one of us was to blame for how things turned out? I put Ishy on Armineh’s bed and thought, well, there were also times I was mean to
Alice. I picked the black doll, whose name was Tom, off the bed. The twins were more careful of Tom than of their other dolls. ‘We don’t want the poor thing to think we like him less
because of the color of his skin.’ I remembered the day when, out of spite, I taught Alice the multiplication tables all wrong. And there were a few times when she asked me to write her
composition assignments for her, and I had not done it. I put Tom in the dolls’ crib. As the little cradle rocked, I recalled yet again the promise I had made Father, and repeated it to
myself: ‘Whatever Alice says, I will say she is right.’ The doorbell rang.
    I opened the door and, again, did not see anyone at the expected height. This time I lowered my head more swiftly than the day before.
    She had on a white blouse with buttoned-up collar, and a black skirt. Yesterday’s pearl necklace dangled over her blouse. She was wearing nylon stockings – it made me hot just
looking at them. When I saw her black patent-leather high-heeled shoes, I thought her shoe size must be a 30, the same size as the twins. She held out a box in my direction. ‘It’s sour
cherry cake. Home-made.’
    I suggested that we go to the living room. She held up the palm of her left hand and looked downward. ‘No. This is not a formal call. I’ve actually come to apologize.’ Her eyes
gazed up at mine. ‘For my behavior yesterday.’ She put the box in my hand and headed for the kitchen.
    By the time I could close the door and follow after her, she was already sitting at the kitchen table. She had on two rings today, one with a green stone and the other with a big, colourless
stone, which I presumed must be a diamond. If Alice were there, she would have known for sure. My sister loved jewelry almost, or maybe even just as much, as chocolate and sweets.
    My short-statured neighbor was looking around. ‘What a pretty kitchen. How originale !’
    I couldn’t see, but I was sure her feet did not reach the floor.
    I took a cake plate down from one of the kitchen cupboards, a round china dish Alice had brought back as a souvenir from her last trip to England. I opened the box and slid the cake off its
cardboard disc onto the serving dish. I left the box and the cardboard disc on the counter and took the cake plate over to the table. ‘What a pretty cake! Why did you go to all this
trouble?’
    She gave a half-smile. ‘Bravo!’
    Seeing my confused look, she explained, ‘Every other Armenian lady I’ve brought cake for just sets it on the table on the cardboard platter.’ She preferred tea to coffee. She
poured milk in her tea and started to stir.
    The sour cherry cake looked better than it tasted. ‘What a tasty cake,’ I hurried to reassure her.
    ‘It’s not tasty,’ she said. ‘I had no vanilla.’ She was still stirring her tea.
    I