Pea’s a crowd

CW: violence

She hated snow peas. The way they became little strings after chewing, she said, frustrated her when they got stuck in her teeth. Mother loved snow peas. Even during the summer months she tried to keep them alive. But they usually died and mother would spend the rest of the summer months remarking on how this meal or that meal would have been better with those peas on our plates. 

Since her phone call, I’ve wracked my brain trying to think of what to cook for tonight’s meal. I thought of something with chicken or beef, then thought no, she might be a vegetarian now. Any sort of Mexican, Indian or Thai was out of the question; I didn’t know what ethnicity her husband was and I didn’t want to risk insulting him with my white washed renditions. I could have just called her and asked, but she didn’t leave me her number. So I decided on something that would surely get a laugh. 

I place the bowl on the table, filled to the brim with Pecorino Sardo cheese, mint, onion and snow peas, but she doesn't flinch. Not even a double take. She looks me dead in the eye and says “looks delicious, thank you sister”. She serves two large portions onto her plate, puts a forkful of the stringy greens in her mouth, and munches and swallows them without hesitation. What the fuck. 

My husband shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. Throughout the week before this dinner I had explained to him my sister's strange disgust towards snow peas, mother’s love for snow peas and my snow pea plans for tonight. He thought it was a strange idea, I thought it would be a funny joke. He’s now giving me a look that screams “I told you so”.

It’s been 25 years since I've last seen my sister. Or was it 26? I can’t remember. She rang me on Tuesday last week. I thought it strange she knew she would catch me during the day, but hearing that when she saw me on the television talking about my book, she knew I was a working-from-home type, and would catch me at any time. I don’t remember saying yes to dinner at 6pm on Saturday, or even giving her my address, but I must have because here they are right here in my house, eating snow peas. 

“It’s great to finally meet you and your husband”, my husband says.

“It’s nice to meet you too”, my sister replies. 

Her husband just nods and smiles. Weird guy. 

I pour more wine into mine and my husband's glasses. I offer them a glass but they politely decline. 

“So what do you do for work?”, my husband asks my sister. 

“I’m not working at the moment, I have taken time off to write a book”, she replies. 

I choke on my red wine. Her eyes shoot towards mine.

“Sorry, it went down the wrong hole”, I cough out. My husband looks at me strangely then turns back to my sister. 

“Congratulations, a novel isn’t an easy task”, my husband exclaims. “You know, my wonderfully talented wife here has just published her first book, and it’s not doing too bad”.

He playfully puts his arm around my shoulder and kisses my cheek. 

“Oh stop it”, I say. 

“Don’t be modest,” my sister interjects. “I’ve been following your book for a while now, I couldn’t believe it when I saw your face on the television. My darling sister, a famous writer”. 

Up to this point in my life my sister has been a ghost. She floated out and has now floated back into my life. Where had she been all this time?

“So what do you think?”, I say as I pour myself another glass of red. 

“I loved it. I thought it was...strong”, she replies. 

“Strong?, what do you mean by strong?”, I say, perplexed. I’ve never heard someone describe it as strong before. 

She grins and replies “You know what I mean”. 

Her eyes dig into mine. In the pit of my stomach something turns, and it's not the snow peas. The room suddenly feels crooked; knives and plates and glasses are at strange angles. I shuffle my chair in and out and in again. My husband notices my unease and holds the arm rest of my chair to stop my fidgeting. My sister's husband continues to pick at the snow peas before him, totally oblivious. 

“What I mean is - you are very confident in telling your story. Our story. It’s really quite a beautiful book sister”, my sister says.

She eats a mouthful of the snow peas while looking me directly in the eyes.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I clear my throat and say thank you again. Much louder and more direct this time. After a long pause my husband speaks up.

“ So what is your book about?” 

“It’s a children’s book actually. It’s about two girls”, she replies. 

I take in another mouthful of snow peas, chewing on them slowly. 

“Don’t you want to know what it’s about, sister?”, she says. 

Green strings get stuck in between my teeth. My tongue searches for them to pull them out. Stupid snow peas. I nod my head up and down, mouth closed. 

“Like I said, it’s about two girls. Two sisters actually. They live on a farm with all their farm animals. Pigs and chickens and cows. They love to play with the farm animals and take care of them throughout the year. But one by one the animals begin to die, and the sisters don’t know why”.

She moves her snow peas around her plate, cutting them into smaller segments. My husband grabs my hand. 

“That doesn’t sound like a children’s book,” he says. 

My sister smiles broadly and laughs. “You’re right, it’s not. It’s a thriller I’ve been working on for about a year now. I just like to start off by saying it’s a children's book. I love to watch people’s reactions when I tell the story. They are shocked, like how you both are right now”. My sister begins to laugh. 

“Oh” my husband says flatly. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to upset you” my sister replies. “It’s just a book, nothing serious, right sister?”. 

She looks at me again. Those eyes. I look at my sister's husband, not looking at anyone in particular, smiling from ear to ear. Has he said anything all night? 

“Your wife is a very intelligent woman” my sister says.

“Yes, she is,” my husband says. 

His body language has changed. His eyes focus on my sisters, his posture straightens. My sister doesn’t notice. Her focus is on me. To her, I am the only person in this room. 

“It's getting a bit late, I think it’s time we call it a night”, my husband says.

My sister laughs. I realise I haven’t said anything for a while. But my mouth is dry, sealed shut by my wine. I watch the knife firm in her right hand, the massacre of snow peas on her plate. I reach for my wine, my hand misjudges the distance and I knock over the glass. Wine spills everywhere and stains the white cloth red. Red everywhere. An audible gasp is heard from my husband. No one else flinches.  

“What has she told you?”, my sister says to my husband.

Her eyes are still on mine, hand firmly clasping the knife. A smile creases the sides of her lips “Did she tell you why I left?”. 

I’m back at our family home. I see my sister at the doorway of my mother's house. Red everywhere. Mother is dead. I can’t speak. The red wine has crusted my tongue into sandpaper.

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I think it’s time for you both to leave”, my husband announces. 

He’s now standing. My sister's husband is staring at me. His once permanent smile has completely disappeared. My sister is still holding the knife in her hand. My mind spins anti-clockwise. I see my sister leaving. I see my mother dead. I see the knife in my sister's hand. I see her walk out the door, smiling. 

“Get the fuck out of my house, now”, my husband screams. 

I look at my sister, with the knife still firmly grasped in her hand. Then I remember. I remember. My sister begins to raise the knife higher. Her husband remains seated, staring at me. Has he blinked at all tonight? 

Before I have a moment to think, she jumps over the table towards me. The knife reaching out, her eyes in a craze. 

I am now on the floor and my arm hurts. All I can see are snow peas. Lots and lots of those stupid green beans all over the dining room floor. My husband is in front of me, he doesn't answer when I call his name. My sister's husband is next to him, a kitchen knife protrudes from his stomach. I pull myself from the floor, my arm is bleeding and my head is pulsing. I crawl towards my husband and shake his body, he doesn’t move. There is blood everywhere, it’s soaked into the carpet. He’s dead. How long have I been lying here? 

“You’ve been out for a while now”, I hear my sister say from behind me. 

“Your husband didn’t last long. My husband, well, firstly he isn’t my husband. Poor thing. I paid him to come here with me”. She laughs. 

“What the fuck do you want”. 

It sounds like these words are coming from another part of the room, but I can feel my lips moving, the word fuck scratching the back of my throat. 

My sister looks at me and smiles, “Ah, there she is”

“Ok, so you ruined dinner and you’ve killed my husband, what else do you want?”

She walks towards me. Her eyes don’t escape mine. In the corner of my eye I spot a knife in my husband's hand. Did he kill my sister's actor husband with it? My hand twitches, I kneel quickly to grab the knife from my husband's hand. It’s covered in blood so it slides out easily. 

She is standing directly in front of me now and says “I’ve been trying to find you for years. You changed your name, moved all the way to the other side of the country. Even your hair. Did your husband know you are a natural blonde? No, he didn’t know anything about you did he? Then I saw you on the television and your eyes. I have never forgotten those eyes, looking up at me”.

My mind is adrift. I am watching us both from the corner of the dining room. She is standing with a knife in her hand. I see her left hand shaking uncontrollably. I look at myself. The knife is firm in my right hand. I see a slight smile pull at the corners of my lips. I watch myself begin to speak.

“Well, we have something in common, because I’ve been trying to find you too”.

I watch myself leap forward towards her, pushing her onto the carpet beside my husband. She tries to scramble free but I am watching myself hold her down. I look strong. She is holding back the arm with my knife. My other hand finds her face, I push my fingers into her eye sockets. I hear a pop, then a second pop. Her screaming is unbearable. I stab her in the shoulder, then in the stomach. Useless bitch, just like our mother.

I am now back in my body, looking down at my sister. Bits of snow peas stick between the strands of her hair. Green and red in between blonde. I am back at our old house, our old farm. I am looking down at our mother and she is covered in blood. My right hand is holding a brick. I look up and see my sister in the doorway, she is crying.

I am now smiling, and I can feel the strings of green between my teeth. Those stupid beans.