CLEO
Cleo: Hey, Esther, have you heard from Tara?
Esther: Not lately.
Cleo: Hmm, okay. I hope she’s okay.
Esther: Hope so too.
Cleo checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked good—better than she had any right to, considering she was navigating strange waters. A marriage that up until now had been rock solid was unraveling at the edges, and her stash of safety pills had been taken from her. Which meant she had to face her life in full colour—too sharp, too loud, too much.
She’d snapped at Axel more than usual these past couple of days, her voice sharper than the scrape of cutlery against a plate. She’d forgotten to pack extra snacks for Mandy when she went to her grandma’s. She and Jacob weren’t really speaking.
It was Saturday. The house carried that weekend stillness; soft light drifting in through the blinds, cartoons murmuring in the background. Cleo grabbed her bag. She’d finally decided to seek Tara out, first because she was worried about her silence, but also because she needed distraction from her own mess.
“Where are you going?” Jacob’s voice floated from the living room.
“Going to check on Tara.”
It was awkward, this non-fight. In the early days of their marriage, they’d fought loud and messy, hurling words like weapons. Later, there were the marathon quarrels; whispers and curses and reconciliations dragging into the night. Once the children came, their fights became shorter, more muted, like muffled thunder.
But this, this quiet, shapeless space between them, confused her. They were talking, and yet they weren’t. Not really. She wasn’t angry, but she wasn’t happy either. She was sad, worried, and raw in a way she wasn’t used to. The pills had always blurred those jagged edges, lifting her out of chaos, softening life into something manageable. Without them, everything pressed down on her like a weighted blanket.
“Have you…thought about what I said?” Jacob asked, careful, cautious.
Cleo glanced at Axel, his face lit blue by the iPad, oblivious to the tension.
“I’m still thinking,” she said.
Jacob leaned against the counter, his voice dropping. “Babe, I don’t want us to keep going like this. It’s killing me. We need help.”
Cleo kissed Axel’s head, then brushed her lips against Jacob’s cheek—habit more than tenderness. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
She drove to Tara’s in silence, her hands tight on the wheel, wondering how Tara would receive her. Jem had been reluctant when she called, saying Tara didn’t want to see anyone. But Cleo had pressed. It wasn’t healthy to shut everyone out. We’re good friends, she’d told him. Maybe she was convincing herself as much as she was convincing Jem.
**
Jem opened the door quietly, finger pressed to his lips. “Twins are asleep,” he whispered.
It was Cleo’s first time seeing him. He looked older than she expected, scruff shadowing his jaw, thick-framed glasses sliding down his nose. The good looks were still there, though; broad shoulders, a hint of muscle pressing through his shirt. Once upon a time, Cleo might have reached out just to feel that solidity.
“Hi, I’m Cleo,” she said, balancing a wicker basket in one hand. She’d filled it with guesses at comfort; chocolates, coconut cookies, hand cream, a lipstick, sunflowers, a card she hadn’t been sure how to sign.
“Cleo. Jem. Nice to meet you,” his handshake was firm, warm.
The house behind him was dim, cluttered in a way that wasn’t just life with twins. Dishes stacked in the sink, laundry slouched on the sofa, stale air hanging heavy. Cleo forced herself to focus on Jem’s face instead of the chaos.
“Where is she?”
“In the bedroom. She doesn’t know you’re coming, so…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.
Cleo hesitated. It felt like an ambush, but she’d already pushed this far. “How’s she?”
He sighed, exasperation sharp in the sound. “She hasn’t seen the girls in two days. Won’t get out of bed. I don’t even know what to do anymore.”
Something in Cleo’s chest pinched at his helplessness. She thought of her own stash, the little white pills that had once been her net against the fall. She wished she had one to hand him now, just to take the edge off. Instead, she shifted the basket in her hands. “Can I go in?”
He nodded toward the hall. “Second door on the left.”
Cleo knocked—two short raps—and thought she heard a mumble. Taking it as permission, she pushed open the door.
The air inside was thick, stale with sleep and unwashed sheets. Blackout blinds smothered the daylight, leaving the room in an odd half-darkness.
“Tara?” Cleo’s voice was tentative.
A shape stirred under the blankets. “Go away.”
“Tara, it’s me. Cleo.”
There was a pause, then the blankets shifted and Tara sat up, blinking hard. “Cle…what? What are you doing here?”
Cleo gave a small wave. “I come bearing gifts.”
“What are you doing here?” Tara repeated, ignoring the basket.
“I was worried.”
“Why?” Tara’s voice cracked. “You don’t even know me that well. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I owe you kindness,” Cleo said softly, placing the basket on the nightstand. The flowers rustled as she set them down. “Where can I put these?”
“Leave it. Jem will deal with it. You shouldn’t have come. I just want to be left alone.”
“Jem says you haven’t seen the girls in two days.”
Tara’s face hardened. “Jem needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”
The vehemence startled Cleo. She reached out a hand, careful, steady. “He’s not the enemy here, Tara. We’re not the enemy.”
Tara turned her face away, but Cleo caught the shine of tears on her lashes.
“Seriously,” Tara whispered, “why are you here?”
“Short answer? I was worried about you. After that voice note, then you went AWOL.”
“Hmmm…and what’s the long answer?”
“I feel bad. I think we haven’t been honest with each other and it meant we’ve all been carrying a lot silently, and I’m scared that something would happen to you and none of us would be there to help you.”
The silence stretched, heavy, before Tara reached for a mug on the nightstand and took a sip. Cleo guessed the tea inside was cold.
“Want me to ask Jem to warm that up?” Cleo offered.
Tara shook her head, her voice flat. “Jem, Jem, Jem. What do you even think of him?”
“Um…I don’t…I…he’s nice, I guess.” Cleo wondered if this was a trick question. Up until last week, she hadn’t spoken to Jem, only heard about him in passing from Tara. Why would she have any opinion about him?
“Hmm, he is, I guess. That’s what I fell for, you know. His niceness. He was the first man to treat me right in a long time. I’d never dated a white man before, and I thought I needed that to change my luck.”
Cleo was silent. It seemed like Tara needed to talk, get things off her chest.
“I’ve always been a good girl. The type who wants to please her parents. I did everything they wanted. Everything. Even if it meant erasing every shred of who I am. Heck, I don’t even know who I am. I don’t think I ever did. I’m messed up, Cleo. I’m a mess and I’m tired of trying not to be.”
“I think most of us are more of a mess than we’ll ever admit to,” Cleo said with a small smile in the darkness.
“Not you. You’re delightful, you’re confident and colourful and your life is beautiful from where I’m standing, or well, lying, in this case.”
“Ha the ha,” Cleo cleared some space on the bed and settled beside Tara. “Let me tell you a secret. I think I might have a drug problem.”
“No. No!” Tara said. “What?”
It was the first time Cleo was saying the thing aloud, giving voice to her quiet fears, to Jacob’s fears. She let the words sit in the air, in her mind. Had she lied to herself all the while? She’d told herself she had a handle on it, she wasn’t addict because she didn’t take a pill everyday, she only took it when absolutely necessary. Which could be three days in a row, if she was having a particularly bad week.
“Yeah. I’m a mess too. It’s just…I try to hide my messiness with the pills,” she said. “Sometimes, my emotions overwhelm me, and I don’t know how to cope. It’s become worse since I had the kids. Sometimes they’re so cranky and clingy and I get overstimulated and I need something to taper it out.”
“Whoa. But you seem so…together.”
“Honey, no one is together. We’re all just faking it till we, hopefully, make it.”
Tara gave a small laugh, “thank you for saying that. It makes me feel better.”
“I’m glad my messiness puts a smile on your face. Now, it’s your turn to share. Why are you a mess?”
“Hmm, let’s see. Jem and I aren’t married.”
Cleo’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Wait, so was this…were the twins planned?”
“Absolutely not. Nothing about this situation was planned. I was so ashamed to tell people that we were just partners, that I pretended we were married.”
“So, why don’t you get married?”
“He doesn’t believe in marriage. His parents divorced when he was quite young. He thinks marriage is a social construct made up to force commitment. He thinks commitment should be a choice, not because of a paper.”
“Ah, I see.” Jem was one of those men. She’d met quite a number of them in her wild young days. Men who had commitment phobia, who wanted to enjoy all the perks of a relationship without actually committing. Men who were married to one woman and wanted someone young and exciting who didn’t want anything serious either.
“The thing is, he didn’t deceive me or anything like that. He told me when we first met, and I thought I was okay with it. I had been hurt in other relationships and just wanted to be with someone who adored me and treated me right. Jem ticked all those boxes so I thought I could compromise on that one thing. At the very least, I thought that after we’d been together awhile, I could convince him to marry me.”
“Then you got pregnant.”
“Then I got pregnant,” Tara nodded, sipping her cold tea again. “It was a good opportunity to rope him in, right? Except, Jem is quite stoic when he believes something, and I had a scare during my first trimester, and then he wanted us to move in together so he could take care of me. I didn’t want that. Even though I was already fornicating, I didn’t think I could handle living in sin with a man I wasn’t married to.”
There was something about the way Tara said the words fornicating and living in sin. It reminded her of old Mount Zion movies her parents had watched when she was younger. She hadn’t known that Tara was a devout Christian; yes, she sensed a bit of judgina from the comments she made, but she hadn’t known how deep the roots ran.
“My parents…my parents disapproved,” Tara’s voice broke. “My mum and I used to be close, but when she found out about this…she stopped speaking with me.”
“Hence that voice note?”
Tara nodded, “We haven’t spoken since I had the twins. I had nobody come do omugwo for me. It was just me, Jem and Google figuring things out.”
“Wow. I’m surprised it took so long for you to run away.”
Tara glanced at her, “That’s the thing, I didn’t plan to run away. I just…I just needed space. I needed to breath. It felt like I was suffocating here, with the girls, with Jem.”
Cleo reached out and covered Tara’s hand with hers. “We all feel that way sometimes, Tara.”
“You don’t understand. I have felt that way everyday for the past three months. I intentionally find reasons to leave the house so I’m not with the girls. My stomach hurts at the thought of coming home to them. I think something is wrong with me, Cleo. I am not behaving like a real mother.”