Pieces of Us (10 page)

Katie

M
ama is here for a three-day weekend and making my life hell.

“How can you live here, Katie? It’s so … so … primitive.” She frowns.

“That’s the appeal, and it’s
Katya
.”

She waves her arm at me like I’m a bug she’s trying to swat. It grazes the sticky fly-catching paper hanging from the ceiling and she shrieks. I bite my lip not to laugh. “Primitive,” she mumbles.

“Why did you come?” I swear I can smell Jersey on her.

She looks at me like she hasn’t heard me right. “To spice things up for you. Bring some civilization back.” She holds up her cell phone proudly.

“It won’t work here. You know that.” I take it from her and show her the little line through the phone. “See? No reception.” Thank God.

She pouts. “And here I thought I was doing you a favor. Figured you could text your friends. I’m sure I could drive you somewhere with email.”

That’s the last thing I want. “I’m fine.”

She shakes her head. “You can tell me the truth—Babushka is outside. We’re the same, you and me. You need adventure, the buzz. The phone ringing, the parties. We don’t do well when we’re forced to blend into the background. I saw it after Ethan broke up with you.”

I want to tell her I’ve been in the forefront of too much buzz. I want the background. Disappearing in the summer is heaven. She takes my silence for agreement.

“I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. And look where we are.” She spreads her hands out to illustrate, but I know she also means Cherry Hill, not just here.

“What’s so bad about where we are?” I ask it as if I really don’t know. She needs to think we’re alike, and I’m scared to tell her we aren’t. Scared to tell her I haven’t been fun, free-spirited Katie for a while.

“Nothing, if you never had more. But I almost did.”

I know this story. The popular frat guy she lost because she stripped in front of all his friends after too much booze. Disgrace runs in the family. The thing is, she never told me this story. I heard her talking with Babushka long ago. I knew better than to tell her I knew.

“But you met Dad, so it all worked out.” I want her to stop talking and leave. The phone, even though barless, is offensive on the bed. I feel Cherry Hill getting closer and closing me in.

She laughs bitterly. “Yeah, I guess it did. You father had no issue with the fact that I was rotten goods—” She catches herself and looks at me. “I never told you this, but I, um, showed some bad judgment. Details aren’t important, but let’s just say it made me lose the homecoming king.”

“But you got Dad,” I say again, stupidly.

She leans in as if there are other people around. “Let me tell you something. You’re old enough to hear it now. Your father is a good man. Good husband. Good father. He provides for us, et cetera. But what does it say when someone is so willing to look past the spoils in front of him? He only cares about what’s on the inside, he told me. You know what that shows? Desperation. Weakness. And I was weak too, and desperate for some kind of future, so I took it.”

The images in the crevices of my brain get big again.
Shots, keg stand, me fading, Ethan on me, Chris, pushing, pain.
They spin around on a loop and won’t go away.

Mama touches my hand. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. I just thought you needed to know. Don’t settle for almost. Don’t be desperate, Katie.”

Alex

I
knock on the door of Katya’s lake house, obviously interrupting some powwow between her and her mother. Katya looks spooked, and her mother waves me in. Don’t know what it is about that woman, but I don’t want to be on her bad side.

Mrs. Taylor smoothes her skirt and flips her hair. “So nice to see you again,” she purrs. Whoa, wait. Is she actually flirting with me?

“You too, Mrs. T. And”—I test out my theory—“you lost weight, right? Looking good.”

She beams and giggles. I sneak a peek at Katya, but her face is blank. She obviously has not recovered from whatever I walked in on.

“Thank you,” says Mrs. T. Then she leans forward, bringing attention to her tits, which is something she doesn’t have to do since those puppies are already hanging out. “You look like you’ve been working out yourself—doesn’t he, Katie?”

I half-expect her to pull a cherry stem out of her boobs and tie it into a knot with her tongue. I’m game. Old bitches, young ones, I guess they’re all the same. I flex my arm, and she flashes her too-white teeth. Katya finally snaps to and moves beside me.

“Sure does, Mama,” she says, and makes a show of grabbing my biceps. She’s smiling but still white as my ass. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her to me.

Then the old bitch squeals like some girl at a boy band concert and lunges for my guns. “Ooh, let me,” she says. “We old ladies don’t get to touch muscles like that anymore.”

Katya turns red. Shit, how did my Katya come out of
that
gene pool?

I play her. “Who are you calling old? If I were a few years older and not dating your daughter … ”

“He’s a charmer,” she says. “Reminds me of someone I knew back in college.”

Katya tenses, and, fun game or not, I don’t need some beauty-queen has-been pissing her off. “Later, Mrs. T,” I say as Katya squeezes the shit out of my hand.

“Oh please,” she says with that whore giggle. “It’s Anna.”

“See you soon, Anna.” I flex one of my muscles again, and Katya pulls me harder to the door.

“I was wrong a few minutes ago,” says Anna, looking at us. “You definitely traded up, Katie. Don’t let this one get away.”

“It’s Katya,” she answers, and slams the door.

Julie

M
ama came last weekend and Dad is here now. My parents say they like the one-on-one time with Katie and me; that’s why they don’t come here together. Mama spent most of her time with Katie, other than to tell me—after seeing me in the bathing suit—that she may have been wrong about the suit; green is not really my color.
What IS?
I asked. She thought for all of two seconds, then said, “Maybe you don’t have a color.” Nice.

At least Dad doesn’t put me on edge. I don’t really talk to him about boys, unless he asks. Usually, he doesn’t. He never tells me I need to lose weight—but this could be because his middle seems to get rounder every day. Right now, it’s right before dinner time, and the lake is empty and we’re sitting on the dock dangling our feet in the water. When
he
saw me in my green monstrosity, he said the bow was cute. He’s easy. He’s nice. So why is it I only care about what Mama thinks? I once heard Babushka say that Mama’s standards were crazy high. Maybe that’s it. Reaching them will make me feel I have achieved something. With Dad, it’s like those classes where everyone gets an A. Doesn’t mean as much.

“How’s your summer been?” he asks.

I shrug. “It’s fine.” Could be better, if Kyle would just look at me the way he looks at Katie. But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t actually look at her like he wants her, but it’s this deer in headlights look. Like he’s frozen by her. Why don’t I have that effect?

Dad looks at me and splashes the water with his feet. “Just fine?” There’s teasing in his voice. What does he know?

“I think fine is pretty good.”

“Hmm,” he says. “You and Kyle looked like great buds playing cards.”

I’m sure my face is red. “We’re just friends,” I mumble.

“If you say so.” He smiles and kicks a bit of water my way.

I wish Chloe was here. I don’t talk to Katie about Kyle because it seems just uttering the names of boys I like sends them her way. And forget about talking to Mama, because she’ll just say Kyle is out of my league and maybe she’s right, but I don’t want to hear it now. Dad is here. Dad won’t judge. I sigh. “It’s not me who wants to be friends,” I say.

“How do you know
he
does? Teenage boys can be
clueless.”

Does he think I have a shot? It might get my hopes up.

“Well, he’d have to be a complete imbecile not to know. I’ve done everything the magazines say.”

Dad raises his eyebrows in alarm, and I roll my eyes. “You know, like, touching his arm … ” I trail off. The details are embarrassing. “Trust me, he’s gotta know.”

“Look, kiddo, men don’t know much and boys even less. Unless you’ve said you like him—point blank put it out there—I wouldn’t bet on anything.”

I splash the water with my toes. I’m feeling better. “You really think so?”

“Yes, honey, I do. Give it a shot.”

I smile at him. It feels good talking to him about this. Then he says, “It’s how I got your mom,” and that changes everything.

I heard about him and Mom. Not everything. Not all the details. Only that Mom thought she settled. She told me herself—not in those exact words, and not about him specifically, but about her life, and Dad is part of her life, so how else could I take it? Once, I saw her looking at an invite to her college reunion, and I asked her if college was fun. I don’t know what possessed me to ask the next question, maybe I was just getting into boys, but I asked her if she’d had many boyfriends.

“There was a boy before your father,” she’d said. “He was something. Now
there
was a strong guy.” She didn’t have to add, “unlike your father.” I got that. After that, I watched Daddy more. Saw how he gave into everything she wanted. How he didn’t argue with her over
anything
. It seemed … weak.

“Yep,” he continues as if I’ve answered. “And we’ve been a-okay. But if I’d sat back and said nothing? Who knows where we’d be today. Probably not here with you.” He grins and ruffles my hair, and I feel guilty for thinking bad things about him.

What if he’s right? Didn’t going up to my mom—the homecoming queen herself—take guts? “All right,” I say. “I’ll tell him.”

“Attagirl. And when he reciprocates, treat him good, okay? That boy is a good egg. I can tell.”

Katie

H
ang with us tonight,” I tell Yulya. She’s lying on the bottom bunk reading something from her summer Required Reading list. She’s seemed perkier ever since Dad was here, but not around me. Only when she’s playing Spit with Kostya. With me, she’s moody.

She doesn’t look up from her book. “I don’t think so.”

“We’re going to Wild West City and Sasha said Kostya is coming.” This isn’t true, not yet. But I want her to come. She was so unhappy at home, and here, too. I thought summer at the lake houses would snap her out of whatever funk she was in this year. It hasn’t, but the arcade—the arcade with Kostya—could help.

She doesn’t put down her book, but she stops moving her hand mid-page-flip. “Yeah?” There’s excitement in her voice, and I can also tell she’s trying to keep it toned down, hoping I won’t notice.

“Yep.” I climb down from the top bunk. This could be my chance to get in her head. Kostya, huh? I suspected she liked him. He seems like a nice guy. But I thought Ethan was nice too. And Chris. And Derek. What do I know? My radar has obviously been defective. “Want to borrow one of my tops? Maybe that sleeveless pink cardigan you always stare at?”

“I do not,” she says, finally putting her book down and smiling. Actually smiling. Her guard is disappearing, and I can almost see it happening, rolling down, down, down like a car window.

“Makeup?” I say.

“Are we on a makeover reality show?” Yulya asks, snorting.

I roll my eyes. “Hush. You’re ruining a perfect sister bonding moment.”

“Too perfect, no?” she says, but gets off the bed and walks over to me. She sits on the chair by our dresser and closes her lids so I can apply eye shadow.

I don’t know when I’ll get this chance again, so after the pink shadow, I add blush, and then lipstick. “Why didn’t you tell me you liked him?” I ask as she admires herself in the mirror.

She shrugs. She never tells me anything anymore. Maybe she doesn’t even know why.

“Well, he’d be crazy not to think you’re beautiful.” I toss the cardigan to her. “Put this on. I’ll be right back.”

I leave the room and run to talk to Sasha, stealing one glance behind me. Yulya is standing still, holding the cardigan to her chest, blush getting brighter, eyes getting dreamy, a look on her face I don’t recognize. Happiness, maybe.

Julie

I
feel pretty, and I am scared to let the thought grow. Once it’s out there, it can be blown to smithereens. Back when Derek and I started our whatever-that-was, I thought it. That first time he kissed me, I thought, “Wow, Derek Santos is kissing
me
. I must look good.” That could be when it all began to go to hell. Like being vain for that split second made everything unravel.

I put the cardigan on, leaving the top button open like Katie does. It’s tighter on me than on her, but it molds with my skin and hides the pudginess. Wearing it makes me want to forget the last time I saw Katie in it. It was the last time Derek came over. I heard the door open and his voice downstairs and waited until someone called me down. I was wearing lipstick and blush and thought he’d swoon when he saw me. Minutes passed and no one called so I forgot about grand entrances and made my way down the stairs. He and Katie were laughing in the kitchen. I hadn’t heard Katie laugh since Ethan dumped her and my first thought was, “Good. I’m glad Derek is cheering her up.” But then I paused a few seconds on the stairs and watched. And he was leaning in so close, and I saw his arm brush hers. He smiled the smile I thought was meant for me alone and ogled the pink cardigan like it was a winding road and his eyes were afraid of losing course. I went back up the stairs and made lots of noise coming down. When I got into the kitchen, he wasn’t leaning into her like that anymore.

We went for a walk, and I was so stupid. I still thought the walk would be romantic. It was a break-up walk.

Two days later, I saw the two of them pressed up against the side of the school, oblivious that anyone else could see them. I told myself it didn’t matter. When she kissed him back, letting his hands roam over her like only his eyes did in our kitchen, I pretended it didn’t hurt.

I kept waiting for her to say something or act differently around me. She didn’t. It was as if nothing happened. Maybe to Katie, it
was
nothing. I mean, it was just another boy. Kisses came easy for her. So I stopped “overreacting,” as my mom said. And kept telling myself he was never mine.

“Yulya, let’s go!” Katie now calls from outside.

I glance at the mirror again and pat the cardigan like it’s magic. A speck of gold glitter falls into my hand. I pocket it and run out the door.