“Her name is Karissa,” I said. “She’s the best in the class. Do you want to split the prosciutto sandwich?” I held the menu in front of his face so that he would forget everything about Karissa. It did not work. She had green eyes after all. And a dozen silver bracelets on her right hand that clanked against one another if she moved at all, making everyone hyperaware of her movements. She had long eyelashes and red lips and that cool combination of camisole with leather vest that means she’s good in bed, I think.
She wasn’t perfect. But that’s why she was so goddamn beautiful. My dad has never understood that. He sees a field of wildflowers, thinks it’s really great, but also thinks pulling out all the weeds and manicuring it into a perfect garden will make it better. Then he’s disappointed at the result.
With her freckles and softly frizzing brown hair and crazy outfits, Karissa is totally a field of wildflowers.
“Do you like her?” he said.
“She’s talented.” I added more sugar to my latte. After one day in her presence I wanted her to be my friend. Or my new sister. “She smokes.”
“People give up smoking,” Dad said.
And I guess maybe I should have known then what was coming.
nine
Natasha is the wife who taught me about gratitude.
She is the wife I wish was still our mom. More than I wish our actual mom was still our mom, because our actual mom chose to leave us, whereas Natasha chose to make things right with me a year after she left.
She taught me about writing the List of Things to Be Grateful For. She writes ten a day. I try for three.
I work really effing hard to find things to be grateful for on days like today.
For instance, I am grateful for the stoop and the perfect temperature of the evening and the fact that I can pretend planes flying up above are stars in the sky.
Arizona comes home from dinner to find me on the stoop and shoves takeout pasta into my hands like it’s a grenade. Orecchiette. Little ears. My favorite, only because of the name.
“I needed you there,” she says. I almost forget about her boobs, her face is that sad.
“You don’t get it,” I say. “That’s Karissa. That’s the girl I’ve been talking about all spring. That’s her. You know how much she matters to me.”
“Not fair,” she says. “I’m supposed to matter to you.” Karissa comes up from behind in her own cab with Dad. I guess they couldn’t even all stand to come home together in one car. Dad kisses Karissa on the lips, a smacking sound that will echo in my head forever, and blows by me on his way into the apartment and up to bed.
Karissa lingers a few feet away for a moment, then heads inside, where I can feel her waiting for me and Arizona to finish up so she can come outside and chat too.
“We can’t let this happen,” I say.
“Is she, like, unstable?” Arizona says. “She was a little erratic at dinner.”
I almost tell her about Karissa’s impressive grief and story-like past. But I keep it for myself. I guess I have a habit of keeping things from Arizona, a reality I don’t want to look at too squarely.
“Also, that woman can drink. No wonder you were such a disaster the other night,” Arizona says. “She’s staying over. Do you want to stay at my place so you don’t have to deal with that?” She almost forgives me already, and that’s what I love about my sister. Her anger has a sharp peak and a deep valley. It’s enough to make me think I could tell her about Natasha, at last, after all these years, and that she’d forgive me for being close with the one person we’re supposed to hate the most. “And I’m sorry, I want to be supportive, but for the love of God, you look like a cartoon character.” She pulls at my hair and raises her eyebrows. We’re sisters again, just like that.
“Pot calling the kettle black,” I say, even though I’m the one still in the doghouse and should definitely shut up.
“They look natural,” Arizona says. “Don’t even try to tell me they don’t. And it sounds stupid to you, I guess, but he’s not totally wrong. I do feel sort of great. And sure. I walk around the Village and feel like . . . a woman. Like, in control. I don’t know. Can we shut down this topic? Like, permanently? I want to feel good with what I did.” She looks down at her own cleavage. We both do. “I don’t know,” she says. “Anyway. Eat up. I’ll hate you less tomorrow.” She digs a plastic fork out of her pocket, because Arizona is nothing if not prepared to take care of me, so I sit on the stoop and dig in. There’s nothing quite like eating fancy food on your stoop. It’s cheese and oil perfection, so for a glorious moment I’m okay. Cheese can make me forget about anything for the length of time of one bite.
Arizona catches a cab, and the cheese and I watch her go.
Karissa sits down next to me only a minute later. She must have been watching us from the front door’s window this whole time. I’m nervous to be near her. We’re in some weird space between what we were three days ago and what we are about to become. It feels like wearing jeans that used to fit and still technically button up, but might rip at the seams if you kick your leg in the air.
“You okay?” she says.
“Shit, dude,” I say.