“Don’t pretend you know what my relationship with Sean is simply because you don’t like it. I don’t know about these other women. But with me he’s kind. And accepting. And my life has been a mess. I lost my family. And I can’t book a fucking acting role to save my life. And I’ve hated who I am when I look in the mirror, even when other people are looking at me or wanting me or whatever. I sat in an old apartment with no working heat, drinking two-dollar wine with coked-up friends who have no direction. Then I found Sean. And we met halfway. And look at him! Do you even look at your father? He’s happy. You can’t tell me he’s not happy!”
“He’s happy now,” Arizona says. She’s getting a little sloshed. Drinking too fast on an empty stomach is a bad idea. “Being happy now isn’t the same thing as being happy forever.”
“News flash. No one’s happy forever,” Karissa says. It’s something true and terrible. It takes my breath away. It makes me take a long sip of margarita. In the cross fire between Arizona and Karissa there’s no right and wrong, only horribly depressing. “We’re all trying not to be lonely. And you, Arizona. You are fucking lonely.” She pours herself more margarita and smiles the smile of someone who is winning.
“Hey now,” Roxanne says, which is nothing really.
“Arizona has me,” I say, because it finally clicks that I have to pick a side this morning. And it’s no contest. I pick her.
Karissa looks back and forth from me to Arizona like she’s trying to see what’s between us. I hate myself for ever telling her about missing my sister, about not feeling close to my sister, about wondering if my sister and I will ever feel the same way again. I hate so many things I said when I didn’t know Karissa was dating my father. It was such an unfair place we were in. She was in one relationship, and I was in a whole other relationship, a different reality. And I guess that’s what betrayal looks like.
“I’m not like you,” Arizona says. She puts down her margarita and gets back in Karissa’s face. “I can’t compete with someone like you. I get that now. I thought I could maybe, but obviously that’s not in the cards for me. I don’t have my dad, I guess, and I don’t have some Bernardo loving every tiny thing about me.” She’s getting choked up, and it’s so strange she’d even bring him up, because even though it feels like he’s existed for me forever, he’s barely been around. “We can’t all be strange and lovable and quirky and free, okay?” She stops herself, realizing she’s said too much. She’s given Karissa power in the very moment that she was supposed to be taking control of the situation.
The words Karissa said—you are fucking lonely—echo in the kitchen. They did something to my sister.
“You’re great, Arizona,” I say. It’s so quiet and small and pointless. It’s so much tinier than the things I should say to her. I wonder if she has a friend at Colby who could say something more powerful. Someone who knows her better these days. Someone who isn’t a little bit angry at her still.
“You’re sad,” Karissa says. It’s cruel and cutting. It gets worse. “Your father loves me in a way that makes you jealous, and I get that. I so, so get that. You wish he loved you more. Loved you enough to do whatever you say. He doesn’t.”
Me, Arizona, and Roxanne inhale together. A sharp sting of a breath. Karissa has a wicked look on her face, like she’s won something none of us understood was up for grabs.
“My father would have done anything for me,” Karissa goes on. She sees the looks on our faces, and instead of them holding her back, they propel her forward. “He told me to stay home the day they died. Said it was too dangerous to drive. He protected me. That’s love.
“My father said I was the most beautiful girl in the world,” Karissa continues. I can’t believe she’s not stopping. The air in the room is thick with heat and shock.
Karissa’s going for the kill, and it’s an awful thing to have to watch.
“I don’t trust you,” Arizona says when she’s regained the balance she lost from how deep the words cut. She downs the rest of her drink without being instructed to. She slams it on the counter when she’s finished. “I don’t trust you and I don’t like you and you’re not going to like how this all goes down.”
“Neither are you, honeybun,” Karissa says. She pours yet another drink. She’s drowning in margaritas, and I wonder if she’ll even remember all of this tomorrow.
I will. I won’t forget.
thirty-five
I spend the rest of the day and that night at Arizona’s apartment, but by the following evening Karissa is blowing up my phone with desperate texts, and I can’t stop myself from meeting up with her.
She brings an orchid.
“It’s special,” she says. “It’s sensitive.”
“I’m not sure I have a green thumb,” I say.
“I’ll help you with it,” she says. It’s a beautiful and weighty peace offering. Janie was the wife with the green thumb, and it’s funny to be thinking of her now, but I can’t stop the rush of thoughts. I miss her little boys and Saturday mornings we spent at a community garden planting vegetables.
I wonder what she would think of Karissa. What she would think of me now.
I wouldn’t mind seeing her. Even after the Tess fiasco. I wouldn’t mind her knowing who I am now. Maybe it would complete something—me seeing all the stepmoms.
Karissa orders a martini. A French one.