I took out the bottle of makeup remover and a few cotton balls. I tipped the bottle onto the cotton and slowly, gently wiped it over her eyes and cheeks, taking the smears of color away. I studied her face while her eyes were closed, how her lashes brushed her cheeks, the small freckles that now dotted her nose, the acne scars.
“Done,” I told her, tossing the cotton balls into the can under the sink. I stood to go, but she pulled me back.
“Stay,” she asked. So I sat on the closed lid of the toilet while she splashed water on her face, then brushed her teeth. She looked at herself with toothpaste suds still on her lips. “You know, I spent like two hours getting ready for tonight. I shaved. Everything.” She shot me a look and I got what she meant. “What a waste.”
I had to laugh a little. It was such a drag, putting in the time for someone who didn’t appreciate it. I had been spending an extra fifteen minutes every morning getting ready for school, just in case I saw Daniel. So far, if I did the math, I had wasted over two hours making myself look good for him and had only seen him twice since the party.
“You know what?” She spat angrily into the sink. “Now I’m getting a little bit mad. Who does he think he is? Like he’s so awesome? Maybe I don’t like him anymore.”
I nodded. “Yeah, he’s not all that,” I agreed. But picturing Max’s handsome face in my mind, I had a hard time convincing myself. He was pretty hot. “I think you could do better, really. I mean, he’s your high school boyfriend, right? Maybe you’re over that.”
Sarah dried her face and looked at herself closely. “Maybe I am,” she said. She tipped her chin up and looked at herself from the side in the mirror. “Maybe I am.”
The next morning at breakfast, Mom couldn’t help herself. She brought up Max, and the possibility of giving him another chance.
“We’ll see,” Sarah said quietly, looking down into her yogurt bowl. “I doubt he’s going to call me, and I’m not calling him.”
“Why not?” Mom asked.
I let out a laugh. “You guys didn’t even want her dating Max before, remember? Now you’re bummed that they’re not deeply in love.”
“Nico,” Mom said sharply, “that’s not true. We always liked Max.”
I exchanged a look with Sarah across the table. “I just hope he doesn’t feel like he waited around for me or anything,” she said.
“He wasn’t waiting, he was with Paula,” I mumbled. I wanted Mom to stop pushing for this. Why couldn’t she let it go?
“Okay, Nico, I’ve had enough. Are you trying to be hurtful?” Mom asked.
I pushed my chair back and brought my bowl over to the sink without answering her. Why did anyone think it would be easy for Sarah to just slip back into her old life? For any of us to do that? I didn’t want the old Sarah back, even if Max and my parents did.
Gram finally pulled it together enough to visit us that next week, and I couldn’t wait to see her. It had been almost a year, and while I knew she had been sick, it was still a shock to see her coming off the plane at the airport in a wheelchair.
“I’m fine, I’ve got it,” she said in a wavering voice as she stood from the wheelchair at the baggage claim, using a cane. Overnight, she had become an old woman. I hardly recognized her.
As if reading my thoughts, Gram murmured, “Getting old is a terrible thing.”
“Maybe you should sit until your bags come,” Mom offered, but Gram shot her an icy look.
Gram took Sarah’s face into her hands and looked up at her, getting as close as she could, squinting behind her thick glasses. “Now, they said you looked different, but I don’t think so. You’re still my little Sarah, aren’t you?”
Gram asked me about school as Mom searched the baggage carousel for her suitcase. “Her grades are really good,” Sarah jumped in. “She’s doing awesome.”
I glowed under her praise. “I admit, I’m not in love with the advanced algebra,” I added. “But Sarah’s been helping me some with my homework, so at least I sort of understand it.” I trailed off, looking over to Sarah to see how she would react to my crediting her, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was watching a guy sitting behind us in a chair near the baggage claim.
I followed her gaze and saw him tapping a pack of cigarettes against his palm. His eyes were on Sarah as he pulled open a plastic tab on the box and slid a cigarette out. He tipped it into his lips with a quick motion and cupped the end, lighting it with a small plastic lighter. He put the lighter back into his jacket pocket and gave Sarah a little half smile. Sarah seemed in a trance, watching him. The smell of burning paper, of sulfur, met my nose.
He shook one cigarette from the pack and extended it to Sarah, wordlessly. She stood numb, unblinking.
“You can’t smoke in here, young man,” Gram huffed, turning slightly away from him. “My goodness.”