by J. M. Kelly
“She gave you all this? For free?”
“Yep. She’d been saving it for her next baby, but then she had twin boys.”
“Wow.”
All the clothes are folded really nice, like they’ve come straight from the store, and in the bottom of the first bag, I find a white fur coat with a shiny purple lining. There’s even a matching hat and tiny mittens “Oh my God.” It’s all so beautiful. I get that tingly feeling in my nose, like I might cry, and I blink hard.
“Check this out,” Gil says, reaching into the bag at his feet. “Blankets!” He pulls them out, one after another, like Kleenex out of a dispenser. They’re all pinks and creams and lavenders—some of them look handmade, too.
“But why would she give me blankets if she had twins?”
“Duh,” Han says. “Those are too girly for boys.”
I press a yellow blankie to my face and surreptitiously wipe away a few tears. Han and Gil pretend not to notice. “Look at this, Nat,” I say, getting up and taking it over to the playpen. She’s awake now and looks up at me with her baby blues as I lift off the stained quilt Jade gave us and drape this new one over her. She immediately grabs it with her tiny fists and sticks a corner in her mouth. “She likes it.”
“You haven’t even looked at all the stuff,” Han says. “Her kid’s, like, four now, so these other bags have bigger clothes in them.”
Now I do cry. I want to hide it because I feel silly, but there’s no point. I wish Amber was here to see it all. At least then we’d both be crying together. “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes with the tail of my work shirt. “It’s just so . . . so nice. I can’t believe it.”
“Oh, you haven’t even seen the best parts yet,” Han says. “Close your eyes.”
I do, and a minute later he tells me I can open them. Sitting in the middle of the living room is one of those totally deluxe baby strollers. It’s got big thick tires, a sun shade over the top, pockets everywhere, and a padded seat that’s adjustable so you can lay it down if your baby gets tired. It looks brand-new, too. It’s so much better than the chintzy canvas one we’ve been using that I don’t even care who sees me crying now.
“This is so . . . I don’t understand. Why didn’t she keep the stroller?” I ask, the tears running freely and my smile about to break my face.
“She got a double one,” Han says. He reaches behind the couch. “And get this . . .” He lifts up a hot pink and bright yellow car seat that’s about a hundred—no, a thousand—times better than the piece of expired crap we have.
“She gave you that?” I say, rubbing my hands over the soft fabric. “For free? I can’t believe it.”
“She didn’t want it because she thought her twins should have matching ones.”
“Did you and Amber have matching car seats?” Gil asks, laughing.
“Yeah, right.” I say. “That’s just stupid. But I’m glad she’s so stupid. And nice.”
“That’s rich people,” Gil tells us, like he knows a lot of them.
“Thank you, Han. Thank you so much.” I actually hug him, and he pats me lightly on the back like he’s afraid of breaking me. It’s hard to talk over the lump in my throat. “It’s like Christmas in the movies. You’re awesome, Han. You’re totally awesome. I needed this so much right now.”
He turns a little pink and then says, “The lady told me the car seat’s a convertible one. When Nat gets bigger, you make a few adjustments and it becomes a forward-facing seat. Whatever that means.”
I laugh. I’m not sure either, but if it means we don’t have to get another one anytime soon, I’m extra grateful. I sift through all the amazing stuff while the guys watch basketball on TV. Every once in a while I catch Han looking at me, his eyes bright, proud of himself. He should be.
There’re tights and shirts and dresses, pajamas, and about a dozen of those elastic headbands Amber loves so much. There are even four pairs of shoes: two everyday ones and two patent-leather pairs. Some of the stuff still has the tags attached. I can’t wait to throw out every old, stained, crappy thing of Nat’s.
After a while I lean back on the couch, all the stuff piled around me and across my lap. I’m buried in treasure. “Where’s Amber? Did she see this?”
“Not yet. She went to work early,” Gil says. “I volunteered to watch Nat until you got home. It’s easy, since all she ever does is sleep.”
“I wish,” I say.
All these nice things . . . this is what I want for Natalie. And for me and Amber, too. If I can graduate from McPherson, I’ll make the kind of money that lets me be the one who gives away hand-me-downs to young moms. I wish I could make Amber see that somehow. That I would be doing the program for all three of us, and I’m not trying to mess up her life.
After a while, Gil’s asleep, and me and Han are so cold that we dress up Natalie in a new turtleneck and overalls and go to Chuck E. Cheese’s. Pizza is the last thing I want, since Gil brings it home all the time, but Chuck E. Cheese’s is one place that welcomes babies and the food’s pretty cheap. It’s so warm in there that it’s almost hot, and I shed my jacket for the first time all day. Han buys himself a pizza and me the unlimited salad bar, which we secretly share. I tell him all about McPherson and the automotive restoration program.
“That sounds fantastic,” he says.
I shrug. “Yeah, well . . . I doubt I’ll really get to go.”
“I think you should. Don’t give up too easy.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“God, no. I’d miss you all a lot.”
This is kind of sweet to hear, but also a little embarrassing for us both, and I jump up to get more salad. When I come back, we don’t talk about anything important. After a couple of hours, Nat’s sound asleep and I’m dead tired myself, so we get ready to head out. I know Amber’s still mad, but when I button up Natalie’s soft new coat, I can’t help thinking that all in all, it’s been a pretty good night.
Chapter 19
When me and Nat get home from Chuck E. Cheese’s, we find Amber in the kitchen and she’s trashed. She hasn’t been this bad in more than a year. I want to blame Jade—I know Amber was over at her house—but it’s my fault. I let her down. I lied to her. I went behind her back.
She’s stumbling around the kitchen trying to make herself a grilled cheese sandwich on some flattened white bread Mom brought home from the bakery, using cheese she’s peeled off a slice of old pizza.
“You don’t really want to eat that, do you?” I ask, setting Nat down. Her new car seat’s so deluxe that it’s too big for the table, so I have to put her on the floor.
“Hi, Cattie Battie Pattie Mattie Nattie!” Amber says, leaning over the baby and grabbing her toes.
“Stop it,” I say. “She’s asleep.”
“Oh, well, excuuuuuse me!” Amber backs off, holding her hands in the air until she stumbles and has to catch herself on the kitchen counter. “I wouldn’t want to mess up your plans for her life like you did mine.”
“Sit down and I’ll make us some sandwiches.”
I’ve hidden some Velveeta behind Nat’s cereal in the top cupboard, and I climb on a chair to get it down. While I’m making the food, Amber stalks off, but she’s back a minute later carrying an armload of the new baby clothes.
“Did your boyfriend give us all this?”
“Han’s not my boyfriend.” I know she’s winding me up because he used to like her and now he crushes on me.
“Whatever!” She throws everything up in the air and laughs as little shirts and dresses fall down around her, some landing on Natalie.
“Would you stop it?” I pick up the clothes and take them back to the living room. “Sit down. Here’s your sandwich.”
She grabs it, and I’m left holding the plate. She tears the bread into pieces and stuffs them into her mouth like a lunatic. I clench my hands to keep from slapping some sense into her. I know it won’t help.
“I’m not moving to Kansas,�
�� she says, spraying crumbs all over her shirt.
“I kinda figured that out already.”
“Just because you’re so smart you think you can tell me what to do all the time. But you can’t. We might be twins, but you don’t own me.”
I sigh. I’m holding my sandwich, but I don’t really want it anymore.
“You gonna eat that?” Amber asks.
I hand it over and she stuffs it into her mouth, hardly chewing. I wait until she swallows in case she chokes, and then I take Nat into our room to get ready for bed.
Later, I offer to hold Amber’s hair while she pukes, but she tells me to get lost. Instead, I stand outside the bathroom door listening to her retch, and when she’s done, I try to help her down the hall, but she shakes me off again. She wants to take Nat to bed with her, but I won’t let her, and she yells at me that I’m a lousy sister and that it’s her turn to sleep with the baby.
“It was your turn last night,” I say. “You weren’t here.”
This seems to confuse her enough to sound reasonable, and she ducks behind the wall of blankets and falls onto the bed, giggling. When I can tell by her breathing that she’s asleep, I turn her on her side just like old times. In the morning I bring Amber a glass of water and a couple of generic painkillers while she’s still in bed.
“Tell me one thing,” I say. “Did you take your half out of our savings?”
“Yep. And I could’ve taken more,” she says, implying she’s kicked in more than I have.
It’s probably true, but we’ve always called it even. “Take it all,” I say, hurt she’s been keeping track.
“I’m looking out for myself. Just like you.”
“Whatever. But please tell me you didn’t hide it in our room.”
“What do you think I am? Stupid? I opened an account of my own.”
That’s one good thing, I guess.
Weeks go by and Amber has pretty much stopped talking to me entirely. But every Sunday she leaves her schedule on my bed so I can figure out who will pick up and watch Nat when. I drop the baby off at daycare every morning now, since Amber won’t ride in the car with me anymore. We pass Natalie back and forth with a minimum of words, each doing our share according to the schedule I make, and Amber basically ignores me the rest of the time.
Not having my sister talk to me is like I’ve cut off my arm or ripped out one of my vital organs. My heart is missing. There’s no one to bitch to, or laugh with, or ride in the car with me. Sure, Natalie’s around, but it’s not the same as having Amber. My sister’s been next to me for my whole life. Without her, part of me is gone, and it leaves me with an ache so deep that I can’t shake it. My only consolation is that maybe she’s feeling it too. If she is, she hides it better than me.
By the third week of Amber ignoring me, it’s time to send in the deposit to McPherson if I want to go. That’s when I decide to forget all about Kansas. Maybe if I do, me and Amber can make up. And at this point, that’s all I care about. I can’t go on like this, on my own.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. But part of me obviously wants someone to talk me into paying the money, which is probably why I bring it up with David while we’re changing the oil in a ’39 Dodge. It’s a one-person job, but business is slow and Jimmy’s in a good mood because his wife’s gone to visit her sister for a couple of weeks, so he doesn’t care if we slack off.
David’s under the car and I’m leaning against the fender with the hood up. “I guess I’m not going to Kansas.”
“Why not?”
“Amber’s not gonna change her mind. Besides, I never paid the deposit.”
“You should send it in. You can always get it back,” he says. “You don’t want to give up your spot, in case she comes around.”
“It was due today, and it’s too late to send a money order now.”
David rolls out from under the car on a creeper. “Pay with a credit card.”
I laugh. “Yeah, right. Let me see . . . should I use my gold card or my air miles one?” I drop a rag on his chest and he wipes his hands.
“Oh, right. Yeah, sorry. Well, use mine. You can pay me cash.”
My heart speeds up a little with excitement. If I pay online today, I won’t lose my place. “Really?”
“Yeah. No problem,” he says as he dumps the dirty oil in the recycling barrel. “Do you want my platinum or my black American Express?”
“Whichever one you’ll let me keep.”
We laugh and head for the break room, where we use his phone to get online and pay up. “I’ll bring you the money on Monday,” I promise.
“Whenever.”
Nice to be him.
The sense of dread I’ve been carrying around about giving up so soon on college lifts a little, and on the drive home I can’t help thinking that while it sucks Amber’s so mad, maybe David offering his credit card is a sign she’ll come around.
That night, Mom finally notices me and Amber are fighting. Or not so much fighting as not really speaking. I’m sure she must’ve figured out something was wrong sooner, but she only likes to act hasty when she’s gambling. The rest of the time, she’s on her own slow schedule.
“So why aren’t you talking to your sister?” she asks me while I’m making a bottle for Nat.
“Correction,” I say. “She’s not speaking to me.”
“Tell me it’s not over a guy and I don’t need to know any more.”
“I applied to college and got in.”
“College, huh? Good for you, Crys.”
She says this without even looking up from her crossword. Seriously? I get into college and that’s all the enthusiasm she can muster? It’s not like school’s that important in our family. I get that. But you’d think college would be a bigger deal. I don’t know why I’m surprised at her lack of interest. This is Mom we’re talking about. Once we turned eighteen, she was done with us. If not long before.
I test the temp of the baby formula like they showed us in prenatal class. It’s fine and Natalie grabs it from me. I can’t believe how big she’s getting. It’s crazy. In a week, she’ll be nine months old. How did that happen so fast? She can sit up on her own now, and she’s a lot . . . I don’t know . . . it’s like her personality is blooming more and more every day. I wish I could talk to Amber about it.
And not only is Natalie growing up fast, but I’m getting really old too. Next week, me and Amber will be nineteen. God. We’re ancient. I sit down at the table, exhausted by the thought.
“Okay,” Mom says, “I’ll bite. Why’s Amber mad about you going to college?”
“Because it’s in Kansas.”
This finally makes her look up. She even sets her pen down. “Kansas? What the hell’s in Kansas?”
I tell her.
She nods, picking up her pen again. “Seems like your kinda place.”
“I know. And once I graduate, I’ll be able to get a really good job. Maybe even open my own shop.”
“So what’s the problem?” Mom asks.
“Well, you know . . . we had a plan.”
“Oh, right, to leave this place and never darken our doorstep again.”
“Not exactly. We just want to move out. And I did say I’d work full-time while Amber learned the business from Aunt Ruby. If I go to college, that won’t really be possible. I want Amber to come along, but she doesn’t think the Glass Slipper can wait.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to sit around putting her life on hold for four years.”
I sigh. “I know, I know. It’s a lot to ask, but this is for our future.”
“I hate to point out the obvious,” Mom says, “but the last time I checked, you two girls weren’t actually Siamese twins.”
I stare at her, startled by the idea.
“You mean go to Kansas without her?”
She shrugs.
Oh, hell.
Could I really do that?
Chapter 20
On our nineteenth birthday, Amber’s gone
when I wake up. Before I go to work, I leave a bouquet of daffodils and a new book of number puzzles on her bed. She gives me exactly nothing. I try not to take it personally, but it’s kind of hard.
For about five minutes, I consider what Mom said about me going to McPherson without Amber, but I know I can’t do it. We made a deal. I might’ve lied to my sister, and spent our money on things she didn’t know about, and kept secrets from her, but we agreed to raise Natalie together, and if she won’t go to Kansas, then I can’t go without her.
Not only did we promise each other, but what would be the point? It’s not like I could take Nat with me and still go to college. And if she stays here, then how’s Amber going to train to be the manager at the Glass Slipper? It’s one thing to take a baby with her to work now, but when she’s a toddler? Not gonna happen. Amber might not be speaking to me, but we’re still in this together until Natalie’s grown up and doesn’t need us anymore.
In early April, David catches me at the pumps and asks me to go to the swap meet with him on the weekend.
“I’ve got to work,” I say.
“It opens Thursday. How about then?”
“Don’t you have school?”
“Senioritis,” he says. “Let’s skip.”
“Yeah, okay, but I have to go to first period.”
“You have a test?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, not willing to admit I’m taking PE for the second time, even if I did flunk it before because I had bronchitis. Somehow the excuse seems lame.
“Your ride or mine?” he asks.
“You know you want to go in the Mustang.”
He grins. “You drive, I’ll pay for parking.”
“Deal.”
David loves my car way more than he likes his slick piece of machinery. There’s nothing to do to his Chevelle except change the oil every once in a while. I think he can totally imagine himself working on my car, though.
Before PE, I find Han. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
I love how he doesn’t ask what it is before he agrees. I wish Amber was that easy. “Can you go to daycare at lunch? It’s my day, but I need you to cover for me.”