The Beauty That Remains

by Ashley Woodfolk

  Something just clicks inside my head. I look at his blazer. At his hand full of vintage rings. All of his hats and overcoats, his oversize old-people clothes.

  “You started wearing his clothes,” I say, thinking about myself and Sasha’s beanies.

  Jerome nods. “My folks, they think therapy is only for ‘crazy people,’ whatever that means. A lot of black people think that.” He looks down and smiles a little. His eyes come back up and stay steady, stuck to mine. “What’s worse, though? Telling someone that sometimes I miss my granddad so much I can’t breathe? Or dressing like a seventy-year-old all of junior year?”

  Everyone in the garage laughs a little bit, in that awkward way people laugh when they’re not sure if it’s okay. But my eyes are filling with tears.

  “It’s a distraction.” It’s Rohan talking now. He sets his guitar down on the concrete floor, stands up, and walks over to me. “Pretending that you’re okay, that you’re better than okay? ‘Look at my great grades!’ ” He puts air quotes around that and everything he says next. “ ‘Look at me! I quit smoking!’ and ‘I never miss curfew!’ And yeah, I mean…Those are all good things. But you’re still sad, Shay. I don’t know how you wouldn’t be. I am. And everyone sees right through the rest of it—you pretending to be fine.”

  I swallow hard and look around at them.

  “You’re freaking out all the time, and that can’t be good. It can’t be healthy, and I can’t…” He licks his lips and shakes his head, making that face he always makes, like it hurts him to look at me. “I don’t know how it works exactly, but I know panic attacks are a sign of depression. I looked it up, and I found some pretty scary stuff.”

  “Stop looking at me like that,” I say to him, almost pleading. But he keeps his eyes on mine.

  “I know you think I look at you some weird way or something because you look like Sasha. But that’s not it. It’s hard to look at you sometimes because I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you too.”

  Callie comes over next. She hugs me and whispers in my ear, “You haven’t called me since she died. Not even once.” As soon as she says it, I’m shocked. I hadn’t thought about it, but I know without a doubt that it’s true.

  Deedee’s crying when it’s her turn. She pulls out a piece of paper, and I let out a weird half sob, half laugh. “You wrote something down?” I ask.

  “So I wouldn’t forget when this happened!” She points to her wet eyes. I laugh again and walk over so I can clean off her tear-streaked glasses.

  “ ‘Shay,’ ” she reads once I’ve handed them back. “ ‘I miss going to shows with the old you. I miss making playlists for each other and sharing them. I miss showing you my other photos—stuff not related to BAMF. And I miss doing BAMF stuff with you, too. When was the last time you stuck it out through a whole show? When was the last time we had a meeting to talk about content for the blog?’ ”

  I know I’ve been neglecting BAMF. But Sasha was so on top of everything that I didn’t want to feel like I was replacing her. I was hoping no one noticed. Well, I didn’t think Deedee did. Callie definitely did.

  Deedee keeps reading.

  “ ‘I started dating Olive, the lead singer from Sunscream, and you don’t even know about that. Because you ran out of their last show, when Callie introduced us. You didn’t answer my texts when I invited you over last weekend. And the last time I tried to tell you about her at lunch, you disappeared.’ ”

  She continues, “ ‘I know losing a sister is a horrible thing to have happen to you, but me, Callie, Ro, and everyone—we lost her too. We just want to help. We think it might be better for everyone if we figure out how to get through this together.’ ”

  Everyone’s crying now. And everything in me is dying to run, to get away from them because it’s all too much. It hurts too much.

  Just when I’m ready to push my way out of the garage, Jerome hugs me. His soft shirt is against my cheek, and I can hear his heart beating. Then I feel another pair of arms around me: Rohan. Then Deedee is there, her bushy hair tickling my ear, then Callie. I’m completely surrounded by them in the best group hug I’ve ever been a part of, and we’re all ugly crying—big, gulping sobs.

  “So will you get help today?” Rohan asks, borrowing a line from my favorite show. And just like that, we’re all laughing.

  I still want my sister desperately. I think I always will. And though the weight of this kind of love won’t replace her, it might just make it so that I’m a little closer to okay.

  * * *

  —

  When I get home, I work up the nerve and text Dante. Talking to Jerome about his granddad had actually opened up the part of me that wasn’t willing to share my hurt because I thought that no one would get it. But if Jerome can understand what it’s like to lose a sister after losing his grandfather, I think Dante and I might be able to help each other even more. It’s weird that I don’t know what to say even though I just went through the exact same thing. But I guess talking about losing someone you love is never easy.

  I’m nervous, so I just send Hey.

  He hasn’t texted me back when Mom gets home, and I’m so surprised to hear her enter the house before eight that I head downstairs right away, with my phone in my back pocket.

  Mom glances up when I step into the dining room, but she doesn’t say anything, though she’s brought home takeout from our favorite Italian place. This is the first time she’s been back early enough for us to have dinner together in forever, and we haven’t really talked since I told her I could take care of myself. I feel like I should apologize for what I said, so I speak up first.

  “Rohan just Interventioned me,” I say.

  She looks up from the pasta she’s spooning out onto two plates. “What in the world does that mean?” she asks, and I’m relieved that her face doesn’t look tormented, the way it did when we last talked.

  I walk over to the table and take the plastic utensils out of the bag. I put a fork on each of our plates. “All my friends, they had an intervention for me. They said they’re worried about me. They think I’m depressed and having panic attacks and not talking to anyone about how I’m feeling about Sasha.” I sit down and look up at her. “So I wanted to say sorry for how I reacted the other morning when you brought up Coach’s call. What happened at the track meet was exactly why they were worried too.”

  Mom sits down and nods along to everything I’m saying. But when I apologize, she shakes her head, just once. “No, Shay. You were right, at least partially, about what you said. I do think I’m used to feeling anxious—to being worried all the time. I’ve been holding on to that. So I wanted to apologize to you.” She twirls some spaghetti with her fork, but then she puts the fork down on the side of her plate without eating any pasta. “I’m sorry that I’ve ignored the positive changes you’ve been making. I have noticed them, and I am proud of you. But worrying is kind of part of the mom job description.”

  I smile. I feel my phone vibrate, but I can’t look at it now.

  “So,” she continues. “I’ve been trying to figure out if there’s anything else I can be doing for you. To start, I’m going to make an effort not to leave you alone so much. And when you said that word the other night, ‘twinless,’ I looked it up.”

  My eyes go wide and I sit up straighter. It’s weird to hear Mom say the word that’s been tormenting me for weeks, so casually.

  “I found something that I think might help.”

  She picks up her phone from the table and taps around the screen for a second. Then she places it back on the table between us. It’s an email, and at the top, I see that word from my search. The heading says: Twinless Twins Support Group. Once a Twin, Always a Twin.

  I feel the weight on my chest almost immediately, and it’s suddenly harder than it should be to get air into my lungs. Spots
appear in front of my eyes, like some kind of bad magic trick, and I’m almost certain I’m going to faint. But I try to stay calm. I try to talk to Sasha, to get her to tell me I’m okay. With her voice inside my head, we begin to talk my body out of this quickly descending betrayal of itself. Mom has never seen this happen to me, and I don’t want her to see it now.

  She notices what’s happening anyway. She stands up and comes over to my side of the table.

  “Look at me,” she says, but her face is full of pain, so I want to close my eyes. I want to run away from the table. I push my chair back.

  “No, Shay,” she says. “Look at me.” I do. She takes my hand and presses it against the base of her neck. Just like Jerome did that day in the hallway, she tells me to breathe with her. I try to. And it helps.

  My heart is still pounding, but my breathing is a little more even by the time she says, “I’ll go with you, if you want. But I think this is something you need to do.”

  * * *

  —

  I go to my room after dinner and take out my phone to see who was messaging me while I was talking to Mom. Dante hasn’t texted me back yet. The vibration I felt was a message from Rohan.

  I hope you’re okay.

  I am and I’m not, I guess, but I don’t text him back. I message Dante again. It hurts to think that he’s going through the same thing I am, but I still don’t know what to say. So I just start with something simple.

  I heard about Tavia.

  I’m so sorry.

  I think of Rohan’s message, and send the same thing to Dante.

  I hope you’re okay.

  Working on it, he replies suddenly, and those three small words make me feel so much better, so much braver. I’m working on it too.

  “Shay?” Mom says. She’s standing at my bedroom door. “Want to watch TV for a little while?” I smile and look down at my phone. It gives me an idea.

  “Sure. And I was thinking: would you mind if I went to the support group with someone else?”

  JAN. 29, 1:23 P.M.

  I haven’t spoken to Dante in days. I miss him.

  Tavia may not be on Hangouts right now. She’ll see your messages later.

  From: HeCalledItAutumn@gmail.com

  To: TaviaViolet@gmail.com

  Sent: Feb. 1, 9:34 p.m.

  Subject:

  I think the crying was a mistake.

  Ever since that scene at your house in the yard with Dante, I’ve been losing it constantly. I’ve gone from feeling hardly anything at all to feeling everything all of the time.

  If my parents were worried before, they’re really worried now. Willow too. She came home for the weekend. She’s trying to pretend she’s here because she has a cavity and needs to see Dr. Chen. But I know that she got her wisdom teeth taken out by some random dentist in New Hampshire, right near her school last year. I texted her after I got myself together the other night and told her she didn’t need to come home, but then, I think my mom called her. She might have even told her about the fight I had with Dante.

  Willow asks me to go with her to get bagels on Saturday morning. I really just want to lie in bed, eat pistachio ice cream, and listen to UL, but I agree, hoping it will make my family stop being so weird. It’s not until we get to the bagel shop that I realize the last time I was here, I was with you.

  “You mind if I chill in the car?” I ask Willow. I lie and say, “I kinda just want to listen to some music.” The line is a nightmare, so Willow pouts for a minute or so about me keeping her company, but I’m more stubborn than she is, and eventually, she gives up. I wave to her while she shivers in the cold, and feeling like a bad sister is the only thing helping me hold it together. As soon as she gets inside, I lose it, and my hands are shaking so badly that I can’t even text her back when she asks if I want an everything or a sesame seed bagel.

  She didn’t tell our parents about how upset I got in the car, but she’s been hovering around me ever since we got back to the house. My mom noticed, though, and now she’s hovering too. To convince my family that everything really is fine, to try to make everything be fine, I decide I want to go to a beach party Saturday night.

  It’s the kind of thing you would have dragged me to. The kind of thing I would have done anything to avoid. But instead, I’m the one begging Willow to come with me. I’m almost certain I’ll only talk to her the whole time, but my mom doesn’t know that. She says, “Go ahead, girls. You two haven’t hung out together in a while.”

  When I’m putting on my coat I hear my dad say, “It’ll be good to get her out of the house.” And Willow says, “No shit.”

  I wish they’d stop talking about me like I’m a little kid.

  As soon as we park, I realize your brother’s there. It’s cold and foggy, but I spot his dark hair, his green army jacket, and his particular stance from where I’m standing, about a quarter mile down the flat, gray beach.

  “You hate stuff like this,” Willow says as she pulls her hood up and steps out of our SUV. “And the weather’s gross. Are you sure you don’t want to go do something else?”

  I shake my head and force a smile.

  “I want to make it up to you, for standing in that long line for bagels this morning,” I say.

  “By making me stand in the cold more?” she asks.

  I don’t laugh, even though I should. “Yeah, I guess. But this time, there’s booze.” I waggle my eyebrows.

  “You don’t even really drink. And I can’t drink because I’m driving,” she says.

  “Oh yeah. I guess that’s true. But look—” I point across the beach, grasping for anything that can save my not-very-well-thought-out plan. “Aren’t those some of your friends?”

  I stand beside her in my puffy black jacket, the Gryffindor scarf twisted tightly around my neck, and I watch Dante while Willow stands on tiptoe and tries to spot her “high school friends” in the crowd. That’s what she calls them, and I can’t imagine what that will be like—to separate my friends based on where I met them. You were my first friend. For a long time, you were my only friend. But I don’t want to think about that.

  Dante’s laughing and touching some senior girl on the shoulder, and when my eyes fill with tears, I don’t know if it’s about you or him. I roughly wipe my face before Willow sees.

  My sister’s right about me not really being a drinker. You know I’ve steered clear of the kegs and coolers for most of high school. But something about your brother or the weather or just being at a party without you makes me want to grab a red cup.

  So I walk straight toward the fire where the keg is and pour myself a beer.

  About twenty minutes later, I’m dizzy with relief or pleasure or something. Willow’s ready to leave, but I beg her to stay a little longer. I’m starting to get a head rush, the good kind that makes everything seem better, and I know my cheeks will go ruddy soon if they haven’t already. If you were here, you would be teasing me about my “Asian glow.”

  So I ask my sister, “Am I glowing?” because that’s what you’d always say on the rare occasions when I did have a drink—that I was glowing, like I was a firefly or a star. Willow doesn’t get it. (Or maybe she does.) She rolls her eyes, and I laugh.

  Willow runs into some guy she used to date and asks if it’s cool if she hangs out with him for a few. Since I’m giddy with beer, I’m hoping he’ll distract her from wanting to leave, so of course I say, “Sure.” A few minutes later, I see Faye climbing out of her car. Margo’s sitting shotgun, and Alexa’s in the back. If I were sober, seeing them would make me want to hide since things are still weird between us. But since I’m not, I wave.

  Faye sees me and waves back.

  “Oh good. I was hoping you’d be here,” she says when she walks over. I smile, and my mouth feels weird making the shape.

  Alexa looks buzzed
already. Her hair is a little messy, and her eyes are glassy and unfocused. Margo’s sober, I think, but she’s always staring at her phone, so who knows.

  “Hey, Autumn,” Alexa says. And Margo looks up, surprised.

  “Hi,” I say.

  Faye looks at us. “I was telling them on the ride over that I’m sick of this. You’re our friend. Things are crappy, and we shouldn’t be splitting up. We should be, I don’t know, like constantly hugging or something.” She looks over at Margo, who licks her lips and crosses her arms.

  “What’s your deal?” Faye asks Margo.

  I think Faye forgets sometimes that she’s the glue that put us all together. That before her, it was you and me, and Margo and Alexa. We were two separate sets of friends. I don’t know if Margo likes me in the specific ways that friends are supposed to like one another. Her allegiance lies with Alexa the way mine is always with you.

  Margo goes, “I don’t have a deal. I just want to be there for Lex.”

  “That’s just it, though. You make it sound like Autumn’s the problem,” Alexa says. She kind of trips in the sand, and I wonder how many drinks she had before she got to the party. “It’s not Autumn, not really.”

  Alexa comes over to me and pulls me into a hug. We both stumble a little as she does it.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been weird lately, okay?” Her breath smells like peppermint, so I know she’s had a lot of schnapps. I nod against her shoulder.

  “Me too,” I say. “I miss you guys.” I feel my eyes stinging with tears, and when I look at Faye, she smiles at me and joins our hug. I look at Margo and wave her forward with my free hand.

  Faye says, “Margo, get over here!” And after a second, she smiles a little and tucks her phone into her pocket. Alexa pulls her into the center of our group hug so roughly that all four of us almost tumble into the sand.