by Tess Sharpe
“We should get your stuff in the truck,” Karen tells me as Regina’s parents leave. “We’ve got a drive ahead of us.”
I turn to Regina, worried I’m going to tear up or something. I have friends, of course, but when I moved to college, it was different. I’ve only ever shared a room with Karen, and that was forever ago and I have to love her, even when she’s being annoying, because she’s my sister. Living with a completely random stranger sounded like a recipe for disaster. But what could’ve been awful turned out to be the best thing ever. Without Regina, I probably would’ve spent all my time in the library instead of just a lot of it.
“Call me when you get home,” Regina says, hugging me. “We’ll make a plan for our off-campus apartment next semester. And I want to hear about your internship.”
“And I want to hear all about France,” I say. Regina’s planned her own internship overseas.
“I’ll take a ton of pictures,” she promises, eyes shining at the prospect. Then she turns around. “I should go before my dad gets annoyed. Have a great summer, Claire!”
“I’ll call you.”
“Bye.”
We hug again, and after Regina leaves, Karen looks at me over a stack of boxes. “It’s nice you two got so close,” my sister says. “I spent my first year away from home getting sexiled by my roommate.”
“You got even in the end, if I remember correctly,” I say.
My sister smiles, a sly, smug grin that snakes across her face. “You helped,” she says.
“It was one fox, one time,” I say, remembering. “His paw was broken, and your place was closest to the field I found him in. He just needed to stay for a few hours, until the wildlife rehab lady made it there. I don’t know why she freaked out so much.”
“I’ve never heard someone scream so loud over a cute little fox,” Karen says. “He didn’t even look rabid.” She shakes her head. “City girls.”
“Because we’re so roughneck,” I say, laughing. We grew up on the outskirts of our town, in a little house on two flat acres at the edge of a white beech grove. That land was Dad’s pride and joy. He kept bees and fixed trucks in the detached garage and devotedly pruned the apple trees he’d planted when Karen and I were born.
“We’re more countrified than little Miss Beverly Hills was,” Karen points out.
She turns back to the boxes, pursing her lips. “Okay. I’ve got Dad’s truck, as promised. And I’ve got tie-downs and a tarp, and I cleared out a space for Sally’s travel terrarium in the cab.”
“And I’ve got an old blanket to wrap up the big aquarium for transport,” I add.
“Then I think we’re good to go,” Karen says briskly. “Now, do you want to bribe some boys to move the boxes, or should we do it ourselves in the name of independence and whatnot?”
I laugh. My sister’s humor has always been a little deceptive. People look at her and think one thing…but once you get to know her, there’s a dark, sarcastic streak that she lets out only when she’s comfortable. It’s one of my favorite things about her. She owns half of the contents of a Sephora store and she’ll go to war for you, using her wits, her words, and her fists. And she’ll win without breaking a nail, because she’s the kind of strong that people underestimate.
“I took a weight-lifting class last semester to fulfill one of my GE requirements,” I say. “And I know you have superior upper-body strength with all the yoga and baby wearing and toddler chasing. So I think we’ll be okay.”
Karen grabs the nearest box. White label. Books and files, because I’ve kept a printed copy of each paper I wrote this year. Plus all the hard copies of my class notes. I type them all out, just in case I lose a notebook. Not that I ever have. That would be a nightmare.
I hold the door open for her, grabbing a box under each arm, and we make our way to the elevator. Karen raises an eyebrow and punches the down arrow. “If you and Dad start lifting weights in the garage together, I’m going to get you matching father-daughter sweatbands that say Big Bear and Little Bear,” she teases.
“Don’t you dare.” I wince, and she laughs in that way that tells me that’s exactly what I’m getting for Christmas.
My dad’s old Ford F-150 in the college parking lot is a familiar sight, mud flaps and rusty red paint that’s slowly faded to pink through the years. He’s rebuilt that thing time and time again….He jokes about Zach inheriting it someday.
It takes us about an hour to squeeze everything in. Sally comes last. I transfer her to her little travel carrier, and she skitters around in the cork bark spread across the bottom. After we fit her aquarium into the cab, I bring her down to the truck.
“It’s okay,” I say as I set her down on the bench seat. Karen jumps into the truck and closes the door.
“I can’t believe you sacrificed your precious purse space for Sally. I’m touched.” I nod at Karen’s purse. It’s not a mom purse. I mean, it is, because she’s a mom. And it’s full of all those endless secrets and supplies all moms seem to have somehow. But it’s enormous and black and sleek, and looks like it could be used to bludgeon someone. I like it because it reminds me of her, is kind of representative of her. My sister’s layers. How she’s one thing on the outside, how she has all these roles, but on the inside, there’s so much more.
“I would only put my purse on the dirty floor for you and your lizard,” Karen says, putting the key in the ignition. She pauses.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod.
She looks at me expectantly.
“What?” I ask.
“You don’t want to…I dunno, take a moment or something? This is goodbye for now. Your first year. Your college experience!”
“I’m good,” I say.
Karen sighs like I’ve disappointed her as she pulls out of the parking lot and heads toward the highway. I hate this feeling, like I’ve done something wrong because I’m not really sentimental. Karen and my mom, they like to savor stuff and reminisce, put together scrapbooks…they have all these little traditions that are really important to them.
Meanwhile, I’m over here. It’s not like I don’t enjoy remembering things. I remember everything! But school is done for the year. I’ve said goodbye to the important people. I’ll see them again in a few months.
Now I get to focus on the summer. On my internship.
Just the thought of it sends a twirl of excitement through me, like a red ribbon dancing in the wind. I’ve applied to six. The long shot, an internship in DC, fell through when they changed their age requirement at the last minute. But they asked me to keep them in mind when I turn twenty. Professor Broadhurst said that’s a good sign.
That leaves the remaining five. I’ve heard from four—and was accepted to all of them. But I’ve put off choosing until the very last minute. All because I haven’t heard from that final one.
“Tell me about the rest of your year,” Karen says as we hit the highway, merging behind a semi and settling into the long drive home. “I know about your classes and about Regina and your friends, but what about dating? Was there anyone interesting this year?”
It’s funny that she says anyone interesting instead of anyone special. It’s a careful distinction, really. Like she knows that interesting is my kind of special.
“Not really,” I say. “I went on a few dates with this guy one of my friends set me up with, but it kind of turned into a mess.”
Karen frowns, glancing over at me, immediately in concerned mode. “What do you mean?”
Heat crawls up my face at the memory. “I thought he was okay at first. But then he started making all these snide comments about how I decorated my dorm, and he was really weird about Sally. I get it if reptiles aren’t your thing or even if they creep you out, but he was the type of guy who’d never admit that a little lizard scared him. So I told him I didn’t think we shoul
d spend any more time together.”
“That’s fair,” Karen says.
“Well, I thought so,” I say. “He apparently didn’t, because he blew up at me and showed up at my dorm and said all this stuff about how I was cold-blooded, just like my creepy lizard. Apparently, he was just hanging around to sleep with me, and I messed with his plans.”
“Um, excuse me?” My big sister’s fingers clench the steering wheel in outrage. “What’s this guy’s name? I think he and I need to have a talk.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s fine, Karen. Regina came into our room just as he was finishing his rant, so she had my back. She took Sally out of her tank and just stood there scratching her head and staring at him. It made him so nervous, he bolted. Now he goes in the other direction whenever he sees us on campus.”
Karen laughs. “What a jerk,” she says. “Claire-bear, you know what he said isn’t true, right?”
I nod, pasting an encouraging smile on my face, and it seems to reassure her, because she turns her attention back to the road.
Jackson’s comment stung, though. It felt strange at the time because I’d been the one trying to get him out of my life, and I shouldn’t have cared what he thought. It took me a minute to realize he was trying to chip away at me, like he’d been doing the entire time. He was just being more obvious about it because I took control of a situation I didn’t like and ended it.
I guess I’m not supposed to do that. I’m supposed to sit back and smile while he implies I’m not a “proper girl.” Proper girls have cats or dogs instead of lizards named after astronauts. Proper girls don’t have creepy artwork on the walls, or childish little toy dinosaurs marching across their desks….
I roll my shoulders back, like I can shake off that flash of humiliated heat still alive inside me.
Some boys suck.
“How’s everything at home?” I ask. “Did you figure out what kindergarten to send Zach to?”
“We’re still trying to decide if he should go to school near our house or by Mom and Dad’s so she can pick him up after school when I can’t get there,” Karen says. “But with everything, I’m kind of leaning toward Pine Grove, near our house.”
Her tone is casual, but my brain trips over the first part. “What do you mean, ‘with everything’?” I ask.
Immediately, the air in the truck changes. My sister licks her lips and her hands tighten around the steering wheel as she hyperfocuses on the road. She’s got her “oh crap” face on. She’s trying to figure out how to lie to me and she’s not going to be fast enough because she’s never fast enough. She’s a terrible liar.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
“I really didn’t want to get into this your first night back,” Karen says…more like warns.
My stomach drops.
“Are they breaking up?” I whisper.
Karen’s eyes stay fixed on the road. “Mom and Dad are having some problems,” she says quietly. And I know that the fact she even admits that means it’s bad.
It’s my turn to stare out the window, biting the inside of my cheek hard to keep from tearing up. Now I feel even guiltier that I didn’t go home as much. That I didn’t even notice things were strained. Had they been pretending for me, when I did manage to visit?
“They’re trying counseling,” Karen continues. “That’s a good sign.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Dad didn’t want you to know,” Karen says. “He doesn’t want it to affect your decision about your internships. He knows how much your plans for this summer mean to you and your future.”
“And Mom?” I ask.
“Mom didn’t even want me to know,” Karen sighs, neatly sidestepping my question. “You can’t let on that you know! They’ll both kill me. But I really think now that they’re in counseling, they’ll get to a better place. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t think this is anywhere close to the end. They just need to reconnect. To remember what they loved about each other. It’ll be fine.”
Optimism is something I don’t have in common with my sister. But I give her a tight smile and nod, saying, “Yeah, of course,” even though I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach and I’m running divorce statistics in my head like a mathematician.
It’s not like I didn’t notice that my parents haven’t been getting along. It’s been a rough few years. Dad made an investment that fell through and money was so tight they couldn’t put anything toward my college, and I know Dad feels like it’s his fault. And when Grandma passed away, it was so hard on Mom, because she took care of her that entire last year. That’s who Mom is. A caretaker. She takes care of everyone.
But no one takes care of her. And as soon as the thought occurs to me, a guilty, crawling heat fills me.
I don’t take care of her. Karen does. Karen is always there to help, even though she has a family of her own.
Karen’s the good daughter. And I’m…
I’m the one who’s already dreaming about leaving, and I’m still a few hours away from home.
I stare out the window at the blurring trees and buildings, trying to ignore the growing pit in my stomach at the thought of my parents not working things out.
* * *
Karen and I drive for a good three hours before we stop at a drive-through and grab some food. Then we get back on the road, my strawberry-and-chocolate milkshake sweating in the cup holder, Karen eating fries with one hand while steering with the other.
“So…no romantic prospects worthy of your time,” she says, clearly not wanting to discuss the bombshell she’s dropped on me. “What about your internships?”
I take a sip of milkshake, wondering if I should prod her more about our parents. But when I look at her closely, I can see how tired she is. How long has she been holding on to this burden of knowing without me? Being the youngest is a pain in the butt sometimes. Even after you grow up, people treat you like a baby.
I decide to let it go. For now.
“I’ve been accepted by five of the six places I applied to,” I say. “Four law firms and one internship with a Ninth Circuit judge.”
“That’s amazing!” Karen says as we pass the sign that says NORTHAMPTON 240 MILES. “What about the sixth place?”
“I haven’t heard back from them yet,” I explain. “The deadline is tomorrow, actually. So it’s totally not going to happen.”
“Yet…you’ve been waiting out the deadline before you accepted the others,” Karen says, cluing in immediately. You can never sneak anything past a big sister.
“I had to. It’s with the Masrani Corporation.”
Karen’s eyes widen. “As in Simon Masrani, the billionaire? The dinosaur guy?”
I nod, kind of amused at hearing Mr. Masrani described as “the dinosaur guy.”
“He’s just started this internship program called Bright Minds. It’s for the ‘best and brightest’ in the country.” I shake my head, looking out the window. “Like I said, the deadline has basically passed now. So it’ll be one of the law firms or the judge, I guess.” I try not to sound too disappointed. Getting my hopes up about it isn’t rational, but I think I did, just a little.
“Well, at least you won’t be stuck at home with Mom and Dad and me and Zach for the whole summer,” Karen says.
My cheeks do a fast burn. You probably can’t even see my freckles, I’m so red. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I mutter.
“I know,” Karen sighs. “Mom just misses you. She thinks you’re going to graduate from college, go off, and never come back.”
The idea of a life full of big cities and influential people just a click away on my phone is too appealing to protest. I am a lot of things, but I always try to be honest. Especially with Karen.
“I’ll come back” is all I say, the silent sometimes at the end practicall
y filling the car.
“I understand why you want to go,” Karen says gently, looking over at me. “It’s just…”
“You came back home,” I finish, because that’s the truth. Karen set a precedent. After college, she came back home, got her job, and married Pete, her husband. They have dinner with my parents every Sunday, and my mom gets to see her every day when she picks up Zach at their house after work.
“I never planned on staying away,” Karen says, and now she’s being the honest one. It’s the fundamental difference between us: Karen is built to stay.
And I am built to run. Not away, but forward. And running forward means sometimes leaving things—people—behind.
There’s a long pause, like neither of us knows what to say. Like the past year I’ve spent away has roughened parts of us up, so we don’t quite fit like we used to.
“You know what? Let’s play Dad’s wishing game.” She nods at the napkin next to Sally’s terrarium. “Take that and write down the internship you really want on it. I don’t care if the acceptance deadline’s tomorrow. Then—”
“Fold it thirteen times and toss it into the fire,” I finish for her. I’ve tossed dozens of pieces of folded-up paper into backyard bonfires through the years, the wishes sailing off into the air with smoke and sparks. “Okay, but there’s no fire.”
“We’ll improvise,” Karen says. “Think about it and then write it down. We’ve got time.”
I roll my eyes hard at her, but inside, I’m smiling as I take the napkin and grab a pen out of my bag. As Karen drives down the highway, the cars and trucks around us blurring as they rush by, I tap the pen against my mouth and think.
A practical person would choose one of the sure things. The judge would be the smartest choice. It would look great on my resume and would help with law school. Same with the law firms—they’re all top practices in the fields I’m most interested in. Professor Broadhurst really came through with her connections and letters of recommendation.
