by Jessi Kirby
Dedication
For Sabrina
Epigraph
Anyhow we never know where we must go
nor what guides we are to get—men, storms, guardian angels . . .
—John Muir
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Twin Stars
Like This
Alone Today
#Breakfastgoals
#Fitspiration
#Combinedreach
#Makeawish
Something True
The Life I Created
What Living Looks Like
Her Boots
In Motion
To Be Better
A Mile in Her Shoes
Clouds Rest
I’ll Try
Hike Your Own Hike
Bri Would Go
Range of Light
Shadows in the Forest
She’s Not Here
Remember to Look Up
Invisible Weights
Girl, Be Brave
What We Came Looking For
Until We Find Our Balance
We’ve Got Some Company
Lean In
Someone New Entirely
Into the Dark
Back on the Map
And Then I Crumble
Strong Enough
Like My Own
So She Did
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Jessi Kirby
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
Twin Stars
WE LIE ON our backs on the trampoline, drawn into the center by each other’s weight. The universe stretches wide above us, framed by a ring of mountains. My cousin and me at its center.
Twin stars, as our moms always say.
They smile and laugh and get teary-eyed together when they tell the story. Every birthday, before the candles and the wishes. How their due dates were weeks away from each other, but I was late and Bri showed up early, like we’d made a pact to enter the world together. And just a few hours apart, we did.
Tonight, we are thirteen. A number that feels like balancing on the edge of who we’ve always been and everything we might become. Here, now, there is only one thing I know for certain: that we’ll figure it out together, no matter what directions life takes us in. I look at my cousin, my own true north, and I can’t imagine it any other way. In the pale light of the stars, she reaches a hand up to the sky like she might pluck one from its place.
“Look up,” she whispers, “or you’ll miss it.”
“Miss what?” I ask. I bring my eyes to the sky, and a tiny white light streaks through the darkness.
I blink, and it’s gone.
“That,” she says. “An extra wish.”
She takes my hand. “We get to make this one for us, together,” she says, “so I wish for us to always have adventures, and explore, and do all the things other people think we can’t, and be brave, and free, and happy.”
I laugh. “That’s a lot of extra wishes.”
“It’s our birthday, we’re allowed.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Your turn.”
I look at the sky above us, and I think of today, with its special kind of birthday magic. My mom and me, rising before the sun to make the drive from the beach to the mountains. The crisp smell of the air when we arrived. The way Bri and I crashed into each other for a hug after being apart too long. A day’s adventure with our moms—the hike to a rushing waterfall, a picnic lunch on sun-warmed rocks. The four of us, holding hands as we made the jump into the clear, icy lake.
And later, dancing in the kitchen while our moms cooked dinner and laughed over stories of when they were young. Homemade cake, served on the front porch so we could blow out our candles just as the stars began to shine. The small, wrapped box containing the dreamcatcher keychain Bri had given me to match hers.
And this feeling. Lying beneath a limitless sky, and knowing I am exactly where I belong.
It’s hard to imagine anything better than this, right now.
“I wish for us to always be like this,” I say finally.
Bri squeezes my hand. “Of course we will.”
Like This
I HEAR MY mom talking in the kitchen. “I’m coming,” she says firmly. “That’s it. You can’t be alone today, not like this.”
In the hallway, I stop midstep. I know by her words and the tremor in her voice that it’s my aunt on the other end of the line.
I watch her reflection in the living room window, pacing the kitchen as she cradles the phone between her ear and shoulder. “No, I mean it. I’m coming right now. I’ll get Mari up, and we’ll get on the road right away. We’ll be there in a few hours, like—”
She stops, and I see her take in a breath. I finish her sentence in my head: like we used to.
But she doesn’t say it. Because it hasn’t been like that for a long time.
I take a step backward to slip away to the safety of my room before she can see me.
“Yes. I’ll tell her. Don’t worry about that right now, it’ll be here when we get back.” There’s a pause. “I love you too,” my mom says before she hangs up. And then she just stands there, perfectly still, in the middle of the kitchen.
The low buzz of the refrigerator grows louder in the silence that follows. I don’t dare move. In the window, I watch my mom’s reflection. Her chin drops to her chest, and her shoulders begin to shake. She brings a hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that comes next. A lump rises in my throat, and all I can do is slip back down the hall, disappearing beneath the sound of grief that I don’t know how to share.
I am eighteen today. Bri should be too.
I pretend to be asleep when I hear footsteps in the hall. My mom pretends to be okay when she opens the door.
“Mari?” she says softly. Her voice is still thin, like it might break any second. I hear her cross the room, and then the edge of the bed dips as she sits down next to where I lie with my back to her. She puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Good morning, sweet girl.”
I feel a twinge of guilt at the old nickname, and I give in. Open my eyes. Turn to my mom.
She smiles a close-lipped smile, and her eyes blink back tears that I don’t want to see fall.
“Happy birthday,” she whispers.
I don’t say anything.
We both know that it’s not.
She takes her hand from my shoulder and folds it into her lap, then she presses her lips together and takes a deep breath, and I know what’s coming.
“I think we should go to Aunt Erin’s today,” she says.
I want to close my eyes again. Pull my covers over my head and disappear.
My mom reaches for my hand. “I just was on the phone with her, and she’s . . .” She shakes her head and sweeps a finger beneath her eye. Sniffs. “Today is so hard, and I don’t want her to be alone.” She wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a hug that is tight and uncomfortable. “Come with me?” she asks softly. “I know she’d love to see you.”
I pull away.
“I know this must be hard for you too, baby, but maybe it would be better if we were all together?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say, “I can’t.”
“Why not?” my mom asks softly.
Because I will only be a reminder to my aunt of what she’s lost. Because I can’t go and act like Bri and I were still close, and things hadn’t changed between us. But most of all, because I can’t imagine being there, at that house, without her.
“Because I have plans,” I say. “With Ian.”
A half
-truth.
My mom frowns. “Can’t you reschedule? I’m sure he’d understand.”
“No,” I say. “He’s planned some big surprise—for my birthday.”
A flat-out lie.
It puts my mom in a difficult position, just like I know it will, and I try to ignore the pang of guilt I feel. Because I can see that she’s weighing her sister’s grief against her daughter’s wish to avoid it. It’s a losing battle.
“I really don’t want to leave you alone on your birthday,” she says after a long moment. “Especially this one.”
“I won’t be alone.”
“But I may be gone for a few days, depending on how she’s doing.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She looks worried as she reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just don’t . . . How are you dealing with this? With Bri. I’ve been so busy, and you have been too, and I don’t even . . . I don’t know if you’re okay.” Tears, again. “Are you okay, Mari?”
Her concern makes a tiny crack in me, one I can’t allow. I take her hand in mine. “I’m okay, I promise. Go see Aunt Erin. She needs you.”
She bites her lip. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be sorry,” I say softly. “But please tell Aunt Erin that I am.”
Alone Today
I STAND IN the driveway in my pajamas and wave as my mom pulls away and drives slowly down the street. Even when I can no longer see her, I stay there, picturing each of the turns that will eventually take her to the long highway that leads to my aunt’s cabin in the meadow.
And all I can think is that I should’ve gone with her.
I should be in her car, heading north to do the hard thing and go be with my aunt today because Bri no longer is.
I look down at the phone in my hand and I know that if I called my mom and asked her to turn around and come back, she would. I imagine telling her that I don’t want to be alone today either, and that I want to go with her, and I want to be strong enough to be there for Aunt Erin. But I could never say those things. I’m not strong enough for any of them.
I’m weak. And hollow. And I can’t think about it anymore.
I stare at my phone screen a moment longer, wanting a distraction from the knot of guilt in my stomach, and there are plenty at my fingertips. I tap the Instagram icon and get ready to see how many new likes and comments have come in since I last checked my Last-Day-As-A-Seventeen-Year-Old post yesterday. It takes a second to refresh, which makes me both hopeful and anxious, but then the little bubble appears and shows me my numbers at a glance:
Likes: 1,423
Comments: 112
New Followers: 47
Which brings my total number of followers to 582,419. Not terrible, but not as much as I’d hoped for with that post. I’d ridden my bike down to the beach just before sunset and set up the tripod, then held my hair above my head and waded out into the cold water up to my chest so that my skin would shine wet in the golden light. It had taken so many attempts with the wireless remote, and then even more edits when I got home, but the end product was a shot of me in the sunset, looking out to the ocean like I was looking out at my future, tanned body on full display in a bikini I would never actually wear to the beach.
I read the first comment, from @BohoFit81 Beautiful soul, and an inspiration to all of us!
My eyes trace the outline of my waist, where I’d used an app to take just a touch off each side, and then the “empty” beach, which I’d created using another app to erase unwanted things in the background—in this case, people. And of course there’s the light and color of the shot, which I’d manually edited for a more subtle effect than the standard filters. I feel a twinge of shame at the effort that went into the effortless-looking shot, but I answer her anyway:
@BohoFit81 Thank you so much! But it’s all of you beautiful souls who inspire me!
I add the smiley face with the kissy heart emoji and hit Reply. Then I look up and realize I’m still standing in my empty driveway, and that if I want to get my first post of the day up in time to be there when people reach for the phones on their nightstands, or while they have their first cup of coffee, I need to hurry.
#Breakfastgoals
IN THE KITCHEN, I arrange a rainbow of berries and nuts over a bowl of oats dotted with chia seeds. Once I’ve got it just so, I drizzle a thin line of agave syrup as artfully as I can over it all, then finish with a small purple orchid I pluck from the plant on the counter. Next, I clear off a space on the granite for the walnut cutting board I use as a background for food shots, and set the handmade bowl on top of it. I have to climb onto the stool and stand above the counter to get it centered in the frame, and when I do, I can see it needs something more. It is, after all, my birthday breakfast.
I pick the last of the flowers from the orchid and spread them around the bowl, hoping it looks like a celebration. It takes only a few shots to get the angle and perspective right, then I sit right there on the counter and get to work with the photo settings to find the right mix of light and color. Once I do, I add my caption and tags: Birthday breakfast of choice. Good food = a good mood. #birthdaybreakfast #whatieatinaday #foodshouldbebeautiful #veganrecipes #plantstrong
Finally, I double-check it all, push it out to my other accounts, and hit Post. And then I wait for the first few likes to come in. It’s only a moment before they do, and once they hit double digits, I climb down and dump the bowl into the sink, ignoring the empty gnawing in my stomach. There is no way to shave inches off my waist for video, which is what the next post needs to be, so food can wait.
#Fitspiration
UPSTAIRS, I TEXT Ian to see if he’d be willing to meet me for lunch somewhere, then I dig through my closet for the yoga pants and bra that I’m supposed to do a paid post for. After I find and put them on, I stand in front of my full-length mirror and examine my reflection. The first thing I see is a hint of roundness in my stomach. I suck it in and pull my shoulders back, trying to lengthen my frame and practice looking natural at the same time, which only sort of works. At least the bright blue and turquoise of the outfit pop against my tan skin, and the top is padded, which gives my tiny boobs some much-needed help. My hair hangs loose and wavy over them, and though it bothers me to have it down during actual yoga poses, it looks better that way, so I leave it.
I open the laptop on my desk and switch over to the video camera that’s permanently pointed at the one clean corner of my room—my “yoga studio.” A bright mandala tapestry hangs against the white wall. Below it is a mat laid out flat on the hardwood floor, and framed by a set of artificial tropical palms. I step onto the mat and look into the camera, conscious of the blinking light that means it’s recording. After a few deep breaths, I shake out my arms and look, for a long moment, into the lens. Then I begin to move and breathe through the series of poses I’ve been practicing, working up to a difficult handstand at the end. My body feels weak and tired, but I try to focus on looking at ease and fully engaged in each movement and moment.
I’m not, though. Thoughts of Bri and my aunt and my mom creep into my mind and throw me off balance so that I have to start over, again and again. Too many times to count. By the time I finally make it all the way through to the handstand, my heart is pounding in my chest, and my arms are shaking so badly that I want to scrap the video altogether. But that’s not an option, because I’m already behind on posting for this company, and I promised a peak time slot in my feed. I have to work with what I’ve got.
I sit down at the desk and check my phone for a reply from Ian—which there isn’t—then tap over to my feed to check on my breakfast post. The numbers are still steadily climbing, which is a good sign I got it right, as basic as that post might have been. I scroll through the comments, liking them all as I go. They’re mostly happy birthdays and emojis—heart eyes, smiley faces, the yummy smile. A few people have actuall
y written the words yum or yummy. A follower named @peace_love_plants, who likes and comments on everything I ever post, wrote: Looks delish! HBD, beautiful!
Thank you so much! I type. And then I roll my eyes and put my phone down.
I sit there in the silence of my room, which feels emptier knowing my mom is likely making her way through the desert by now. It’ll be a few more hours until she reaches the mountains, but I picture her arrival. I know she and my aunt will wrap their arms around each other and cry together right there in the driveway before they go into the house. Maybe after a little while, they’ll decide to go for a walk or a hike somewhere and talk about how it used to be. They’ll sit on the deck and watch the sun sink behind the mountains. Maybe they’ll even lie on the trampoline and look up at the stars. No matter what, they’ll be together today.
For a moment, I let myself imagine being there with them. But when I start to tear up, I force my eyes back to the computer screen and get to work editing a half hour’s worth of yoga footage down to the best forty-five seconds I can find, making sure to include the handstand at the end. I watch it back a few times, and am surprised at how much better it looks than it felt. Satisfied, I caption and tag it:
Dreamy morning flow to celebrate another trip around the sun. Full of gratitude, today and every day, for what is still to come. Bra and pants from @spiritual_luna all-new summer line!
I grab my phone and go over to my bed to take a break, but the sun shines in through the blinds, too bright where I lie. It shouldn’t upset me, but it does. I get up and yank the string to close them, and my curtains too, then I sit on the floor in the dark and the glow of my phone.
I glance down at it and see that my video is up to seventy-eight views already, but Ian still hasn’t texted me back, so I message him again, despite the fact that it makes me feel slightly pathetic: Hey! Let’s meet today for lunch—my treat—and a few quick shots for that lifestyle account.
Just as I hit Send, a comment notification pops up. I tap over to it, hoping it’s more than just an emoji.
@soulmagic Why are you so fake? You’re missing the entire point of a yoga practice. Don’t act like it’s a spiritual thing for you—just come out and say you’re trying to show off your ASSets and sell us something at the same time. And then eat something, for fucksake.
