Speed of Life (17 page)

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?

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.”

“Amber can't do it?”

“I'm skipping to go to the swap meet. I don't want her to know.”

“Is it cool? I mean, with the daycare?” Han asks.

“I don't know. Maybe tell Mei-Zhen I've got a make-up test I forgot about? She knows you from coming in with us. She might not let you stay, but at least if you show up, I don't look totally irresponsible.”

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Me and Nat are buds. We'll hang together.”

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“No problem.”

I pick up David at Jimmy's around ten o'clock and we head out to the Expo Center. It's insanely busy, and we have to take a shuttle to get from the lot to the exhibits because we've parked so far away.

“I'm looking for a right taillight lens,” I tell David. “If you see one, point it out, but stay cool.”

He laughs. “Yes, boss.”

Now that me and Amber keep our money separate, I can spend mine on anything I want, and if I can find a lens, I'm getting it. We walk up and down the aisles for hours. There are tons of grandpas pushing babies in strollers, and for a minute I think I should've sprung Nat, since it's such a nice day out, but honestly, I'm really glad to be somewhere without her that isn't work or school.

We've checked out all the cars for sale, both running and not, and picked out our favorites. Then we decide it's time to eat. We find a hippie selling veggie hot dogs—​it is Portland after all—​and load them up with mustard and onions, then walk while we eat.

I've just taken a huge messy bite when David starts laughing. I think I've got food on my face, but then I see he's pointing off in the distance at a man walking toward us. The guy's probably in his sixties or so, has a gray beard, and is wearing one of those old-fashioned hats. I forget what you call them. He's got on jeans, cowboy boots, and a yellow tank-top, but what David's obviously laughing at is the sandwich board he's wearing.