Skinny(62)

“That dance must have been a real dud for everyone. Briella’s home early, too.” Dad finally breaks the silence.

“She’s home?” I ask, surprised, and he nods. “I need to talk to her.” I struggle to get out of the deep chair, but I lean back over to kiss Dad on the forehead.

“Night, peanut,” he says.

I don’t go straight upstairs. I need a moment to think about what I want to say to Briella. Maybe a glass of water will buy me the time I need to figure it out.

When I enter the kitchen, Charlotte is sitting alone at the table drinking a steaming cup of coffee.

She glances up at me. “Want me to make you something?” she asks.

“No,” I say, getting a glass down out of the cabinet. I glance over at her while I’m filling it up with water from the front of the fridge. She stares straight ahead, sipping the coffee silently.

“Everything okay?” I ask, sitting down in the chair across the table from her.

She sniffs loudly. “I’m just being silly,” she says. “She’s fine, you know.”

I nod like I know what’s she’s talking about, but when she glances across at my face she must realize I’m confused.

“I miss Lindsey. She called tonight from school,” Charlotte says, putting her lipstick-stained mug down on the table. “She said she might stay on campus over the summer. Take some summer classes.”

“Summer’s a long time away. You never know. Things can change.”

“She’s so busy with every thing. She might even get a part-time job.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like she believes it.

“She’s so grown-up. It seems like yesterday she was just a baby. Such a beautiful, happy child. Always laughing. Always making everyone else smile. She grew up so fast and now she’s gone.”

“She’s not gone. She’s just not here.” I’m surprised at the despair on Charlotte’s face. Lindsey’s just away at college. She’s three hours away. It’s not like it’s forever.

“You don’t understand.” Charlotte stirs her coffee. “She left me,” she finally says. “It’s not just about going to college. She’s been so distant for so long.”

Lindsey and I never talked much, but if I had the chance now I’d tell her that moms are a very hard thing to lose. “She’ll be back,” I say, and pat Charlotte’s hand awkwardly on the tabletop, searching for the right words of comfort. “For Christmas and weekends.”

“It won’t be the same.” Charlotte smiles sadly. “She’ll never live here again.”

I realize I never knew Lindsey enough to miss her. Charlotte never knew my mom, either, but we are both grieving.

“I’m sure she misses you, too,” I say. “She’s just too cool to admit it.”

Charlotte beams at me. By her expression, you’d have thought I’d given her a thousand-dollar shopping spree to Macy’s. I feel guilty and make a mental note: Be nicer to Charlotte. We have some things in common.

“Thanks, Ever. I needed to talk to someone.” She stands to put the empty mug in the sink.

“Sure,” I say. “Anytime.” Hearing Charlotte seems a little easier without Skinny’s constant voice in my head.

Upstairs, I knock on the partially open door, making it swing into the room a few more inches. Briella lies on her bed, texting on her phone. Roxanne is on the pillow beside her. Both of them look up at me at the same time. Briella’s blond hair is scraped back into a ponytail and the only sign of the dance is the pile of pink dress on the floor by the bed. Her face is scrubbed clean, but her eyes are red and puffy. She’s been crying.

“Can I come in?” I stand in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other. She could say no. I wouldn’t blame her.

“Yeah,” she says, and puts the phone over on her nightstand. I’m not sure what Briella’s thinking, but Roxanne looks really sad. She thumps her tail once in greeting.

“Why is Rox in here?” I ask.

“She’s in trouble. She ate half of Charlotte’s Chinese silk scarf and turned the couch pillow into feather confetti,” says Briella, “but she’s really sorry.”

Roxanne thumps her tail twice in agreement, dislodging one lone feather, then puts her head back down on the pillow with a woeful sigh. Briella brushes away any remaining sign of tears, but we both know they were there minutes before.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Can I sit down?”

Briella pats her bed in response, and I sit. I don’t know where to start.