Read Online First Comes Love by Katie Kacvinsky - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katie Kacvinsky
Ads: Link
out of control. It ripped my family apart, and now I’m the only thing holding us together. I’m the glue, and it’s a weak hold at best.
“You don’t want to be here,” Dylan says. She doesn’t ask. She knows. She can see it in my eyes.
“No. Everything here reminds me of her. It’s like I’m living in a graveyard.”
“What’s her name?”
“Amanda.”
“And you two were really close?” she asks.
“Yeah. She dated one of my best friends in high school for a while—Brandon, the guy you met on Mill Avenue. We hung out all the time.” Most guys would never admit being best friends with their sister, but I tell Dylan she was like a soul mate.
“I don’t remember the month after her death.” I smile to myself. “I think I went to the dark side for a while.”
“Did you miss any school?”
I shake my head and tell her school was the only thing that got me through it. But it’s like I was in a coma the whole time. Six months of my life was a blur. I didn’t play baseball—I couldn’t. My mind was too numb. I ignored all my friends; they just reminded me of her. Then they all graduated and moved on with their lives. The ones that stuck around called for a while, but they eventually stopped.
“And you feel like you need to stay in Phoenix to be close to your parents?”
I nod.
“Were you planning on going to school?”
I tell her I had a scholarship offer to play baseball in New Mexico, before Amanda died. I gave it up to stay home. There’s no way I could pack up my life and leave my parents alone.
“I bet your sister would have wanted you to play,” she says.
She’s right. Amanda would be furious with me. She’d kick my ass to New Mexico. I can imagine her in heaven, complaining about how I’m wasting my life away, and trying to persuade angels to fly down and smack me in the head with their halos until I come to my senses.
“And your mom isn’t coping very well?”
I shake my head and tell her she still cries every day. I can hear her at night. But she doesn’t want to talk about it. We don’t even say Amanda’s name in the house. It just hangs in the air like smoke that hasn’t settled yet.
Dylan asks me all kinds of questions about my sister. What was she like, did she play sports, what her hobbies were. It feels good to talk about Amanda, to lift up the shade of memories. It lets some light in.
We sit in our imaginary dining room for hours, and it’s starting to feel like home. I finally stand up and pull Dylan up next to me. We walk in silence back to her car. As we drive home, all my thoughts filter back to Amanda and the night the police called about the accident. I think about the drive, the longest drive of my life, up to the hospital in Flagstaff where my sister was dying in an intensive care unit. And I always wonder what was going through her head. I wonder if she was scared or in pain or even capable of thought. I wonder what you think about right before you end.
We never got to say goodbye. And a piece of me died with her that day.
Dylan turns down the radio and glances at me.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she says in a voice that’s always energized. I wait for it.
“I have an idea,” she says.
“Of course you do,” I say.
“Let’s celebrate your sister tomorrow. Take me to all her favorite places. Where she hung out, where she went shopping, where she went out to eat. Let’s honor her for the day. I want to see photos, I want to hear stories. What do you think?”
I stare back at her. “Why?”
“Because you loved her. And you need to spread her legacy.”
I look out the window and consider this. I spent the last eight months avoiding the streets I drove down with my sister. Avoiding the people and places that made all the memories come back in nauseating waves.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Starting tomorrow morning. Where should we go for breakfast?”
I smile at the memory.
“Tommy’s. It’s in Mesa,” I say.
“You don’t want to be here,” Dylan says. She doesn’t ask. She knows. She can see it in my eyes.
“No. Everything here reminds me of her. It’s like I’m living in a graveyard.”
“What’s her name?”
“Amanda.”
“And you two were really close?” she asks.
“Yeah. She dated one of my best friends in high school for a while—Brandon, the guy you met on Mill Avenue. We hung out all the time.” Most guys would never admit being best friends with their sister, but I tell Dylan she was like a soul mate.
“I don’t remember the month after her death.” I smile to myself. “I think I went to the dark side for a while.”
“Did you miss any school?”
I shake my head and tell her school was the only thing that got me through it. But it’s like I was in a coma the whole time. Six months of my life was a blur. I didn’t play baseball—I couldn’t. My mind was too numb. I ignored all my friends; they just reminded me of her. Then they all graduated and moved on with their lives. The ones that stuck around called for a while, but they eventually stopped.
“And you feel like you need to stay in Phoenix to be close to your parents?”
I nod.
“Were you planning on going to school?”
I tell her I had a scholarship offer to play baseball in New Mexico, before Amanda died. I gave it up to stay home. There’s no way I could pack up my life and leave my parents alone.
“I bet your sister would have wanted you to play,” she says.
She’s right. Amanda would be furious with me. She’d kick my ass to New Mexico. I can imagine her in heaven, complaining about how I’m wasting my life away, and trying to persuade angels to fly down and smack me in the head with their halos until I come to my senses.
“And your mom isn’t coping very well?”
I shake my head and tell her she still cries every day. I can hear her at night. But she doesn’t want to talk about it. We don’t even say Amanda’s name in the house. It just hangs in the air like smoke that hasn’t settled yet.
Dylan asks me all kinds of questions about my sister. What was she like, did she play sports, what her hobbies were. It feels good to talk about Amanda, to lift up the shade of memories. It lets some light in.
We sit in our imaginary dining room for hours, and it’s starting to feel like home. I finally stand up and pull Dylan up next to me. We walk in silence back to her car. As we drive home, all my thoughts filter back to Amanda and the night the police called about the accident. I think about the drive, the longest drive of my life, up to the hospital in Flagstaff where my sister was dying in an intensive care unit. And I always wonder what was going through her head. I wonder if she was scared or in pain or even capable of thought. I wonder what you think about right before you end.
We never got to say goodbye. And a piece of me died with her that day.
Dylan turns down the radio and glances at me.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she says in a voice that’s always energized. I wait for it.
“I have an idea,” she says.
“Of course you do,” I say.
“Let’s celebrate your sister tomorrow. Take me to all her favorite places. Where she hung out, where she went shopping, where she went out to eat. Let’s honor her for the day. I want to see photos, I want to hear stories. What do you think?”
I stare back at her. “Why?”
“Because you loved her. And you need to spread her legacy.”
I look out the window and consider this. I spent the last eight months avoiding the streets I drove down with my sister. Avoiding the people and places that made all the memories come back in nauseating waves.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Starting tomorrow morning. Where should we go for breakfast?”
I smile at the memory.
“Tommy’s. It’s in Mesa,” I say.
Similar Books
