Read Online Making Pretty by Corey Ann Haydu - Free Book Online Page A

expressions. The way they said my name, like it meant something. They knew. Of course they knew.
    It seems stupid to want to be the most important person in someone’s life. But other people have that. So I don’t see why I can’t want it too.
    â€œWhat if this made us all super happy?” Karissa says “Like, just, what if?” She has her crooked smile and her hair in her eyes and the same energy as my father, caught in between naive positivity and crazy-making denial.
    â€œThis is my family,” I whisper back, but the word hurts to say.
    For a moment it is only me and her. We aren’t blinking or moving or speaking. “We both deserve everything. Remember?” she says.
    â€œBut this is mine ,” I say. “And you said you wanted me . Not my father.” My hands go to my throat, the universal sign for choking. I’m not actually in need of a Heimlich or anything, but I need them to know I can’t breathe, something’s stuck in my throat, I might pass out.
    â€œCan we get the cab, please?” Arizona says, shifting the moment into something else, something looser and more okay. “I swear to God someone forgot to pick up after their dog, and I cannot do this in the presence of puppy crap, okay?”
    She makes me laugh. A totally involuntary laugh, a really small one, but it’s there and it feels good so I appreciate it, and take a mental note that it may go on my gratitude list tomorrow morning. So, so much about Arizona has changed, but at the end of the day she is completely not going to stand for anything as undignified as a dog-shit-flavored conversation about the newest of Dad’s soon-to-be-failed relationships.
    With a twenty-three-year-old.
    With my friend.
    I give it, like, a month. And if it’s one of his monthlong girlfriends, there’s no need for Arizona and me to be involved.
    Because, come on.
    They all get in the cab. I stand there like I’m getting in last, but then don’t.
    â€œI can’t,” I say.
    â€œGet in,” Dad says. He’s not kidding. He wants me to squeeze in the back with Arizona and Karissa and sign off on this mess of a situation.
    Not this time.
    â€œYou can have anyone else,” I whisper, getting close to his face in the window. “You don’t even know her. She doesn’t even matter to you. In two years you won’t remember her favorite color or what she wanted to be when she grew up. But she matters to me.” I think maybehe’ll hear the truth in that.
    â€œMontana. Don’t be a teenager about it,” Dad says. It’s a thing he says that used to make me laugh, but not today. I’m going to be Montana about it. I’m going to stay here and smoke cigarettes and Google the names of my stepmothers and some of the ex-girlfriends I remember and call Natasha, the stepmother I’ve semi-adopted as still mine, and try to warm the chill in my chest from seeing Karissa on my father’s arm.
    â€œYou can’t make me sign off on this,” I say. The cabdriver starts the meter, and I know my dad won’t let it run too long.
    â€œTotally,” Karissa says. “You need some time. Eat some ice cream. Chill. We can talk after dinner. Your dad and I understand.” She reaches to the front seat and puts a hand on Dad’s shoulder. My body convulses.
    â€œWhat if I don’t want to talk to you later?” I say. I curl my toes and stand my ground as best as I can.
    â€œWe’ll bring you back some pasta. You will eat it,” Dad says. He rolls up the window and stares ahead. Arizona watches me from the backseat, and I know I’m supposed to do this with her, but I can’t. She started it, the making-our-own-choices thing. She changed everything. So she can’t expect me to do everything with her anymore. She made the first crack in our impenetrable united front.
    I call Natasha.
    â€œYou need to come over?” she