Read Online The September Sisters by Jillian Cantor - Free Book Online

the kitchen. I didn’t really think she could ignore my birthday. I wondered if for her, the ache of missing Becky was subsiding. It was odd, but for me, the feeling was getting worse. I realized I was beginning to miss her, to think I really loved her, that in some odd way we had a special bond. When she was here, she drove me crazy on my birthday. I hated her on this day more than any other. But on the day of my thirteenth birthday something felt more missing than it had any other day since she’d been gone.
    “Nice flowers,” my mother said when I walked in.
    “Mrs. Ramirez gave them to me.”
    “Oh, how sweet. She’s always been such a darling.” She reached under the sink and pulled out her favorite vase, a gift she’d gotten for her wedding. It’s hand-painted up the side with these lovely purple windy lines. “Here. Trim the stems first.”
    I’d seen my mother do it a bunch of times, so I knew exactly how to cut the flowers and place them in the water. I suddenly felt like such a grown-up. Here I was with my very own flowers. “I should put them in my room, “I said.
    “Or you can put them right here.” She picked up the vase and put it in the middle of the kitchen table, like a centerpiece. “They brighten up the room.”
    “You’re right. They do.” She went back to the stove to check on the food. “What are you making?”
    “Spaghetti and meatballs. Your favorite, sweetie.” She smiled at me.
    “Great.” Actually, spaghetti and meatballs were Becky’s favorite, the meal she always requested on her birthday, but I didn’t want my mother to see how disappointed I was. For my birthday I usually asked for chili and cornbread, my mother’s two original specialties. The truth is I don’t even like meatballs all that much. They’re okay. I don’t hate themor anything, but my mother’s are usually a little chewy and overspiced.
    “Set the table, sweetie. Your father will be home soon, and I want to eat early tonight.”
    We hadn’t eaten as a family since Becky disappeared. I set three places at the table instead of four, Becky’s old spot so awkwardly empty.
    “Can I go watch TV until dinner?” I was suddenly desperate to see something else, to be absorbed in someone else’s life instead of my own. I didn’t want to look at the oddly empty table. I didn’t want to watch my mother cook Becky’s meal.
    She turned away from the stove to check the table. “Abby, set another plate.”
    “Why?” I asked. “Who’s coming to dinner?” I imagined she might say Harry Baker, Mrs. Ramirez.
    “Becky.”
    “Becky?” I didn’t expect to hear her name, even though I was thinking about her, even though I wanted her empty space to be filled, wanted to hear her brag about her birthday the next day. I suddenly had visions of a life returned to normal, of the two of us pulling each other’s hair and squabbling over an inner tube, of a family that ate dinner together,of a mother who spaced out only occasionally when she lounged around with a cigarette in her hand.
    “She’ll be home for her birthday. Becky wouldn’t miss her birthday.”
    “You’re right,” I said quickly. “You’re right.” But I didn’t really believe it. I set the fourth place because I was afraid if I didn’t, my mother would make a silent retreat back into her own hazy world.
     
    All through my birthday dinner my mother kept getting up to look outside, to peek through the front window. “I thought I heard something,” she said.
    Finally my father said, “Elaine, have a seat. Relax.”
    “I can’t relax, Jim. Don’t tell me to relax.”
    I chewed my meatballs, pretending they were the best birthday dinner ever. But I was afraid to say anything. I knew if someone moved the wrong way, said the wrong thing, my mother would storm upstairs, and my father would run after her. I preferred this strange dinner party of my mother’s to being alone on my birthday.
    “I remember when you were born, Ab, just like it