Read Online This Much Is True by Katherine Owen - Free Book Online Page A

guy in tow. Charlie Masterson soon follows them. I can only imagine what’s unfolding upstairs with those three. I roll my eyes and seek out a new form of entertainment. Alone among strangers, I lean against the far wall, finish off my third drink (make a mental note that I should stop and definitely count all these sugary calories), and yet valiantly start in on a fourth. All my mother’s party rules—about a maximum of two drinks and avoiding the punch at all costs at any party—slip away from me.
    That last afternoon together, we’d talked for hours, sometimes laughing at each other as we conducted this lively debate about our plans after graduation and how Rob did or did not fit into those long-held plans. Then, rain and a black SUV changed everything good about my life in a mere fifteen seconds. “Run, Tally. Run.”
    She’s gone. Gone forever. So sudden, so tragic, so sorry. Everyone’s so sorry. Everyone’s still so sorry.
    It is true.
    Grief changes you.
    You’re different, not the same.
    So you play the game, Seuss-like.
    * * *
    I ignore the sympathetic stares of the partygoers as word begins to circulate through the crowd about who I am and what happened to my twin. As a momentary distraction from the debilitating sympathy swirling its way toward me, I subtly nod and help myself to yet another round of this bewildering but delicious punch. Nobody wants to talk about Holly. I know that. No one wants to be reminded of my sister’s tragic ending. I wish it didn’t plague me so much of the time, either. Silly me. I thought being among strangers would change the outcome. Apparently not.
    Holly and I used to play a game where we would pretend to be each other. We did this whenever we were feeling out of our depth. We could fool just about anyone—even Marla. With the aid of the red punch and a desperate need to feel normal again on some knowable level, I decide to be Holly the rest of the night. I throw my shoulders back, toss my hair in that fare-thee-well-princess-way of hers and adroitly smile, mimicking my twin’s infectious enthusiasm for life. Everybody loved Holly. Just adopting my twin’s persona makes me feel a little better. I quietly laugh to myself enjoying this secret amusement and imagine Holly being right there cheering me on. “That’s it, Tally. Have some fun.”
    Another interested guy tops off my glass with more of the red bubbling punch. This one is definitely older with a striking resemblance to the iconic said host of this party.
    In need of a distraction from Marla’s love situation, I profusely thank this latest interested guy for the top-off. I’m overzealous. I check myself and strive for nonchalance with him, strive for the sophistication bestowed upon me by my dead sister’s designer clothes, Marla’s application of flawless make-up, and the general personification of Holly’s lively personality I’ve managed to perfect over the years. We make idle chatter about the holidays, the break from school, the lame red punch, and the limited food offerings—the opened chip bags haphazardly strewn about. I attempt to keep a keen eye on Marla, who has returned from upstairs, and now gyrates to some love song with the same more-than-casually-interested guy from before, while Charlie watches her like a self-appointed chaperon intent on saving her virtue.
    The effects of spiked punch begin to descend upon me. I again glance over at covetous actions of Charlie Masterson, who is now having a heated discussion with my best friend on the other side of the room, gesturing this way and that towards the more-than-casually-interested first guy, who gyrates on the dance floor by himself.
    I start towards Marla, but she waves me off. Unsure of what I should be doing, I find myself in the middle of the dance floor. Alone. To hide my embarrassment at being caught up alone in the middle of the room, I pretend to take an ever-increasing interest in the sparkling lights that someone has meticulously