The Beautiful Between - Alyssa B. Sheinmel [42]
“That’s okay,” Jeremy says firmly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does,” Kate says, and a couple of tears slip down her cheeks.
I hate how important the sundae has become. It feels intensely like this could be the last time Kate will ever come here, like it might be the last time she’ll ever turn a sundae pink, the way she’s been doing since she was a little girl. This place will never be the same for her, no matter what happens with her illness. When Jeremy and I go back to my place later, he chain-smokes on my terrace, almost a whole pack of cigarettes. I’ve never seen him so upset, and I feel awful that I was the reason for it. My stupid physics score prompted the whole thing.
15
My mother and I don’t look alike. I’m always fascinated when you see parents with their children and their relationship is very obvious. The Coles are obviously related. Just take one look at Jeremy’s mother and you can tell where he got his eyes, his mouth, and his hair. His hands match his father’s. Kate’s chin and lips match her brother’s.
But it’s more than that, more than just the way that they look. Kate makes the same gestures as Jeremy when she speaks, has the same spark in her eye when she’s teasing her brother that her brother has when he’s teasing me. When I call Jeremy’s house and his father picks up, he always makes small talk before passing the phone to his son, and when he asks how school is and how my day was, I can hear the same intonations that are in Jeremy’s voice when he asks those questions.
I wonder if my mother and I share traits like that. The kind that you pick up from living with the same person for a long time. I must have something of my mother’s, some habit, like the way she makes little swishing noises with her lips when she’s walking around the apartment, looking for a lost pair of shoes. But I’ve never noticed myself doing that. Technically, I guess it’s an unconscious habit, but still. I’ve lived with her all my life. I don’t question why we don’t look alike—that’s just some trick of genetics—but I do wonder what traits of hers I may have picked up over the years.
I start going to the Coles’ after school; Jeremy and I are still studying together and he likes us to go to his apartment now, not mine. Neither of us would ever say the reason, but of course it’s to spend more time with Kate.
Last week, Jeremy’s cell phone rang around nine. Kate and I were eating ice cream on the couch, eavesdropping.
“Hey, Fisher, what’s up?”
Kate and I could hear Brent Fisher screaming through the phone; he was someplace noisy.
“No way! I’ve been dying to go there!”
Brent screamed some more.
“Tonight?” Jeremy stood up, looked back at Kate and me on the couch, then headed for the door, holding the phone. “No, man,” we could hear him say as he left the room. “Nah, not tonight.”
Kate waited until we couldn’t hear Jeremy anymore and said, “He doesn’t go out like he used to.” She sounded like she felt guilty.
“I know. But it’s not your fault.”
“Sure it’s my fault,” she said, almost shrugging.
“Not any more than it’s mine,” I said, wanting to make a joke. “Seriously, the minute your brother decided to hang out with me must have also been the minute he gave up going to lots of parties. I am not a party girl.”
Kate giggled. “I guess you’re not.”
“Hey,” I said, feigning offense, “I could go to plenty of parties if I wanted.”
“Yeah, but you don’t really want to.”
“Once in a while,” I said honestly.
“Once in a while,” Kate echoed thoughtfully. Then she said, “It’s just … he used to have so much fun all the time. It used to be important.”
“What do you mean, ‘it used to be important’?”
Kate shoved her ice cream bowl onto the coffee table; we both ignored that it was mostly full.
“I mean, he used to be important. Whether or not he went to these parties was important. It mattered. People wanted him to be there.”
“They still do—they still always invite him.”
“But it’s not the same now.”
I thought about this. Kate was right; it