“Ha! No, I—”
“You switched from Spanish to French, or something?”
“Nope.” She flopped on her bed. “I’m taking Art History.”
“Art History, huh?”
“AP Art History. What Michelle used to take.”
Kelsey was staring at the chipped red paint on her nails, avoiding her father’s eyes. “What?” she said finally.
“Nothing,” her dad said, a calm smile resting on his face. “Will you be able to handle a class like that?”
“Yes.”
She could tell he was waiting for further explanation. He knew her as well as anyone. He knew she had spent most of her high school years driving around Lawrence with Davis, improvising parties in the basements of her friend’s houses, avoiding her homework with elaborate excuses. And she was happy that way. But everyone was happier then.
“Have you spoken to your mother about it? I think she’d be very proud you’re challenging yourself.”
Kelsey hadn’t made an effort to speak to her mother since before Christmas, the day of the City Market trip. Her mom left notes for her on the fridge occasionally, and asked Kelsey if she’d missed the deadline for submitting her application to KU. “To your great surprise, I’ve turned it in already,” Kelsey had called to her through the door, and that was it. So, it wasn’t as if her mom was busting down the door to speak to Kelsey, either.
“It’s none of Mom’s business.”
“You’re her daughter. Everything you do is her business.”
“If she wants to know about it, she doesn’t have to send you as a messenger.”
“Kels,” her father said, putting up his hands. “I act alone. I think the Art History class is fantastic.” He paused. Kelsey waited. “And that’s all I have to say about it.”
“Good,” Kelsey said, and she felt herself relax. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He leaned forward, pinching his nose, just like Michelle used to do when she was thinking. “You’ve got the biggest burden of us all, Kels.” His eyes shone a little, but he blinked, and his smile kept. “You don’t remember this, but your mother used to give you and Mitch baths in the sink. You were both very small babies. And even if she set you on either side of the sink, you’d find a way to get next to each other in the water. You two just loved to cuddle.”
Kelsey was quiet. Of course she wasn’t supposed to remember something like that, but actually, she could.
She could remember the warm water.
Her mother’s hands.
She could remember the puzzle-piece feeling of having her sister next to her, which is a feeling that no one in the world could ever know. Not just anyone else with a sister. Not another set of twins. No one but her and Michelle, and the way Michelle could twist her elbow inside out and Kelsey couldn’t, and Kelsey’s mole on her lower back and Michelle’s on her forearm, and how they always knew what the other was thinking.
When they got older, they had stopped wanting to know. Which was the worst part of all.
“Okay?” her father said, smiling.
“Okay,” Kelsey said, trying to swallow her tears. She smiled back at him. “I should get back to studying.”
“Okay then, strong girl.” He stood up, she stood up, and they embraced.
As he closed her bedroom door, Kelsey put back in her earbuds and pressed PLAY , but she could only hear nonsense syllables. The wound had torn again.
From downstairs, she heard her mother call her name.
It was taking Kelsey a bit to return to reality from a rainy day when they were nine, the day she and Michelle invented their own way of walking down the redbrick sidewalks. Every three steps they skipped, always the right leg, knee up, all the way into downtown. They had the same raincoat in different colors.
Kelsey opened her door and yelled down. “What?”
“Guess who I found in the basement?” her mother called. Kelsey stiffened.
“Don’t—not right now, Melody,” she heard her father say.
“Who did you find?” she
“You switched from Spanish to French, or something?”
“Nope.” She flopped on her bed. “I’m taking Art History.”
“Art History, huh?”
“AP Art History. What Michelle used to take.”
Kelsey was staring at the chipped red paint on her nails, avoiding her father’s eyes. “What?” she said finally.
“Nothing,” her dad said, a calm smile resting on his face. “Will you be able to handle a class like that?”
“Yes.”
She could tell he was waiting for further explanation. He knew her as well as anyone. He knew she had spent most of her high school years driving around Lawrence with Davis, improvising parties in the basements of her friend’s houses, avoiding her homework with elaborate excuses. And she was happy that way. But everyone was happier then.
“Have you spoken to your mother about it? I think she’d be very proud you’re challenging yourself.”
Kelsey hadn’t made an effort to speak to her mother since before Christmas, the day of the City Market trip. Her mom left notes for her on the fridge occasionally, and asked Kelsey if she’d missed the deadline for submitting her application to KU. “To your great surprise, I’ve turned it in already,” Kelsey had called to her through the door, and that was it. So, it wasn’t as if her mom was busting down the door to speak to Kelsey, either.
“It’s none of Mom’s business.”
“You’re her daughter. Everything you do is her business.”
“If she wants to know about it, she doesn’t have to send you as a messenger.”
“Kels,” her father said, putting up his hands. “I act alone. I think the Art History class is fantastic.” He paused. Kelsey waited. “And that’s all I have to say about it.”
“Good,” Kelsey said, and she felt herself relax. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He leaned forward, pinching his nose, just like Michelle used to do when she was thinking. “You’ve got the biggest burden of us all, Kels.” His eyes shone a little, but he blinked, and his smile kept. “You don’t remember this, but your mother used to give you and Mitch baths in the sink. You were both very small babies. And even if she set you on either side of the sink, you’d find a way to get next to each other in the water. You two just loved to cuddle.”
Kelsey was quiet. Of course she wasn’t supposed to remember something like that, but actually, she could.
She could remember the warm water.
Her mother’s hands.
She could remember the puzzle-piece feeling of having her sister next to her, which is a feeling that no one in the world could ever know. Not just anyone else with a sister. Not another set of twins. No one but her and Michelle, and the way Michelle could twist her elbow inside out and Kelsey couldn’t, and Kelsey’s mole on her lower back and Michelle’s on her forearm, and how they always knew what the other was thinking.
When they got older, they had stopped wanting to know. Which was the worst part of all.
“Okay?” her father said, smiling.
“Okay,” Kelsey said, trying to swallow her tears. She smiled back at him. “I should get back to studying.”
“Okay then, strong girl.” He stood up, she stood up, and they embraced.
As he closed her bedroom door, Kelsey put back in her earbuds and pressed PLAY , but she could only hear nonsense syllables. The wound had torn again.
From downstairs, she heard her mother call her name.
It was taking Kelsey a bit to return to reality from a rainy day when they were nine, the day she and Michelle invented their own way of walking down the redbrick sidewalks. Every three steps they skipped, always the right leg, knee up, all the way into downtown. They had the same raincoat in different colors.
Kelsey opened her door and yelled down. “What?”
“Guess who I found in the basement?” her mother called. Kelsey stiffened.
“Don’t—not right now, Melody,” she heard her father say.
“Who did you find?” she
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