twisted it to reveal the reflective glass.
Taira looked into it, but he didn’t see his reflection.
He saw me.
Chapter One
Katie
It rained all of August, but the day of the funeral was
so bright and sunny that my family struggled to mourn. They waved their programs
back and forth, pulling at the necks of their tight dresses and their choking
black neckties as the sweat poured down. Black was the worst possible choice on
a record-breaking day like this. Mom had always hated black, and I felt like the
heat was her way of having the last word.
At least I knew what she’d want. I wore red.
It was strange watching our living room fill up with
mourners—strange and horrifying. It didn’t feel like our space anymore, Mom and me, but like a moving picture of a place
I’d once known. I hadn’t been back in the house until two days ago, and then
only to pluck the red dress from my closet. I’d been staying with Mom’s friend
Linda, not because I couldn’t fend for myself at sixteen, but because she
worried the silence of the empty house would be too much to bear.
She wasn’t wrong. The only way I’d found to survive was to numb
myself to the loss, the icy cold sting of it freezing my heart until the reality
of her death was merely something disorienting, something I couldn’t really
fathom.
Mom couldn’t be gone. That wasn’t something that could even
happen to me. She had been totally fine before I’d found her that morning. I’d
even poured myself a bowl of cereal, thinking she was just sleeping in late.
I knew that wasn’t like her, but it’s not like you expect
people to die. You somehow think they won’t, that life will just carry on the
way it is now. You get too comfortable.
And then life shatters, and you pull the shards around yourself
so you can pretend it’s all fine.
As much as the quiet of the house had creeped me out, seeing
the living room full of people was somehow worse. Watching half strangers grind
their sweaty bodies into the fabric of our cushions, sipping punch on the good
couch where Mom never allowed food—it was like I was a ghost, like the house had
somehow shifted into a new future where I didn’t belong.
If I couldn’t stay here, then thank god I was going back to
Canada with Nan. My own space wasn’t comfortable anymore. I was a stranger to
myself.
“Cocktail weenie?” came a loud voice and I looked up. I’d been
huddled in the corner by the stairs, but I guess with my red dress I still stuck
out.
“Aunt Diane,” I said. She was the only other burst of color in
the room, wearing a black dress covered in purple flowers and a too-dark purple
lipstick to match.
“Have one,” Diane said, wiggling the silver tray at me. She had
a forced smile on her face, but even then she looked way too cheerful. “You look
like you could use a bit of a pick-me-up.” I didn’t think we’d even owned a tray
like that. Mom would have thought it tacky and cliché.
“A pick-me-up?” I said, staring at her. “My mom is dead, and
you think a cocktail weenie is going to help?” It was snarky, and I knew better,
but the room full of strangers was stifling. I was starting to feel
claustrophobic, when there’d always been enough room in the house for Mom and
me. It was like all my relatives had brought little pickaxes to chisel away at
the barrier I’d built around myself so I didn’t have to face the truth. Couldn’t
they just leave already?
“Trust me,” Diane said, thrusting the tray closer. “I’ve lost
my sister, and the last way I want to remember her is cramped in a room with
sweat and bad breath and a bunch of people she wouldn’t have wanted here anyway.
You and I need some calories to get through this.” I looked into the sea of
black as the mourners trampled around our living room and spilled into the
kitchen. There was no space for memories; there was no space to breathe.
I reached a shaky hand toward the tray and loaded a couple
different snacks onto a
Taira looked into it, but he didn’t see his reflection.
He saw me.
Chapter One
Katie
It rained all of August, but the day of the funeral was
so bright and sunny that my family struggled to mourn. They waved their programs
back and forth, pulling at the necks of their tight dresses and their choking
black neckties as the sweat poured down. Black was the worst possible choice on
a record-breaking day like this. Mom had always hated black, and I felt like the
heat was her way of having the last word.
At least I knew what she’d want. I wore red.
It was strange watching our living room fill up with
mourners—strange and horrifying. It didn’t feel like our space anymore, Mom and me, but like a moving picture of a place
I’d once known. I hadn’t been back in the house until two days ago, and then
only to pluck the red dress from my closet. I’d been staying with Mom’s friend
Linda, not because I couldn’t fend for myself at sixteen, but because she
worried the silence of the empty house would be too much to bear.
She wasn’t wrong. The only way I’d found to survive was to numb
myself to the loss, the icy cold sting of it freezing my heart until the reality
of her death was merely something disorienting, something I couldn’t really
fathom.
Mom couldn’t be gone. That wasn’t something that could even
happen to me. She had been totally fine before I’d found her that morning. I’d
even poured myself a bowl of cereal, thinking she was just sleeping in late.
I knew that wasn’t like her, but it’s not like you expect
people to die. You somehow think they won’t, that life will just carry on the
way it is now. You get too comfortable.
And then life shatters, and you pull the shards around yourself
so you can pretend it’s all fine.
As much as the quiet of the house had creeped me out, seeing
the living room full of people was somehow worse. Watching half strangers grind
their sweaty bodies into the fabric of our cushions, sipping punch on the good
couch where Mom never allowed food—it was like I was a ghost, like the house had
somehow shifted into a new future where I didn’t belong.
If I couldn’t stay here, then thank god I was going back to
Canada with Nan. My own space wasn’t comfortable anymore. I was a stranger to
myself.
“Cocktail weenie?” came a loud voice and I looked up. I’d been
huddled in the corner by the stairs, but I guess with my red dress I still stuck
out.
“Aunt Diane,” I said. She was the only other burst of color in
the room, wearing a black dress covered in purple flowers and a too-dark purple
lipstick to match.
“Have one,” Diane said, wiggling the silver tray at me. She had
a forced smile on her face, but even then she looked way too cheerful. “You look
like you could use a bit of a pick-me-up.” I didn’t think we’d even owned a tray
like that. Mom would have thought it tacky and cliché.
“A pick-me-up?” I said, staring at her. “My mom is dead, and
you think a cocktail weenie is going to help?” It was snarky, and I knew better,
but the room full of strangers was stifling. I was starting to feel
claustrophobic, when there’d always been enough room in the house for Mom and
me. It was like all my relatives had brought little pickaxes to chisel away at
the barrier I’d built around myself so I didn’t have to face the truth. Couldn’t
they just leave already?
“Trust me,” Diane said, thrusting the tray closer. “I’ve lost
my sister, and the last way I want to remember her is cramped in a room with
sweat and bad breath and a bunch of people she wouldn’t have wanted here anyway.
You and I need some calories to get through this.” I looked into the sea of
black as the mourners trampled around our living room and spilled into the
kitchen. There was no space for memories; there was no space to breathe.
I reached a shaky hand toward the tray and loaded a couple
different snacks onto a
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