The After Girls by Leah Konen Page B

She’d fainted at Trail Mix. Ben had called to tell her as much, but she still hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to her.
    She was upset about Max. They were on a whole other plane of messy.
    She was worried about next year. Would things actually happen with River Deep, or should she just suck it up at a community college and try to transfer after one semester?
    But the worst thing was the one that was ever-present now. The fact that Astrid was gone. The fact that maybe, just maybe, she could have done something to help her. That was the one that hit her every time she woke up.
    Sydney ran her hands through her hair and threw a bra on under her tank top. She was required, of course, to make an appearance downstairs. Happy family time! Let’s all eat breakfast together like on TV! We’ll make it organic so we can not only save the environment but offset our inherent white guilt!
Composting!
    She hobbled down the stairs and was met immediately by the piercing giggles of Darcy, and the uber-long ponytail of George, her stepfather.
    “Morning, sunshine,” her mother said, leaning over to kiss her cheek, as Sydney grabbed a plate. “Sleep well?” she asked.
    “Not really,” she said. Her mom just turned back to Darcy, pouring her more orange juice.
    “It’s that pillow of yours,” George said. “It’s no wonder you can’t sleep.”
    Sydney just shrugged and headed straight to the stove. George had one of those alignment pillows that you had to order on TV. He was always going on and on about how it had changed his life. Like, even when they had people over for dinner. She liked feather pillows, like normal people. George gave Sydney a friendly pat on the shoulder and headed to the table, kissing her mother on the lips and Darcy on the forehead before he sat down.
    She filled her plate with grits and lots of butter, eggs, and a slice of facon. It’s not that she was against breakfast, per se, or composting, or George’s Chaco sandals, it’s just that it wasn’t her mother. Or at least it hadn’t been. When she’d been with her dad, the best breakfast Sydney could look forward to was an Eggo waffle with syrup while her mom munched on a granola bar before she headed to the office. Her mom and her dad had both been accountants. They’d divorced when she was ten — he lived only thirty minutes away and she saw him enough to feel like they still had a relationship — but she still couldn’t help but feel that her mom was on family #2. While the ink was still wet on the divorce papers, she met George and they moved to Falling Rock, and within a couple of years they had Darcy, veggie bacon, and a membership at the local co-op. Plus, no more work for her mother.
    George was some kind of technology whiz, and this time around, at least, she was spending her time doing what mattered. Her mom just hadn’t felt that way when she was five.
    Sydney was almost done with breakfast — the grits were salty and greasy, just like she liked them — when she had an idea. “George,” she said, setting her fork down.
    “Yes dear?” He had this habit of calling her dear at family gatherings, like breakfast. It annoyed her — it fell somewhere in between trying to be a father and trying to be a friend, and she didn’t really need either. “You’ve been in Falling Rock a long time,” she said.
    “Thirty years,” he said with a smile.
    She cleared her throat. “Did you know Astrid’s dad?”
    He didn’t look up as he answered. “I did,” he said. “Good man. It was a tragedy.”
    Tragedy. There was that word again. Like you could just say it and somehow everything suddenly made sense.
    Her mom gave her an understanding look — it was like she was studying to be a grief counselor — and she kept going.
    “How come you never talked about him?” she asked. “Like to Grace or anything.”
    He looked at her then, narrowing his eyes. Then he paused. “He’s been gone a long time,” he said. “Since before I even met