The Good Sister by Jamie Kain

the right to be.
    Okay, I don’t care if my stupid little sister has decided to live in the park with Barefoot Jack and the other local homeless and crazy, but it does make me curious. I imagine she’s on a downward spiral, like we all are, but I don’t think the parents realize how much closer she is to the edge than the rest of us. She loved Sarah more than anyone else did, and she’s got to be taking her death the hardest.
    You’d think any average parent could figure that out. But Lena, she’s lost in her own world right now. She is taking the role of grieving mother seriously. She’s been waiting a long time to play the role, ever since Sarah got her first cancer diagnosis all those years ago.
    As I pass by the park on my way to David’s house, I consider stopping and giving Asha a personal plea to come help spread the ashes. I think she’ll want to be a part of it, even if she acts like she doesn’t.
    But she’s not there now.
    As I turn onto David’s street, I see his car in the driveway of the house he shares with friends, and my stomach knots. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other alone, and not just his stopping in to say hi while I’m working at Sacred Grounds, which he’s started doing again lately. Problem is, AJ stops in too when he’s in town doing business, and if the two of them ever cross paths, some shit will go down.
    I climb the front steps of his porch, and he must have seen me because he opens the door and comes out. “Hey, what a surprise.”
    He looks seriously fugly, his beard overgrown and his shirt off. He’s wearing a drooping pair of jeans that stay up thanks only to a belt. His ribs and hip bones jut out in a way that isn’t exactly attractive, reminding me of pictures of starving people in India.
    He leans in for a hug, and I hug him back halfheartedly. When my sister disappeared over the edge of a cliff last month, whatever I felt for David went with her, I think. He just feels like a whole lot of nothing to me now.
    I’m relieved when he doesn’t try to kiss me.
    â€œYou doing okay?” he asks as we sit down on the front steps together.
    â€œYeah. You?”
    â€œNot so much.”
    I nod and make a sad face. I guess I should be falling apart more—David and I united in our grief or some shit—but I can’t muster the energy. I am remarkably calm, detached, waiting for some real emotions to come along.
    I look away from David, at a house across the street, a run-down, blue cottage with faded Tibetan prayer flags hanging limp over the front porch.
    â€œWe’re scattering her ashes Sunday night, around nine o’clock,” I finally say when I feel enough time has passed.
    He stares at a squirrel scurrying across the street.
    â€œI could ask my mom if you can come along.”
    â€œThat’s okay. It’s a family thing. I shouldn’t be there.”
    â€œI don’t think she’d care,” I say, but I’m kind of relieved he said no.
    Silence again.
    When I’m about to change the subject to the reason I guess I’ve come, he says, “I went out to the spot. Where she fell. I did my own thing there … and scattered some flowers … you know.”
    â€œOh. That’s cool,” I say lamely.
    Some bitchy, little part of me feels jealous that he had this private moment for Sarah. And some part of me feels violated that he went there, to the spot that belongs to me and my own fucked-up feelings.
    â€œI’ve been thinking…”
    Before he can go on, I hold up my hand for him to stop talking. I have to be the one to say it. “I have too. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
    I watch his face, not sure what I want to see there. Grief? Pain? Relief?
    Love?
    Shock.
    Long, awkward-ass pause.
    I look down at his hands, which are clasped a little tighter than they should be on his knees,