After realizing that my mascara is dried out, I'm out of shampoo, and I've worn my Ugg boots so much that they look like elephant skin, I decide that a shopping trip is in order. Dad has to go in to work today so Mom and I decide to make a day of it. I'm just about to get dressed when the doorbell rings, and after a moment Mom calls me. I head downstairs to find George standing there with a full set of luggage. Jamie's neon green luggage.
"George," I say, slowing down.
"Hey, Kate," he smiles the smile of someone trying to look happy. "You're looking a lot better."
"So are you," I reply. I glance down at the luggage."This is, uh...Jamie's stuff. Most of it, I mean. I wanted you to have it...Jamie...would have wanted you to have it." He's struggling to speak, hesitating. I glance at Mom, who looks at him sadly.
"George, I-" I start.
"Please, Kati. I can't keep all of it. You have just as much right to her things as I do."
I don't know what to say, and my throat feels tight.
"I'm uh...I'm moving," he says next.
"Moving?" I say stupidly, as though the word is new to me.
"Yeah. To New York. To the other firm."
I feel like there's too much to think about; too many questions swarming my mind.
"When?" I ask, confused.
"Today," he answers. "Now."
It's silent for a moment as I realize that Jamie is nowhere now-even her room is dismantled and gone. Everything left is in these bags.
"I can't stay here. I couldn't stay in that house. This is yours now," he gestures to the luggage. "I'm sorry. I just need to leave."
He looks at me for a moment, and then I nod. He gives Mom a polite nod and turns around. He hesitates at the door and turns back to us.
"Thank you," he says, tears in his eyes. "For giving her more of a family, being there for her when I...wasn't. Thank you for loving her too."
Then he opens the door and is and I stand there. She's in the kitchen and I'm on the last step of the staircase. She looks at me as I stare at the bags.
"Why don't we deal with these later," she says, moving bags into the living room. "You go on and get dressed, sugar."
After a second I turn slowly and walk upstairs. I'm not sure how I feel. Of course I had thought about what George would do with her stuff. And obviously there are things that I had wanted...our scrap books, pictures, her favourite sweater...but I have imagined going there, one last time, and taking a few things myself.
"Maybe this is better," Mom says from my doorway a few minutes later. "Easier."
I nod slowly.
"Come on," she smiles encouragingly. "I've got some serious shoppin' to do."
I smile and go into my closet to grab a cardigan from a hook on the wall, pick up my bag and head downstairs where Mom is waiting near the island, texting. She finishes, drops the phone into her purse and smiles.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Yep," I reply quietly. The car rides are getting easier. I just want the entire feeling of tension to go away, but it's taking it's time. Retail therapy alongside my mother makes me feel better. We browse, stop at a cafe for lunch, and spend too much money. More than she would normally let me spend.
"Maybe I'll dye my hair black," I say as we pass a salon with a huge photo of a girl with blue-black hair.
"Absolutely not," Mom replies.
"Why not? It's a statement of creativity and self," I say.
"You can state your creativity and self in other ways. Sing a song, paint a picture. But I will not allow you to drench your head with chemicals and ruin that perfectly beautiful head of hair," she replies.
"You dye your hair," I counter.
"I am a blonde," she says. "I get highlights. Certain highlights are necessary if you don't want to look right haggard. There's nothin' wrong with your hair. And I'm your Mama and I said no."
"Mom card," I mutter.
"That's right. And I'll play it whenever I see fit." She smiles as I shake my head.
From behind I hear someone say my name. We turn and see Silas jogging towards us. He's the first friend I've seen in over three months.
"Hey," he smiles, reaching us.
"Hey," I reply, slightly surprised.
"You ladies leave anything for the rest of LA?" he grins, eyeing our bags.
"Only the ugly stuff," I reply. "Y'know, high-waisted jeans and anything paisley, and shirts with restaurant logos."
I glance at his 'Where's the Beef?' shirt and he mocks being insulted.
"This is a great shirt," he protests.
I smile."Oh, Silas, you remember my mom," I say. He nods.
"Nice to see you, Dr. Freedman."
"Nice to see you, too, Silas," Mom smiles.
"So are you coming on Saturday? To Axel's?" he asks, hopeful but trying to come across as casual.
"Oh, I'm not..." I begin.
"You should," he says, seeing my hesitation. "Everyone misses you."
"Maybe," I say, shrugging."Hope so," he smiles. "I've gotta get back to work." He gestures towards the skate shop he came out of.
"Text me back," he walks backwards. I nod half-heartedly and he smiles and turns and goes back to the store. He looks back once more to smile at me as we turn to keep walking.
"That boy is in love with you," Mom smiles. I roll my eyes and shake my head.
"We're just friends."
"Baby, you can say that line until you're blue in the face, but anyone who sees the way he looks at you will call you a liar."
I laugh.
"He's come to the house about five times, y'know," she adds.
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm," she nods as we walk towards the parking lot. "Always looked so heartbroken when I turned him away."
We reach the car and load our bags into the back. I get into the back seat.
"If you want to go to Axel's, you can go, sugar. Even just for a little while."
I don't say anything."Just think about it, baby," she says.
"Okay."
When we get home Dad is there. He's in the living room reading a book on the couch with Nigel sprawled out beside him, but he wakes up abruptly when Mom and I walk in.
"Hey," Dad smiles. "You leave anything for the rest of LA?"
Typical guy comment. I make a face at him and look where Jamie's luggage had been.
"Oh, I, uh...put everything in your room. Thought you'd want it there," he says.
I nod and take a deep breath. "Yeah...thanks, Dad."
I head upstairs to dump the shopping bags and begin the difficult task of going through Jamie's things.
Nigel follows me and sniffs carefully at the luggage.
"Okay, buddy," I kneel in front of a big suitcase and scratch Nigel's ears. "Can't put this one off, can we?"
I unzip the suitcase and find clothes. I stare at them as a familiar scent fills the air around me. Lacoste perfume. She'd worn it, her signature scent, since ninth grade.I spend the next few hours going through the suitcases. It's mostly clothes, but also some other things, like a diary and a box filled with random keepsakes and a bunch of purses, one of which is filled with necklaces, rings and bracelets. I also find a ring box. Inside is a white gold ring with an amethyst flanked by two smaller diamonds. Jamie's sweet sixteen ring from George. She was wearing it that night, I remember.
I hear a soft knock and look up from the pile I'm in and see Mom and Dad.
"Her sweet-sixteen ring," I say, holding the come in and sit amidst the stuff with me.
"I think she'd love if you wore it," Dad says, realizing I feel weird about it.
"I guess," I say, but I sit and stare at it until Dad takes it and gently slips it onto my right hand. A perfect fit. And it doesn't feel weird at all. It feels good. They sit with me as I go through the rest of the stuff until I have two piles.
"You're sure you want to donate this one?" Mom points to the small one.
I nod. "It's either too small or hideous," I manage a smile, holding up a paisley blouse Jamie bought simply to try and prove that paisley could be fashionable. She failed. I thought I'd find it impossible to give away her things, but Jamie and I both used to frequently donate clothing, whether it was for school fundraisers or just after closet-cleaning when we'd realize we had so many things we didn't wear anymore. Giving these things to someone who really needs them is exactly what she would want.
Still, when Dad drives me down to the donation centre, I hesitate for a minute, holding the bag of clothes. Dad gives me a sympathetic look and after another minute I hand the bag over to one of the volunteers. Dad kisses my forehead and steers me back towards the car.
"So, it's still early. What do you say to some paintball?" he smiles.
"What about our stuff?" I ask, smiling at his hopeful face. He clicks the car remote and the hatchback opens to reveal our gear.
"Well played, Father," I nod appraisingly, and he pushes me towards the car excitedly.
Whenever Dad and I go paintballing, he feels the need to "pump himself up" by listening to rap on the way there. For Father's Day last year I made him a two-disc compilation of all of our favorite rap songs. It's not even necessarily that I like a particular song, it's just funny to watch him attempt to rap. I've never seen him more excited over a gift than he was by those CDs. Mom thinks some of the lyrics are ridiculous and, "a bit inappropriate, Cooper. What do you or Kati even know about 'life on da streets'?"
To which Dad explained that it was about showing respect to "his homies", and Mom rolled her eyes and laughed. So Dad raps along with DMX as we drive to our favorite paintball course. We decide to join a team about to start a game, and are paired with four guys who look to be in their early twenties. One of them has a Berkeley sweater on. They appraise me as I load my gun.
"You gonna need someone to cover you, sweetheart?" one of them asks, looking me over.
I smirk."You're leaving this game before I am. Sweetheart."
"She's sixteen, pal," Dad says protectively, and I drag him away as one guy says, "Sixteen? Holy shit. I'm going back to high school."
"Does that happen all the time?" Dad asks, and when I laugh and shake my head in amusement he looks as though he just found a new thing to fight for.
"Oh, I am going to slaughter those perverts," he growls, adjusting his mask. I laugh as we find places on the field.
"Dad, they're on our team," I remind him, and a look of disappointment fills his face. "Next time," I say, my hand on his shoulder.
The horn blasts to start the ten minutes two of the college guys are hit, leaving four of us and five of the other team. I dive behind a blow-up pillar and hear shots hit it as a roll across the ground.
"Did you see the guy behind the triangle?" I hear, and turn around to see Dad, hiding nearby.
"Yeah, he's mine. I'm closer, and you'll never get him with his left side hidden. Go to the barrier over there and you'll be in perfect line for that guy in the blue," I say, eyeing the guy I'm about to kill. Another ten minutes pass and only Dad and I are left on our team, something I know he'd love to rub in the college guys' faces. The other team also has two people left. Dad and I strategize and decide on a plan, and as he moves out to act on it, he fires at the exact same time as his kill, eliminating both of them.
It's down to me and the other guy. I see him try to make it look like he goes left, but then he sneaks back and goes right. I smile and sneak after him. As I get closer I hear him talking to himself, and I recognize the voice.
"Alright, assface, where are you..." he says to himself.
Smiling, I stand up behind him.
"Is that any way to speak to one of your dearest friends?" I ask, and as he spins around I pull the trigger, nailing him right in the breastbone.
"Aw, shit," he groans, clutching his chest. I take off my mask as the horn blares to signify the end of the game, and my team cheers, running over.
"Kati," Axel cries, looking up and still clutching his chest. "Damn! How do you manage to kick my ass every time?" He takes off his mask and wipes his arm across his forehead as Dad reaches me and spins me around in a hug.
"You've got sick skills, girl," the cocky college guy says. He holds out his fist and says, "Respect," so I bump it back and then Dad and I do a victory dance.
"How've you been?" Axel asks, nudging me. He looks really happy to see me, and I feel guilty for having isolated myself from him.
"I'm okay," I nod.
"I miss you, bra. I miss partying with you!"
Dad comes back with three bottles of water.
"Me too," I say to Axel as Dad hands out the water.
"How's it goin', Doc?" Axel asks, grasping Dad's handshake and pulling him into a one-armed "bro-hug". Axel treats my Dad like one of his buddies, and it's pretty hilarious.
"Can't complain," Dad replies. "How's your summer?"
"Pretty good, man. I started my own business," he says nonchalantly.
"Seriously?" Dad asks.
"Aw, yeah. I'm doing contract work, fixing people's computers and electronics, and making websites."
Axel is a bit of a space cadet sometimes, and he's been known to smoke a bit too much pot on occasion, but the guy is a total genius. He can build computers, make apps for phones and basically do whatever he wants with a computer. He's a great person, gets straight-As and doesn't get into trouble at school, so his parents let him do whatever he wants. Hence his keggers.
"That's awesome, buddy," Dad says. "Very entrepreneurial."
"Oh, totes, bro," Axel nods. "Making some sick coin, too. Thinking of going to Europe after graduation."
We chat for a few more minutes before realizing we need to head home for dinner.
"Hey, are you going to come on Saturday?" Axel asks. I hesitate and he shakes his head.
"Don't answer yet. Just...think about it, okay?" I nod and he smiles and hugs me before heading to his car, waving at Dad as he goes.
When we walk in the door, Mom looks up from the couch where she's surrounded by paperwork.
"Wow," she says, taking in our paint-spattered faces, hair and clothes. "I was wondering where you two got to."
She grins as Dad recounts our victory.
"And, of course, I got hit right when I hit the other guy, and Kati snuck in and pelted their only survivor. And it was Axel," he finishes, peeling off his shirt.
"Don't you get paint on my carpet!" Mom says. "Don't forget we have that charity dinner for DCFS at 7:00," she says, getting off the couch and heading to the kitchen.
"I remembered," I say, yanking a hair tie from my messy hair.
"I set your dress out. The one from the dry cleaners."
Her hair is already done, I realize, and I have two hours until we have to leave.
"Thanks."
"You best go wash that rainbow out of your hair. You look like you wrestled a leprechaun."
Dad laughs as I giggle and examine my arms.
"Careful you don't get paint on the wall, either," Mom gestures to the lavender wall to my left, and as she gets closer to me I jokingly lunge forward and pretend like I'm going to wrap my paint-covered arms around her. She jumps back and shrieks my name. I laugh and then turn and go upstairs to shower.
"First time I've really seen my baby in months," I hear Mom say to Dad.
"I know," Dad agrees. "You should have seen her play."