Chapter 3
3
I pet the split leaves of my monstera deliciosa, tipping the glass of water and pouring around her pot until the soil starts to drain. “There you go, Delilah. Now, Dad’s going to water you while I’m away, but I promise I’ll remind him to check your soil every week and facetime at least twice a month.” I check the soil of my golden pothos, Zeke, on the shelf next to Delilah and add some water to him as well.
“Aren’t you supposed to be packing?” Layla says, appearing in my doorway, face stern. Her baggy grey hoodie and sweats do nothing to dull the intensity of her posture, arms crossed with one hip stuck out touching the doorframe.
I ignore her, grabbing my mister and spritzing my arrowhead vine, Miles, who sits on top of the cluttered bookshelf.
Layla’s foot starts tapping so I turn back to her. She raises an eyebrow at me through her thick, black-framed glasses. My sister can be intimidating when she wants to be.
“Probably, but what’s the point?” I say, plopping down on my unmade bed and leaning back against the wall it’s pushed up against. “We don’t leave till Sunday, and I can’t take my plant babies.” I pick up a lacrosse ball laying in the crumpled mass of grey comforter and start throwing it in the air and catching it. “Why bother with the rest?”
Layla rolls her eyes at my dramatics. “Maybe because you only have forty-eight hours till you move out of state, dumbass. Kind of hard to do so, if all your clothes are still strewn about like the after photos of a tornado disaster.” She walks into my room, looking around at the mess I’ve left it in and eyeing the half-filled boxes scattered around. Groaning, she grabs a converse off the floor and tosses it into a box. “You’re not even halfway there.”
I shrug, watching her go around and pick up random things off the floor in an attempt to organize. Her shoulders are tense, and she tugs on the end of her firetruck red-dyed hair every time her hands are free. I continue to study her, watching for the twitch, as I say, “I’ll just wear the same outfit every day. It’ll make it really easy for people to remember me quickly.”
Lay snorts, but the sound feels forced. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll make you super popular on campus. A six-four dork walking around in the same green and blue Hawaiian shirt and ratty old converse, slowly smelling more and more putrid.” She stands up, facing me again. “You’re going to make so many friends.”
I chuckle, glancing over her face to see if anything tics. “I’m six-one, Lay.”
She shrugs. “Whatever.” We may be twins, but I got all the growth genes, coming in at almost half a foot taller than her.
Leaning over to pick up a discarded lime green button up, her shoulder twitches and I lean forward, stomach knotting.
“What’s wrong, Lay?”
Layla startles, standing up quickly and turning away from me to start folding the shirt. “Nothing’s wrong,” she murmurs, draping it over the back of my desk chair.
I roll my eyes, holding the lacrosse ball in my lap. “You’re a shitty liar, sis. You hate packing. Plus, I can feel your nerves from here.” Wiggling my fingers at her, I say, “My twin senses are tingling.”
Layla rolls her eyes back, grabbing my favorite purple cardigan off the floor.
I get comfortable on the bed again and wait in silence for a bit, before asking, “What’s up, Layla?”
She huffs, tossing the now folded shirt into a box and plopping down on the empty chair. I lob the lacrosse ball at her, and she catches it. “J is going to be at Imperium Coast.”
The back of my neck prickles at the mention of Janette. Layla isn’t the only one who hasn’t seen her in five years. Tamping down my reaction, I catch the ball when she tosses it back and raise an eyebrow. “Okay,” I lead, but she stays silent. I send the little white sphere back to her hands, but she just throws it back, not saying a word.
Sighing, I throw it back at her. “And that’s got you nervous because?”
She catches the ball in front of her face, dragging it down to her lap and picking at a spot peeling in the seam. “What if we don’t get along anymore?”
I shake my head, but she keeps staring down at the ball in her hands.
“What if it’s been too long and we’ve grown into different people, or seeing me brings up all the feelings of losing her dad again, or seeing her reminds me too much of Mom?” Her voice gets softer as her words speed up. The knot in my stomach loosens a bit but clenches at the mention of Mom. “What if she’s just been writing back to me to be nice and I've been thinking she’s still my best friend this whole time?”
“Layla,” I say, making her look up at me. “You two have been emailing back and forth for five years. No one keeps a tradition like that up for that long if they aren’t best friends. And Janette has known us since we were all in diapers on the same playmat. I doubt she’s going to see you and immediately write you off. She’s not her mom.” My voice hardens at the end.
Lay nods but starts gnawing on her bottom lip as she glances around the room again.
I lean closer to her. “She loves you, Lay. Besides, didn’t you say she doesn’t really have many friends in Georgia?”
“Yeah, she had a tough time after Aunt Sandy moved them down there, so she didn’t really make any close friends. I think she thought her mom would move them back here eventually.” She gets up, leaving my ball on the desk behind her, and starts folding more colorful clothes as she picks them up off the floor. “She’s said a couple times that she’s lonely there and can’t wait to see us all again when we get to the Coast.”
I nod, watching her pick up and pack my stuff. Her posture is less tense, and I relax a little further. “And she’s said hearing from you makes her feel less alone there, right?”
“Yeah,” she says, dropping a pair of pants into a box. “But, what if—wait how did you know she said that?” She turns to face me, forehead scrunched as her eyes light up. Guilt twists in my gut. “Have you read our emails?”
I shrug, threading some of my comforter through my fingers. “You left your laptop open, and I was curious how she was doing.” Layla scoffs and I pick my head up to look her in the eye. “You weren’t the only one Aunt Sandy took her away from,” I say, voice harsher than I intended. Aunt Sandy may have been Mom’s best friend, but I will never forgive her for abandoning Dad and taking Janette away from Layla when we all already lost enough.
Layla’s eyes soften and she walks over, climbing onto my bed and sliding over till her shoulder touches mine. “I miss Mom,” Layla whispers.
I stare at the wall across from me, finding the picture of Mom in front of her bakery. Dad, Aunt Sandy, and Uncle Levi surround her as they all smile in front of the Grand Opening sign. It’s tucked into the pin board Gwen made for me, concert tickets and random pins surrounding it. Mom’s reddish-brown hair is long and frizzy, her belly round with Gwen, as she beams at the camera and Dad stares down at her with a similar smile. “Me too,” I say and turn toward Layla. “Seeing Janette is going to bring up old feelings again. For both of you.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder as she nods. “But Gwen and I will be there too.” Picturing Janette, smiling at her mom’s campaign event on Instagram, I repeat, “For both of you.”
Layla nods again, leaning her head on my shoulder. We sit together for a little bit, the silence comfortable since we’ve sat in these feelings before. We’d been in a similar position right after Mom’s funeral, Layla sticking to my side through the whole thing and barely talking the entire day. A week later, she had barely left the house, only moving from her bedroom to the living room couch when Dad poked his head in and tried to rally her to get up. I knew I couldn’t do anything about losing Mom, drowning in my own feelings around that, but Janette was still out there. Layla came down to breakfast for the first time on her own the day after I suggested emailing Janette since we didn’t have her new number yet.
“I’ll be there for you too, Axe,” Layla says suddenly, lifting her head up to look at me. “Perks of having the nerdier twin go to college first, I already know the whole campus and which bars will serve us underage.” I chuckle.
“Neither of you should be drinking yet,” Gwen says, standing in my doorway with her hands on her hips. Our goody-two-shoes older sister always keeps her nose clean, even when she’s sticking it where it doesn’t belong.
I roll my eyes at her. “Yeah, ‘cause you’ve never had a drop of alcohol, right sis?”
“I’m almost legal,” she says, walking into my room and eyeing the mess similar to how Layla did when she showed up. “You two are not.”
“Almost is still not legal, G,” Lay says, scooting off the bed. Standing near each other, I note the jarring differences in my sisters, Lay in loungewear and fuzzy socks and Gwen in a patterned dress, black hair curled and pinned up on either side of her head. Still, I see why people initially think they’re the twins out of the three of us. Minus their hair colors and Gwen’s heterochromia, they share all of Mom’s features, including her average stature.
“How do you live in this?” Gwen asks, pointing to the mountain of dirty clothes next to my scattered pile of shoes on the floor by my closet.
I stay on the bed, raising an eyebrow again. “Did Dad send you guys to harass me?”
Gwen picks up a loafer I don’t remember the last time I wore, searching for the match through the scattered pile. “We leave for the Coast in two days, Axel. You need to get packing.”
I slouch down, huffing out a breath, and eyeing my plants across the room. “I can throw all my clothes into some bags in under an hour. What more do I need to pack?”
Layla hands Gwen the matching shoe, turning back to the box she had been slowly filling with clothes and sitting down to fold more of my stuff.
“Shower stuff, laptop and charging cords, bedside lamp, sheets, towels, laundry basket, pictures for your walls.” Gwen ticks off each item on her fingers as she spouts her list.
“Spare contacts, extra solution, back up glasses,” Layla adds, not looking up from the shirt she’s folding to push her own glasses up her nose. Gwen points at her but looks at me with a nod.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I have time.”
“You really don’t,” Gwen says, turning toward my closet and pulling open the door against the clutter stacked in front of it. “Go down to the garage and grab another box, please.”
I scoot off the bed, knowing they won’t leave if I try to stop them. Layla stands with the box she just filled with random clothes, handing it to me as I head toward the door. “Put this by the stairs on your way.”
I glare down at her as I take it and head out of my room, passing the floor to ceiling patchwork of framed photos as I walk down the hall toward the living room. Mom’s smiles make me grin and my eyes snag on a picture of Layla, Janette, and me covered in mud and laughing in Aunt Sandy and Uncle Levi’s backyard. Remembering how Janette started that mud fight after I pulled her hair, I shake my head, continuing past.
Dad sits on the couch, typing on his laptop as a soccer game plays on the TV across from him.
“You had to send the troops in after me?” I walk past him, dropping the box next to the stairs beside the pile of packed crates and suitcases my sisters have already filled.
Dad chuckles, glancing up at me with his glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. “They volunteered when I asked how far along you were. I take it things are moving faster now?”
“They’ve taken over the packing. I’ve been relegated to box retrieval.” I pout for a moment, walking into the kitchen and passing the breakfast nook. I open the garage door right next to it, shivering as the chill of the dark room permeates my tee shirt. I don’t think a car has entered this garage for the entirety of my life, two rows of storage shelves taking up the middle of the cement floor. I weave through them, going to the mountain of boxes in the corner my family tends to hoard whenever we get a decent sized one. Picking one at random, I turn to leave, my eyes automatically trailing over to the pile of bakery equipment sitting in the opposite corner of the room.
An industrial spiral mixer, rolling sheet pan rack, and dough sheeter sit together collecting dust, Mom’s bakery stickers stuck to the side of them. I can’t help but glance over at them every time I come in here, a stabbing ache striking me between the ribs each time I see them. A warm feeling hits me every time I see her photos in the halls or smell the bottle of perfume Dad keeps on his dresser. But the equipment always makes me feel like we failed her. Clifford’s Cupcakes was Mom’s dream, and we couldn’t keep it alive after she died.
I pull my eyes away from the pile and take the box into the kitchen, shutting the garage door behind me.
“You going out tonight?” Dad asks as I walk past.
I stop in the threshold of the hallway to turn back. “Mason’s having a party, but I’ve been trying to find an excuse not to go, so no.”
“I thought you broke up with him!” Layla’s voice shouts from the open door of my room down the hall.
“I did! Hence the need for an excuse!” I shout back, shaking my head at Dad.
Dad nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Tell him your dad is requiring your presence at a final family dinner and game night before his children leave him all alone in an empty house.” I roll my eyes as my sisters come rushing out of my room, flying past me to stand in front of our dad.
“You’ll be fine,” Layla says, at the same time as Gwen assures, “You can call us anytime, Dad,” her mother hen tendencies on full display.
“I'm not picking up if I’m in class,” I say, leaning against the edge of the wall on my left. Dad chuckles and Layla glares over her shoulder at me.
“I'll be fine girls, but I will probably check in every now and then.” They each nod. “On each of you,” he adds, leaning around them to pointedly look at me with a smirk. “And I do want to have one last family night before you all leave. If you’re all free?”
“Of course,” Gwen says, taking out her phone and typing quickly on the screen. Cancelling whatever plans she had probably.
“Can we play Scrabble?” Layla asks, glancing over at me as I groan. “What? Scrabble’s fun!”
“For you, maybe. You always win.” I fold my arms over my chest, the box in my hands brushing against my side as it ends up behind me.
Layla walks over, grabbing my forearm with both of her hands. “Please, Axe. We can play Uno after!”
I look skyward, avoiding the pleading eyes she’s aiming at me. “Fine,” I sigh as she starts shaking my arm.
Dad laughs again, turning back to his laptop. “Go finish packing,” he says, Gwen already heading past us down the hall, face still bent over her phone. “I’ll order sushi and we can go get ice cream at Scoops after dinner, before the games begin.” He waggles his eyebrows over his wire framed glasses, some white and grey hair sprinkled amongst his naturally black strands. I smile.
Layla nods, dragging me by the arm down the hall and back into my room. Tossing the box onto my bed, I sit down on my desk chair, swiveling back and forth a bit.
“Why is Mason inviting you to parties?” Lay asks, grabbing the box I just brought in and walking over to my dresser. Gwen sits on the floor, still organizing my shoes and placing them into another box.
I roll my neck, hearing a satisfying pop as my spine cracks. “I don’t know. He can’t take a hint?”
“Did you hint at a breakup or actually break up with him?” Layla starts pulling things off the top of the dresser and dropping them into the box, now balanced on her hip.
I let my head fall back, staring up at my ceiling. “I broke up with him. Very direct. ‘We are over’ wording.” I close my eyes, focusing on breathing through my nose and out through my mouth.
“That why you made out with Sofia in front of everyone next to the fire at Tyler's last week?” Layla asks. Gwen’s head shoots up in my periphery, but she stays silent.
I tip my chin back down, narrowing my eyes at Layla. “How’d you hear about that?”
“I ran into Kiera at Weston’s yesterday,” she says, glancing over at me. I mutter a curse under my breath, knowing Kiera was probably all too happy to gossip about me to my own twin sister. “She filled me in when she realized I skipped the bonfire.”
Silence stretches as they wait for me to say something, but I don’t.
“It’s probably good you guys broke up. Long distance starting college never works,” Gwen says, standing up to start pulling clothes off hangers and folding them on the end of my bed.
Layla nods. “Plus, he’s a dick.”
I shake my head, smiling and getting up from the chair. Taking the box from Layla’s hands, I open my top dresser drawer and start pulling out the random shaving accessories and contact cases I’ve thrown in there. Layla smiles at me, sitting down on my bed and organizing the clothes Gwen has folded. As we work on packing up my room, they each chime in with different things we’ll have to do when we get to the Coast, and my excitement to leave starts to grow.