Page 13 of The Starfish Sisters

She stands, her mouth tight. “This was a mistake.”

I feel winded. Unconsciously, I touch my chest, right in the middle, and to my horror, tears well up in my eyes and fall down my face as if I’m six. It’s humiliating, but they don’t stop. I expect her to roll her eyes and storm out.

Instead, she softens, then wraps herself around me, tugging me close, stroking my hair. “Oh, Suze, I’m so mean. You bring out the mean in me.”

“I always have,” I say, but her arms feel so good that I lean into her, taking comfort in the round of her shoulder, the faintly vanilla smell of her. She rocks me, just as I had hoped, and I wonder if I’ve manipulated her or if my emotion was real. Does it even matter?

I have no idea.

“Come to dinner tonight,” she says, letting me go, but before she does, she strokes my hair in a familiar way. “Jasmine will keep us from getting too weird.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I know you’ll want to see her.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

A pause. In it, I feel our history—the diaries and promises, her art school days and my first movie. Joel, always.

“Okay.” She lets me go. “I have to get down the hill. Come over around six, I guess.”

“Do you want me to bring anything?”

She raises a brow. “Did you suddenly start cooking?”

When I left my father’s house, I vowed never to cook again, and I haven’t, aside from the wild spree during the pandemic.

“Ha.” I wipe my face with the heel of my palm.

In that liminal moment, she touches my cheek. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“No. Almost never.”

She nods. Drops her hand. “Okay, I’ll see you at six.” Pointing to the bread, she adds, “Eat at least two slices.”

Which means she’s noticed my wristbones. “Promise.”

She leaves, but a moment later, the doorbell rings. I open the door, and she looks sick to her stomach. “There’s a dead squirrel out here. I don’t know how I missed it before.”

On my front porch step is a dead squirrel. It has been sliced from throat to tail. Entrails spill from its belly. Bile rises in my throat and I have to step urgently to the side of the poor squirrel to barf over the edge of the porch, which means I have to see it again as I turn back. “You couldn’t have missed that.” I look around. “Someone just put it there.”

She bends over. “It’s cold.”

“It was probably killed somewhere else and brought here.”

“Why do you say that?”

I point. “No blood.” I press my hand over my belly. “You can go. I’ll call the police.”

“I’ll stay until they get here. Let’s go inside.”

A fine trembling has started beneath my skin, and it infuriates me. “Let’s look around, see if we see anything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She takes me by the arm and pushes me inside.