Page 97 of The Lies I Told
“Isn’t that the point? You’ve been dressing up like me a lot lately.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell when my stuff has been worn. No big deal,” I said. “However, if you show up to the party on time and sober, they’ll know you’re not me.”
Clare smiled. “I guess.”
“The eye makeup goes perfectly with the blouse.”
I moved to my closet and chose the jeans I’d bought a few weeks ago. They’d cost over three hundred dollars, and I’d taken a morbid pleasure when the clerk swiped my father’s credit card. “But wear these with it.”
“You haven’t even worn them.” Clare moistened her lips, and for the first time, I noticed she looked pale. “Great.”
“You okay? You look like you don’t feel well.”
“I’m fine. Drank too much beer last night.”
“You? Drank too much?”
“Kurt can be a bad boy,” she said, offhandedly.
I’d caught Kurt staring at me before and now wondered if he was the reason she’d been dressing up as me so much lately. Kind of weird to think my twin and her boyfriend channeled me when they got it on. But who was I to lecture? He made her smile, and we’d done precious little of that since Mom died.
“You know, you can tell me anything,” I said.
“I know. And I will, but for tonight let’s have fun. It’s the New Year, and I want to ring it in in style. I need to have a really good time tonight.”
Something in her voice caught my attention. “I can drop you off at Jo-Jo’s.”
“No, take the Jeep. Kurt will pick me up. Just be careful, okay?”
Now, as I stared at the river, I wondered for the millionth time whether, if I’d changed one little thing that night (the makeup, the jeans, leaving her to ride with Kurt), Clare would have lived.
My head spun and churned up all the emotions buried deep. “I barely hugged her that last time.”
Tears fell down my cheeks. My stomach tumbled. There’d been a time when two glasses weren’t even a warm-up. But tonight, it hit me between the eyes. Drawing in a breath, I rose off the couch and stumbled. Lightweight. Out of training.
I moved to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle by the slim neck. I took a long drink. “Any job worth doing is worth doing well.”
40
BRIT
Friday, March 18, 2022
8:15 p.m.
I sat in the back of the Uber staring out the window, watching the lights of the city pass. I should’ve been happy. Should’ve been excited to see David, who, if I’d read his body language correctly, was going to ask me an important question. I’d also added Find My Friends to his phone when he’d been in the shower last week, justifying the move because he needed looking after just like Marisa. When he’d been late last week, that little app had told me he had been at a jeweler’s in the West End. Didn’t take higher math to add up that equation.
I should have been thrilled, over the moon, but Marisa’s visit now shadowed all those thoughts.
Marisa could ruin the best, most perfect day. She was the dark, angry cloud that had hung over our family since the day she’d been born. And after Mom’s death and most especially after Clare’s, she’d never once considered that we were all hurting in our own ways, and none of us had time for her anger issues.
And now she was doing it all over again. If her stupid, drunken car accident wasn’t enough, she was now using ourdead sisterto drain the fragile happiness from my life.
Before I’d left the house, I’d noticed the glass of wine and the bottle, which I’d accidentally left behind, had been emptied. That bottle had cost me fifty bucks, and I hated the idea of it going down the sink ... and of Marisa gulping it like it was MD 20/20.
It would have been too bad if Marisa had drunk any of the wine. It would have been another nick in her fragile sobriety, which, let’s face it, wouldn’t stand the test of time. Marisa didn’t have that kind of discipline. She was a loose cannon. A tragedy better suited for the stage.
