A Million Miles Away(21)
“Honey, please,” he said. “Your money’s no good here.”
“Thank you,” she said, and inside, she felt a trace of the first real laugh she’d had all night. She giggled and took a sip of her espresso. “You are dramatic.”
“So?” He leaned on the counter, watching her. “What’s the point of experiencing life if no one else takes notice?”
“Like, ‘if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, did it really fall’ type of thing?”
“Exactly. I’m Ian, by the way.”
“Kelsey. So you knew Mitch?”
“Yes. She came in here to draw late at night. Sometimes we went to parties together.”
Kelsey searched her memory, but she couldn’t remember him among Michelle’s boyfriends. “I wonder why she never brought you home to meet us.”
“Not together together.” He smiled wryly. “Michelle’s not really my type.”
It appeared girls in general were not his type. Kelsey clicked her tongue and pointed a finger gun at him. “Got it.”
“I should have just told you I was a dancer, like you.”
“How did you know I was a dancer?”
He furrowed his brow. “Michelle talked about you all the time. You think I would just hug a stranger because she looks like my friend?”
Kelsey felt a smile come on. “No, but you know who would do that?”
They said it together: “Michelle.”
After they laughed, they sat in silence, remembering. Finally, he spoke. “She said that your parents pretended to approve of you both, but secretly they were afraid you would grow up to be starving artists.”
Kelsey felt her mouth drop open. “Michelle said that? That’s funny, because I’m no artist. Michelle was the artist.”
Ian made a psh sound and pretended to be offended. “You’re saying dancers aren’t artists?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Just that I don’t do any modern dance. Nothing that expresses, like, feelings.” He was still staring at her with those all-knowing eyes. She threw up her hands. “I’m not a tortured genius! I want to be a Rock Chalk Dancer with the hair and the uniform and the crowd. I just like to shake my ass.”
Ian threw his head back, laughing. “Hey, me, too. Me, too. But don’t sell yourself short. You don’t have to be tortured to be an artist. I’m happy. Michelle was happy.”
Kelsey paused, thinking. “I think she wanted to be a genius, though. She wanted to be original. I don’t care about any of that. I like being a part of something bigger than myself, something that everyone can understand.” She pointed to the Jayhawks logo on her jersey. “Like this.”
In response, all Ian did was point to the soup can on his T-shirt.
Kelsey recognized it from the poster in Michelle’s room. “Warhol, right? Yeah, he was her favorite.”
He turned away from her to the sink, back to his task. “You want to know why Michelle called you an artist? Look up Andy Warhol.”
Kelsey didn’t know Michelle even talked about her when she wasn’t around. She didn’t know Michelle was worried their parents disapproved. She hadn’t even had a conversation with one of Michelle’s friends lasting more than “I’m the other twin,” or, “Michelle’s upstairs.”
Kelsey put her hands around the tiny cup, soaking in the warmth. “God, there was so much I didn’t know about her.”
Ian shrugged. “Maybe it never occurred to you to ask because you didn’t have to.”
“Yeah. When someone lives next to you, eats next to you, looks just like you, you think you know them.”
But you don’t. You didn’t know her, not really, Kelsey told herself. This made her unexpectedly sad, sadder than the dull ache of absence. And desperate to know more.
She finished her drink and zipped up her coat.
“See you around, Kelsey.” Ian reached across for another hug, whispering into her ear, “And please don’t ever wear a basketball jersey as a dress again.”
MITCH TO PETER / USING BIG WORDS THAT MITCH WOULD USE (SECOND ATTEMPT)
1/7
Dearest Peter,
I must apologize for the delay in returning your letter. I was otherwise occupied with my academics, which as you know are of the uttermost importance. Let me paint a picture for you. I enter my home around three thirty and sit down to my studies at a rolltop desk, which I found at a nearby estate sale on Tennessee Street. My sister tells me the desk is not in fact antique but actually finds its origin at Target.
???
—find a book she would read. Jane Eyre?
—this is crazy
—copy parts of her journal
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next time Peter called, Kelsey would be ready. She had received a Skype message from him earlier that week, telling her that he’d call in two days, sometime that evening.
She daydreamed through classes, planning what to say.
She arrived home from dance practice to a house full of random mourners, trying to lose Gillian and Ingrid at her front door. They stood in the entryway with their backpacks, looking over Kelsey’s shoulder.