In an Instant(7)

My mom stands beside Aunt Karen on the lawn, her arms crossed as she watches my dad and Uncle Bob load our ski gear into the Miller Mobile. She hasn’t spoken a word to me since the accident. She won’t even look at me.

I feel so bad it hurts to breathe. I don’t get it. I’m not stupid. I get okay grades. But it’s like there’s this great disconnect when it comes to common sense. I knew I shouldn’t have driven her car, or at least I should have known, but then I went right ahead and did it anyways. I glance again at the smashed front end of the Mercedes—the bumper cracked, the paint damaged, the headlight broken.

Shaking my head, I let out a heavy sigh, then return to watching the preparations. Oz is helping. Kind of. My dad carries our stuff into the camper, and Oz places it where he thinks it should go—on the seats, in the aisle, on the steering wheel. Before we leave, he will be distracted, and we will fix it.

Beside me, Mo is so excited she nearly bounces. She’s never been skiing. Her father’s idea of adventure is chartering a yacht with a crew to sail his family around various ports of Greece or touring ancient ruins with a private docent in Bangladesh or tasting wine in the underground cellars of Bordeaux.

I smile at her excitement and at her outfit. She’s decked out in beautiful brand-new mountain attire—black leggings, fur-lined boots, a baby-blue cashmere sweater, and an infinity scarf that looks like it was handwoven in Morocco, which it very well might have been, since her dad travels all the time and is always bringing her exotic gifts. The weather is around sixty degrees—cool for Orange County but too warm for her outfit—and a sheen of sweat has formed on her upper lip and forehead.

Mo’s mom waits with us, her eyes skittering over the scene, and I wonder what she makes of our odd tribe. Chloe and Vance (Chlance, as Mo and I call them, since their bodies are always attached, creating a single morphed being impossible to distinguish as two separate people) huddle on the porch, whispering and kissing, undoubtedly conspiring about when they’ll be able to sneak off to get stoned. My parents don’t have a clue. Just like they have no idea my sister is having sex or that she drinks on a regular, fairly frequent basis.

I watch as my sister whispers something into Vance’s ear; he smiles down at her, then kisses her softly, their identical black hair touching. Both turned eighteen a month ago, their birthdays less than a week apart, and to celebrate they decided to get matching haircuts. Chloe chopped off her long copper locks, and Vance buzzed his gold hair to within an inch of his scalp. They dyed what was left indigo black. Despite the self-sabotage, they are good looking. He is tall. She is petite. And both have flawless skin and pretty pearly whites.

A few feet away, my mom laughs at something Aunt Karen says, and I turn. Aunt Karen’s not actually my aunt, but she’s been “Aunt Karen” since Natalie and I were babies. Over the years, she and my mom have formed a near-mythical friendship, so close they’ve even grown to look alike. My mom’s an inch taller and twenty pounds thinner, and Aunt Karen has wider lips and a narrower nose, but they look like sisters, my mom definitely the older sibling, though they’re the same age.

Aunt Karen says something else that’s funny, and Uncle Bob says from the driveway, “Hey, what’s going on over there? Break it up, you two.”

Aunt Karen sticks her tongue out at him, causing Uncle Bob to reach into the bag of groceries he’s holding to pull out a bag of marshmallows and hurl it at her. Aunt Karen curls from the attack as my mom lunges for the bag, snatching the puffy missile from the air.

Sometimes I forget that my mom used to be an athlete. It’s easy to do, since she pretty much looks like your average mom. She’s certainly not in great shape like she was when she ran track for USC, but she still has lightning-quick reflexes.

Uncle Bob gives my mom a wink, and my mom blushes as Aunt Karen pretends not to notice. I always think it must be kind of hard for Aunt Karen to know how well Uncle Bob and my mom get along. It’s not like anything weird is going on, but they have this way with each other, the two of them always challenging each other and going toe to toe, something Aunt Karen just can’t do. My mom works real hard to keep it in check. Like right now, I know her instinct is to hurl the marshmallows back at him, but she doesn’t. Instead she carries them to where he is and plops them in the bag.

“Can’t make the shot,” he taunts.

“If I recall, you still owe me seventeen Snickers from the last time we played lightning,” she offers back, a glint of the competitor in her sparking, which leaves Uncle Bob smirking after her as she returns to Aunt Karen.

Natalie walks up to stand beside Mo, Mrs. Kaminski, and me. “My mom says you’re going to have to pay for the damage to your mom’s car,” she says, her smile sympathetic, though the tone is tinged with glee.

Despite Natalie and me growing up together, most of that time was spent hating each other. The first five years, we fought. The next five, we ignored each other. And for the past six, we’ve tolerated each other, but just barely.

“Is that true?” Mo says, looking sincerely concerned.

I swallow. My mom hasn’t said anything, but if that’s what Aunt Karen told Natalie, it’s probably true. I have no idea what the damage from the accident is going to cost, but my guess is it will be more than I’ve saved for buying my own car. My stomach clenches in a knot at the thought of all those hours of babysitting and dog walking gone in a blink, or in my case, gone in the buzz of my phone in my back pocket.