Free Making Pretty by Corey Ann Haydu Page A

sad.
    â€œYou don’t get it,” I say. “That’s Karissa. That’s the girl I’ve been talking about all spring. That’s her. You know how much she matters to me.”
    â€œNot fair,” she says. “I’m supposed to matter to you.” Karissa comes up from behind in her own cab with Dad. I guess they couldn’t even all stand to come home together in one car. Dad kisses Karissa on the lips, a smacking sound that will echo in my head forever, and blows by me on his way into the apartment and up to bed.
    Karissa lingers a few feet away for a moment, then heads inside, where I can feel her waiting for me and Arizona to finish up so she can come outside and chat too.
    â€œWe can’t let this happen,” I say.
    â€œIs she, like, unstable?” Arizona says. “She was a little erratic at dinner.”
    I almost tell her about Karissa’s impressive grief and story-like past. But I keep it for myself. I guess I have a habit of keeping things from Arizona, a reality I don’t want to look at too squarely.
    â€œAlso, that woman can drink. No wonder you were such a disaster the other night,” Arizona says. “She’s staying over. Do you want to stay at my place so you don’t have to deal with that?” She almost forgives me already, and that’s what I love about my sister. Her anger has a sharp peak and a deep valley. It’s enough to make me think I could tell her about Natasha, at last, after all these years, and that she’d forgive me for being close with the one person we’re supposed to hate the most. “And I’m sorry, I want to be supportive, but for the love of God, you look like a cartoon character.” She pulls at my hair and raises hereyebrows. We’re sisters again, just like that.
    â€œPot calling the kettle black,” I say, even though I’m the one still in the doghouse and should definitely shut up.
    â€œThey look natural,” Arizona says. “Don’t even try to tell me they don’t. And it sounds stupid to you, I guess, but he’s not totally wrong. I do feel sort of great. And sure. I walk around the Village and feel like . . . a woman. Like, in control. I don’t know. Can we shut down this topic? Like, permanently? I want to feel good with what I did.” She looks down at her own cleavage. We both do. “I don’t know,” she says. “Anyway. Eat up. I’ll hate you less tomorrow.” She digs a plastic fork out of her pocket, because Arizona is nothing if not prepared to take care of me, so I sit on the stoop and dig in. There’s nothing quite like eating fancy food on your stoop. It’s cheese and oil perfection, so for a glorious moment I’m okay. Cheese can make me forget about anything for the length of time of one bite.
    Arizona catches a cab, and the cheese and I watch her go.
    Karissa sits down next to me only a minute later. She must have been watching us from the front door’s window this whole time. I’m nervous to be near her. We’re in some weird space between what we were three days ago and what we are about to become. It feels like wearing jeans that used to fit and still technically button up, but might rip at the seams if you kick your leg in the air.
    â€œYou okay?” she says.
    â€œShit, dude,” I say.
    Janie is the wife who taught me swear words, and Tess taught me about family dinners. My real mom taught me that anyone can leave,even mothers who smell like brownie mix and soap.
    Karissa was supposed to be my friend who would teach me about the correct ratio of cigarettes to liquor and maybe making the most out of small boobs and a sizable ass and how to make the city seem new every day.
    Instead she’s going to be girlfriend number eight hundred fifty-seven, and I’ll be learning about betrayal and whether or not I’m good at denial. I’ll learn how quickly something can be taken