But as soon as she enters the bus, she sees me.
“Ariana?” She stops a few rows ahead of me,
holding up a line of passengers behind.
“Hey. Alex.” Of course. After all these months.
Alex gets on my bus. After all these months
of trying to forget her.
Alex looks a little flustered too. Like she’s not quite sure
she wants to see me either, but someone brushes her bag.
She glances over her shoulder and points to the girl behind her.
“This is my roommate,” Alex says.
Her roommate looks normal. The way a well-adjusted
college girl might look. Clothes draped over her body
in effortless layers. Skin that is hydrated and blemish free.
She probably uses toner. She probably knows why
one is supposed to use toner.
“We should grab those seats,” the roommate says,
pointing to the remaining pair toward the back.
There are so many things to say to Alex.
Even the small things like, how are you?
How’s the band? How’s college and life and your future?
Maybe she wants me to ask her one of those questions.
Any question. Because she lingers a moment longer.
“Okay, sure. It was good seeing you, Ariana.”
The bus shifts into gear. Alex wavers down the aisle, and I watch
as she finds her seat and pulls a muffin out from a jacket pocket
and starts eating, spilling crumbs onto the floor.
Row
“So, is Ariana just gone?
Or like Gone Girl gone?”
Kennedy asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Should I be worried?”
Kennedy says, but she’s already worried.
I don’t know why people always think
that worrying will resolve anything.
Like when Mom died,
our parents’ friends
were always like,
“We are so worried about you girls.”
Ariana would respond,
“What good does that do?
She’s not coming back.”
That always shut people up.
“Something’s not right, Row.”
We’re usually so good
at looking normal. The food
in the fridge is where it should be.
The plates put away. The blankets strewn
across the couch because we use them.
“I’m kinda concerned about you guys,”
Kennedy continues,
her eyes darting around.
“Like, where is your sister?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Aren’t you even remotely concerned?”
My legs feel antsy.
I thought Kennedy would
come over and we would
chill and hang out,
and not really think
about what might be
going on in this family.
There’s a whole season
of quality escapism
we could be watching.
Or maybe a board game?
When was the last time
we did that?
Or maybe I should have opted
for soccer. Maybe playing alone
would have been better than
Kennedy here in this house
interrogating the inner workings
of our family.
We’re not okay. I get it.
But does it need to be
on display for anyone else?
“Like, what if
she’s in a snowy ditch
on the side of the road,
unconscious
and freezing to death?
“Or, like, what if something really
bad happened, like that girl
who was discovered in the woods?
You know, murdered.”
“Jesus, Kennedy.”
“That was a really terrible thing
for me to say. I’m sure she’s not dead.”
My face must be saying something
that my mouth can’t,
because Kennedy’s cheeks
turn three shades redder.
“I. Am. So. Sorry,” she says
with a deliberateness
that people reserve
for speaking in public,
but there’s no one else around
to hear her words.
Just me.
I shake my head.
It’s not out of the realm
of possibility. Bad things.
Horrible, unspeakable things
happen all the time
to good people.
The worst-case scenario.
You would think that a person
would have a quota
on the number
of worst-case scenarios
that happen in one’s life.
But they just keep happening.
“She’s only gone,” I say.
Not missing. Left.
I can tell by the shoes
that Ariana took with her.
The bag that is gone.
The snacks that are now empty,
which she must have packed.
But I don’t know the depth
to which she’s missing
from us.
Row
“Well, if Ariana,
a perfectly normal human being
living and breathing in this world,
is not here at this present moment,
then where do you think she went?”
I watch Kennedy open the fridge,
helping herself to the last seltzer water.
I’m slightly annoyed.
Because Kennedy gets to
navigate this house
with such ease,
because this isn’t actually
her family,
or her problem,
or her sister
who is gone.
She’s just here to hang out,
and I wish I could be a person
who could hang out too,
instead of pretending to be chill
while keeping it all together.
I miss Ariana.
I miss the baby, too.
I want to tell Ariana
that it’s going to be okay,
we still have us,
but I think about how we both
wanted us to mean three.
“What if we Nancy Drew this situation?”
Kennedy says. The carbonation
in her can sizzles.
“What do you mean?”
She exits the kitchen,
and I follow her
to Ariana’s closed
bedroom door.
So many closed doors.
“Well, according to
my extensive knowledge
watching prime-time procedurals,
maybe we should search for clues.”
I know there’s nothing to be found
in Ariana’s room, because