A soft knock on the door has me wiping away my tears. “Come in!”
Mom pads into my room and gives me a small smile. “AJ? What’s wrong, sweetie?” She sits on the bed and puts her arm around me while I hiccup and cry through a ragged explanation of all the ways this summer sucked.
“Shh,” she soothes, pushing my sticky hair off my face. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. It’s tough. Losing Nan Sunny must hurt so much. And being fourteen is awful. Having to split the year up like this is hard.
“Listen, I know it feels like it’s always going to be this stressful, but it will get better. I promise.” She kisses my forehead and pulls a tissue out of the box on my bedside table. “Now stop crying. Here, blow your nose and wipe your face.”
I do as I’m told, and my mother goes to my closet and pulls out my uniforms. “Can I try them on later?” I ask pitifully.
“Sorry, sweetie. We have to get them altered, and we’re already behind the eight ball.” She gestures for me to stand, and I take the uniforms and go behind my dressing screen, which Mom had reupholstered with delicate birds and flowering vines. When I come from behind the screen, she has her sewing kit laid out on the bed and starts to pin the uniform. “You know, Duke and Dani are graduating high school next summer. They’ll probably start spending more time on their own when they get jobs and go off to college. It’s okay if you decide you don’t want to go to Florida for the whole summer.” Mom keeps her voice as smooth as the silver pins sliding into the creased fabric.
“I want to go,” I rush to say. “I know I’m a little down, but it’s probably just, like, from the flight and everything.”
“You’ll be in high school this year, too. You may want to do something more constructive with your summers. Look how excited Marnie was about camp this year. She found a whole new sport she loves. I know you enjoy seeing your dad and the twins, but...just think about it.” She turns me by the hip and finishes pinning my sleeves. “You’re growing up. Things change when you grow up, and it hurts. It sucks, but it’s true.”
I turn to look at Mom, and a pin stabs the sensitive skin under my arm. I bite back against the pain. “You’re probably right, Mom,” I say, knowing that if I keep arguing, she’ll dig in and try harder to convince me that her way is the best way—my mother can’t help it. When she thinks she has the answer to your problems, she doesn’t stop until she gets you to agree with her.
“Trust me, sweetie, I understand this isn’t easy. But you know you can always come to me if you need help. Your dad and I will do anything to make sure you girls are happy and successful.” She turns me around, backs up to look me over one more time, and nods. “You’re perfect.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
I realize that, if I want to keep going to Florida, I’ll have to give up on trying to figure out how to fit my two lives together. It isn’t going to work, and I’ll just wind up giving Mom more ammunition for her constructive summers argument. I have to pull back and let her focus on other things. When I’m in Michigan, I’ll be AJ, big sister, good student, obedient daughter, all-around overachiever. When I’m in Florida, I’ll be Della, baby of the family, funny and fun, a jokester, and general happy-go-lucky sweetheart.
I don’t love this compromise, but it is what it is. I’ll keep my life divided and learn to deal with the fact that my heart is going to feel permanently torn in two—which is a better option than being forced to choose just one life and letting the other fade away.
* * *
The summer I turned fourteen, I learned that I’ve never had doubles of anything—I’ve had halves. If I’m not careful, I risk losing even more.
And so I begin to purposefully bisect my life, keeping each beloved part separate and protected. As the years go by and the lines between my two lives grow more rigid, I realize there isn’t a single person in my life who knows both AJ and Della.
Maybe not even me.
2
Oldest Sister
Three Years Later
Last Day of St. Matthew’s, Junior Year
Pool Party at Lex’s House
MICHIGAN
Harper Johannsen’s Last 4 Phone Code: 2269
2-Number of doting/smothering parents in the USA
2-Number of unknown parents in China
6-How old we were when we became BFFs
9-The grade we were in when we met our third BFF (Tessa Whitman)
* * *
Tessa Whitman’s Last 4 Phone Code: 1574
1-Tessa’s one brother, Logan, is a freaking hottie, but Harper and I admire him from afar because she’d be furious if we ever admitted we crush on him in secret
5-The number of states Tessa’s lived in: Connecticut, Georgia, California, New York, and Michigan
7-Her birthday month
4-The number of people in her perfect family
* * *
Lex Henson’s Last 4 Phone Code: 8686
8-Birth month—Lex pretends astrology is horseshit, but he’s super into the fact that he’s a Leo and reads his horoscope every day
6-The grade we were in when he held my hand on the bus ride to the University of Michigan Museum
8-The grade we were in when he kissed me on the last day of school, behind the lockers in the eighth-grade hall
6-The number of letters in his middle name—Melker—which he hates with a passion and keeps a secret from everyone
* * *
When my phone rings, no cute emojis or pictures pop up to instantly identify the caller. Just ten good old-fashioned digits marching in a neat row.
I love the anonymous secrecy of my system. I like assigning details to these numbers, making them fit random scraps of information about the people I love, and it makes my brain buzz when my phone rings—it’s a little puzzle to figure out who’s on the other end. It’s wild how many of my shared contacts wouldn’t recognize each other’s numbers by digits alone.
“Who’s texting?” Marnie stretches the seat belt until it jerks her back to the seat, trying to look at my phone on the center console.
I’m at a red, which is the only reason I glance over. I don’t play with texting and driving after a junior girl from St. Matt’s and her younger cousin died in a crash last summer—they found her phone with the LO of the LOL she was typing still pending in her messages.
“Harper and Tessa.” I flip the phone over and focus on the road instead of Marnie’s pleading expression. “Rising Seniors only, Marnie. You know that.”