Break Away (Away, Book 1) (4 page)

“Whatever,” I shrugged. “You still look a
lot like her.”

“Doesn’t every girl in China or Japan? I
mean, they all look kind of the same,” Linda added thoughtful.

I knew she hadn’t meant hurt with that
comment, but Jessica was already on a full karate chopper mode a
second later without sparing her a chance to explain herself. “We
are
not
the same you ignorant fo—”

“Oh, don’t you even go there,” Jennifer cut
her off and pulled her by the arm. “We’ll wait for you in the car,”
she told Buffy and dragged along a fuming Jessica with her.

“What did I say?” Linda asked confused,
throwing her hands in the air.

I shook my head as if telling her to let it
go and looked at Buffy, who was still watching the double J’s with
a smile. “Things never change, huh?” she said, and turned to look
at me with a full grin across her face.

“I don’t know how you can stand your
friends
,” I said with a face. “They’re worthy of a reality
show.”

“It’s all about the power of three,” she
teased.

“No, it’s more like a Charlie’s Angels
thing.”

She frowned.

Linda started laughing.

At least
, I thought,
someone gets
me.

“Come on, you totally look like Charlie’s
girls—the new version, I mean. The blonde, the redhead, the Chinese
brunette… it’s all the same. Except for the really tight clothing
and kickass abilities.”

“Jesus, how many nicknames do you give
people?”

“Not so many. But you and your homies are a
grand source of inspiration.”

When I thought she was about to retort
something like ‘there you go again with your subzero bullcrap, and
that I’d already ruined whatever good thing was going on between
us,’ she surprised me by laughing, shocking me as if I’d been
suddenly electrocuted by some unseen charge. For the glimpse of a
second, I remained still, waiting for something to change her mind,
but then, even more surprisingly, I realized I didn’t want her to
do so. I liked the way she was enjoying herself so openly in front
of me, how her chocolate eyes crinkled in amusement, like when
she’d plastered our eleventh birthday cake into my face years ago,
and that I’d been the one to cause it, not to erase it . But
mostly, I liked having my sister back, my twin, even if it was only
for a moment. Because it could only last a moment. The brick wall
between our connections weakened whenever we stood too close of
each other. And I needed that wall as a plant needed water and
sunlight for its sustenance.

“So…are you going somewhere?” I dropped my
head down and looked at the tiny pebbles that were merged into the
pavement, suddenly uncomfortable to be around her.

She didn’t notice, though. “We’re going to
Grounded to have some white mochas— and to meet with some guys from
campus. I would ask you to come with us but…”

“But I would answer I’d rather have my skin
rubbed with sandpaper and then have it soaked in lemon juice than
going to a coffee shop with Jess and Jen.”

“Yeah, I was about to say that.” She arched
her eyebrows in mockery.

“Besides, I promised Linda to go to her
house. I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Sure,” she said. “And we’ll watch a
movie.”

I opened my mouth to object, but Buffy’s
words flew in, cutting mine immediately. “It’s part of the truce,
remember?”

I sighed. “Fine, whatever. Pick the movie.”
At least it would lessen the closeness and awkwardness with her
focus on the story behind the screen.

A
fter spending some
quality time at the yard with an orange Frisbee in my hands and
Espresso and Peanut—a black Labrador retriever and a small brown
Yorkie that Linda had adopted at the Humane Society of Northwest
Iowa—we took off to Linda’s bedroom to look at some pictures on the
Internet. She’d insisted on looking for the girl with the giddy
voice on Brad’s Facebook page. A masochist necessity, perhaps. Or
just a way to convince herself she’d done the right thing to let
him go. I could see already doubt fluttering rowdily inside her
head. It was part of her good nature: forgiving people even if
their actions said otherwise.

When she found some pictures he’d posted
yesterday with a blonde girl and him holding beers and kissing
though, that doubt evaporated. It seemed he’d been holding back the
images for a long time. His hair in the pictures had been shorter
than it was now. And Linda noticed it. The stench of betrayal
hanging in the air became thicker and she wrinkled her nose in
acknowledgement. A tear escaped her rose-colored eyelid, reaching
the corner of her mouth, and slid past the edge of her jaw. There
were more pictures, and Linda couldn’t stop clicking on the arrow,
waiting to be punched in the chest by the careless and treacherous
expressions that filled them. I placed my hand over hers and the
blue luminous mouse and pulled it out from her loose grasp. She
broke into a quiet sob and lowered her head, refusing to look at
the aching shapes of betrayal. I kneeled beside her chair and, for
only a few short seconds, allowed myself to pull her into my arms
and give her a soft hug.

I stayed with her for an hour or so,
distracting her from the pain in her heart. Espresso and Peanut
joined me in the process, cuddling against her and giving her soppy
kisses, and from time to time biting one or two pillows and driving
her crazy enough to forget about Brad and remember our Human
Society weekly trip.

A lot of dogs needed to be taken out once in
a while from their enclosed spaces, to breathe a bit of fresh air,
to feel the earth beneath their paws, to live for a moment what
every normal animal needed to experience, like Peanut and Espresso.
And we helped with that. We played with them and took them out on a
stroll. There was nothing better than looking at those tails
wagging happily and eyes shining brightly. I hadn’t adopted one
because of Buffy’s allergy, but I’d decided to take at least two
under my wings when I finally had an apartment on my own.

When I left Linda’s house, the sushi craving
I felt before came back with a mouth-watering explosion in my taste
buds. I did not only need one California Roll and Gari, but two
California Rolls and tons of Gari. Maybe some stir-fried tofu in
hot sauce, too. And since we were going to watch a movie—and God
knows what type of movie because Buffy had a deep weakness for
chick flicks—sushi would definitely keep my eyes open and belly
fully entertained.

Oh yeah, bring on the chopsticks and soy
sauce.

The moment I pulled into the driveway of our
Victorian house and looked through the rearview mirror, a black
Range Rover came into view. By the way it was shining, almost like
a black diamond under the stream of light of a luxurious jewelry
shop, the four-wheeled machine was brand new. Maybe the Holland’s,
our neighbors, had finally decided to replace their family van for
a more adventurous and pricey piece of machine, though it wouldn’t
be parked out there on its own where other cars could scratch its
fancy painting. That meant it was from a visitor. And it could’ve
been anyone’s visitor for that matter.

I slipped out from the car with the bag full
of disposable boxes in my right hand and the keys in the other, and
snapped the door shut with my hip. I loved the sight of the Lady
(a.k.a Gran’s house) under the mild afternoon sun. The trees cast
long, narrow shadows over the stone driveway, making them look like
unearthly guardians from a fantasy world, shielding the three story
conical tower standing on one corner of the house; the high
half-round windows on the top perfect for stargaze. The hipped roof
and shingle wrapping the house with fish-scale pattern created a
façade worthy of a fairytale, like the ones you could’ve found in
Hansel and Gretel. And the dark wooden wraparound front porch with
carved swags on top, surrounded by a concerto of flowers at the
bottom—whites, yellows, pinks and purples—enhanced the
old-fashioned beauty of the house.

There were other Ladies around the
neighborhood, all of them enclosing a rich past, but none of them
were as cherished and beautiful as Gran’s Lady. She definitely
caught some gazes on the street.

I stepped in front of the door and opened it
with the multicolored key I’d painted last summer on an artsy
outburst I’d had. My hangers, desk and dresser had been victims as
well. Good victims, though. My bedroom had a
lot
of
character now. I shut the door behind me, hanged my keys on the
kitten-shaped key hanger, and walked to the kitchen. Gran was
there, washing some of her garden tools in the sink.

“The flowers look beautiful, Gran,” I told
her as I placed the bag on the counter beside her. She eyed the bag
with curiosity. “It’s just some sushi I bought at Om. It’s my
version of popcorn for a movie.”

“Sushi?” she asked as if I’d mentioned some
disgusting bug. “I rather have some homemade potatoes, sweet baby
carrots and fried apples.”

“Whoa, what a granny thing to say.”

She turned and dried her hands on the bottom
of her stone-colored garden vest, stained with dirt on the edges.
“Well, I
am
a grandmother, and a very good gardener at
that.” She smiled and tilted her head forward, bringing down her
brown suede hat.

“Yeah,” I said with a chuckle and pulled out
a plate. “You should go for bananas and apple trees next time. That
way you can cut them down from the shopping list.” I opened the
disposable boxes and took out the bits of perfectly rolled rice.
“Oh, and you could make more often those German apple kutchens and
banana breads. It’s perfect.”

“Dafne,” she said with that critical voice
she used when she thought I was prattling nonsense.

“Just think about the possibilities,
Gran—and I’ve heard apple trees are pretty ornamental when they
bloom, so no worries on spoiling that flowery landscape you’re
creating.” I ended with the plate stuffing. Sixteen pieces of yummy
sushi to be exact. My stomach groaned. I searched the cupboard
looking for a small bowl for the soy sauce.

“It’s not there,” she said, stopping my
frantic search. “Leave the sauce here and I’ll bring it to you. You
have more important things now than discussing agricultural
prospects.”

“Like…”

“Being in the living room with your sister
watching a movie.”

“Is watching a stupid girl falling in love
with a stupid guy more important than talking about the high-minded
practice of cultivating the land? You’ve fallen pretty low,
Gran.”

“Dafne,” she repeated again with that
voice.

“Fine, fine.” I sighed and headed to the
living room. I couldn’t wait to start eating, anyway. And since my
stomach was growing grumpier with each step I made, I decided to
slip inside my mouth a small piece to quench the anticipation. I
closed my eyes and moaned inwardly in delight, savoring the soft
texture of the rice and the crab, the crunchiness of the cucumber,
and the sooth, rich contrast of the avocado. My taste buds clapped
happily at the exotic culinary explosion.

When my feet made contact with the bluish
Persian rug in the living room, I opened my eyes and had to swallow
back a deep gasp of surprise. My widened eyes, however, couldn’t
hide it. Luckily enough the sudden irritation whirling inside my
stomach shot up like a rocket to my head and overpowered the
weakness of my shock.

Ian said nothing at first. He just stared at
me, studying my face with intensity, as if I was some intriguing
Auguste Rodin’s sculpture—and he was surely planning one of those
corrosive lines he used to deliver every time he saw me. At last,
he went for sarcasm and a wicked half smile. “Nice to see you,
too,” he said with his emerald eyes still on me, his arm stretched
across the back of the velvet couch in that lousy style only guys
could pull off.

I was about to retort something when Buffy’s
voice cut my impulse. “About time you got here.” She said while
looking for a DVD on the small shelf next to the huge plasma
screen—which looked so out of place in this old-fashioned living
room. It was such a Jane-Austen-meets-the-Jetsons image.

“For a second I thought you ran away,” she
added, crouched on the floor, wearing yellow sweatpants and a tight
white hoodie.

“I just went to Om to grab some—” I stopped
and shook my head, remembering my previous train of thought. “What
is
he
doing here? I thought it was a sister bonding thing.”
I ended with a hiss.

“What, I can't be part of the sweet
bonding?” Ian emphasized his last words with softness in his voice.
“I couldn’t miss this grand event of frivolity between twins.” He
tilted his head aside, mockingly, his brown tousled hair brushing
his forehead. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

Sometimes I wondered how everyone found this
guy so attractive, and sights like these often muted my
speculation. The way his plaid shirt covered his upper body—the
sleeves rolled up above his elbows, the first buttons hanging open
showing a a gray shirt underneath, the careless wrinkles at the
hem—exuded a manly quality so strong it could’ve reeled one’s
senses.

Thank God I had a sharp eye and could see
beyond superficial layers. I was immune to his facade. “Aw, you
were so excited you forgot to shower,” I pointed out, looking at
the speck of blue paint that covered one side of his forearm,
contrasting the warm honey shade of his skin. “Isn’t that super
cute?” I added, settling down on the recliner a few feet away from
him.

He ran his hand through his hair, with one
of those girl-melting smiles playing on his lips, and looked at me.
“It’s part of being a passionate art slave. Paint runs through my
veins.”

“Take it easy on the theatrics,” I scoffed,
laying down the chopsticks on the plate. “I'm passionate about Art,
too, and I don’t need to sport a freaking splotch on my skin
twenty-four-seven like some neon sign.” Maybe it wasn’t seven days
a week, but it was enough to set it as one of his trademarks.