The View From Who I Was by Heather Sappenfield Read Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Sappenfield
good ? Since when?â
Sugeidi had flipped out the first time Gabe showed up at the house, had given us a month-long silent lecture. Mom and Dad were right there with her. Iâd hurled silence back. Weâd waged a silent war over prejudice.
âOmelet?â Sugeidi said. Gabeâs favorite.
âSure,â Corpse said.
It was trippy, seeing the kitchen from up there. The chandelier, the tops of the cupboards, were spotless.
Sugeidi opened the elevator-sized, stainless steel fridge, plucked out eggs and cheese, and ferried them to the counter. She took down her favorite frying pan from its hook and set it on the burner, lit the gas. As she cracked eggs into a bowl and started to whisk them, Corpse said, âWhat do I say? Iâm hideous.â She cupped her face in her hands. I had to agree.
The doorbell rang. Sugeidi started toward it, but Mom answered. Sugeidi and Corpse looked at each other in surprise. Voices carried down the hall, Momâs formal yet laced with that scratch, Gabeâs low but strong. Corpse turned shivery, listened for but could not hear their steps on the strip of carpet that ran down the hardwood, so she imagined them moving along, the last seconds of the old Oona still alive in Gabeâs mind. I drifted to the ceilingâs farthest corner. They entered the kitchen.
Corpse braced for his revulsion and turned on her stool toward him.
Gabe took in her nose and cheek, moved down her body, pausing at her hand, and on to her bandaged feet before returning to her face, his own face so tense. Corpse looked at the floorâs wide stones.
âIâm sorry,â she said. That little-girl voice. She didnât move, but she heard Sugeidi flip the sizzling omelet in the pan, smelled melting cheese. Gabeâs sneaker appeared in Corpseâs view of the floor, and she looked up as he climbed onto the stool beside her.
âOrange juice, Gabe?â Mom said.
âYes, please,â he said, and as she opened the fridge, a look passed between Sugeidi, Gabe, and Corpse because Mom never waited on anyone, especially not Gabe. Mom poured two tall glasses and set them on the counter before them.
Dad entered the kitchen, in chinos and a cardigan sweater, coffee cup in hand. We all tensed. Especially him.
âWell, look at this,â he said. âOona, youâre up. And hello, Gabe.â
âMr. Antunes,â Gabe said. Brave, considering how Dad had treated him in the past, despite our defending him, telling Dad he might even be valedictorian and how much courage that took because all his friends made fun of him. What happened in that hospital waiting room the night I died?
Dad dumped his cup in the sink and filled it with fresh coffee at the machine. He took a sip and surveyed us over the rim. His eyes lingered on Mom, and her chin lifted like a challenge.
âWell.â Dad nodded. Nodded like he didnât realize he was doing it as he looked at each of us in turn except Sugeidi, whose back was to him. His phone rang. He answered it like a lifeline, and left. Mom stared after him, her face a stone. We all listened to his voice move down the hall.
That nodding was new. That nodding was weird. It conjured that day at the ocean.
Sugeidi cut the omelet with a spatula and put the halves on separate plates. Usually Gabe and Corpse shared a whole omelet on one plate. Sugeidi looked straight at Gabe as she set his half before him, and they had an entire conversation with their eyes that went like this:
Sugeidi: Iâve never liked you, but I accept you now.
Gabe: Itâs about time.
Sugeidi: I feel bad for you, but donât you hurt her.
Gabe: Who do you think I am?
Sugeidi: Sorry.
Gabe: No problem.
Mom watched too, with an expression like sheâd tasted something delicious but didnât want to like it. Sugeidi put the egg bowl in the sink and the cheese back in the fridge.
Mom said, âSugeidi, I need you to help me with those
Sugeidi had flipped out the first time Gabe showed up at the house, had given us a month-long silent lecture. Mom and Dad were right there with her. Iâd hurled silence back. Weâd waged a silent war over prejudice.
âOmelet?â Sugeidi said. Gabeâs favorite.
âSure,â Corpse said.
It was trippy, seeing the kitchen from up there. The chandelier, the tops of the cupboards, were spotless.
Sugeidi opened the elevator-sized, stainless steel fridge, plucked out eggs and cheese, and ferried them to the counter. She took down her favorite frying pan from its hook and set it on the burner, lit the gas. As she cracked eggs into a bowl and started to whisk them, Corpse said, âWhat do I say? Iâm hideous.â She cupped her face in her hands. I had to agree.
The doorbell rang. Sugeidi started toward it, but Mom answered. Sugeidi and Corpse looked at each other in surprise. Voices carried down the hall, Momâs formal yet laced with that scratch, Gabeâs low but strong. Corpse turned shivery, listened for but could not hear their steps on the strip of carpet that ran down the hardwood, so she imagined them moving along, the last seconds of the old Oona still alive in Gabeâs mind. I drifted to the ceilingâs farthest corner. They entered the kitchen.
Corpse braced for his revulsion and turned on her stool toward him.
Gabe took in her nose and cheek, moved down her body, pausing at her hand, and on to her bandaged feet before returning to her face, his own face so tense. Corpse looked at the floorâs wide stones.
âIâm sorry,â she said. That little-girl voice. She didnât move, but she heard Sugeidi flip the sizzling omelet in the pan, smelled melting cheese. Gabeâs sneaker appeared in Corpseâs view of the floor, and she looked up as he climbed onto the stool beside her.
âOrange juice, Gabe?â Mom said.
âYes, please,â he said, and as she opened the fridge, a look passed between Sugeidi, Gabe, and Corpse because Mom never waited on anyone, especially not Gabe. Mom poured two tall glasses and set them on the counter before them.
Dad entered the kitchen, in chinos and a cardigan sweater, coffee cup in hand. We all tensed. Especially him.
âWell, look at this,â he said. âOona, youâre up. And hello, Gabe.â
âMr. Antunes,â Gabe said. Brave, considering how Dad had treated him in the past, despite our defending him, telling Dad he might even be valedictorian and how much courage that took because all his friends made fun of him. What happened in that hospital waiting room the night I died?
Dad dumped his cup in the sink and filled it with fresh coffee at the machine. He took a sip and surveyed us over the rim. His eyes lingered on Mom, and her chin lifted like a challenge.
âWell.â Dad nodded. Nodded like he didnât realize he was doing it as he looked at each of us in turn except Sugeidi, whose back was to him. His phone rang. He answered it like a lifeline, and left. Mom stared after him, her face a stone. We all listened to his voice move down the hall.
That nodding was new. That nodding was weird. It conjured that day at the ocean.
Sugeidi cut the omelet with a spatula and put the halves on separate plates. Usually Gabe and Corpse shared a whole omelet on one plate. Sugeidi looked straight at Gabe as she set his half before him, and they had an entire conversation with their eyes that went like this:
Sugeidi: Iâve never liked you, but I accept you now.
Gabe: Itâs about time.
Sugeidi: I feel bad for you, but donât you hurt her.
Gabe: Who do you think I am?
Sugeidi: Sorry.
Gabe: No problem.
Mom watched too, with an expression like sheâd tasted something delicious but didnât want to like it. Sugeidi put the egg bowl in the sink and the cheese back in the fridge.
Mom said, âSugeidi, I need you to help me with those