The View From Who I Was by Heather Sappenfield

reached back and found memory after memory of her bossing us around. Each time, we settled into a glazed place, a translucent barrier that numbed us.
    Mom entered, carrying a silver tray with a pitcher of Sugeidi’s limonada , three glasses, and a bowl of barbecue chips. Gabe moved the pistachios, and Mom negotiated the tray onto the coffee table.
    â€œThere. Enjoy,” she said.
    Gabe and Ash said, “Thanks.”
    Mom dropped her manicured hands to her sides, thumbs rubbing her fingers. A shaft of sun from the window veered off her face, making her seem miles away.
    â€œThat was nice, Mom. Thanks,” Corpse said.
    Mom recognized the game, the only one in our house. We didn’t even have cards. “Didn’t you get that for Christmas?” she said.
    â€œYes,” Corpse said, real careful.
    All of a sudden, Mom seemed to get it. Her eyes met Corpses’s:
    Mom: That game was for me.
    Corpse: Yep.
    â€œWell,” Mom said, and she left, trailing a sense of longing.
    â€œSince when does your mom do that?” Ash whispered. “She wasn’t wearing makeup, either. Just mascara. Wow! You really got to her.”
    â€œAsh!” Gabe had been reclining back on one arm, and he lunged forward.
    â€œGabe, it’s okay. Really,” Corpse said. She noticed how Ash’s face had taken on an oily sheen that she’d masked with powder. “Mom’s trying. All right?”
    â€œWhere’s my crown, anyway?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Ash.” Corpse paled as I pictured the doctors and nurses standing around her on the operating table, guffawing at that crown.
    â€œAsh.” Gabe’s body looked like a weapon.
    Ash studied him for a moment. She fluffed her hair. “My mom said your mom hasn’t been to ski group or Foundation meetings or yoga since … you know. Hanging close, I guess. Where’s your dad?” Ash said this last with a toss of her head. She knew just how to hurt us.
    â€œWorking. Downstairs,” Corpse said.
    â€œWell, at least one thing hasn’t changed,” she said. “Your turn, Gabe.”
    He glared at her, then spun the wheel, that sound spraying out between them. He didn’t move his car, though. Instead he lurched up and stalked to the window, a view of our front yard, the wall, the mountainside where we’d tried to kill ourself.
    Ash watched him with one eyebrow raised. “Touchy.”
    He turned on her. “It’s nothing to joke about!”
    â€œWhat are we going to do? Spend the rest of our life tiptoeing around Oona’s problems? Besides, we all know she just did it for attention.”
    Gabe was at Ash in three strides. He loomed over her, and she recoiled in the chair.
    â€œShe died, Ash! Do you get it? She was dead! See if that will stay in your empty head!”
    We’d never seen him like this. He stepped back, chest rising and falling in that same light Mom had stood in, except Gabe looked velvet, illuminated motes dancing around him.
    Was this the rumor Ash was spreading? From where I’d drifted, in the ceiling’s farthest corner, it was obvious Ash viewed Corpse with a sense of entitlement. As if she were a low-cut sweater, or a car. Mom had been the same way. I remembered Mom standing there moments ago, looking so new, so unsure how to behave. Corpse felt herself settling into that glazed place. She sat up straight, forcing it back.
    Ash rose. “Okay. I’m done.” I had to admire her nonchalance. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. It’s not like I was invited anyway.” She strolled to the door, lifted her fitted pink parka from its hook on the wall. Pulled it on. Zipped it to her cleavage.
    â€œAsh,” Corpse said and limped to her. Ash gripped the knob.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Corpse said. “I can’t explain anything right now. Not even to myself.”
    â€œLook,” Ash said, “I know you think I’m an