What Remains of Me by Alison Gaylin

but seeing her laugh like that . . . Mom had such a great laugh. They’d been at the home of a B movie producer—Kelly’s dad was a stuntman, and Mom had worked as a makeup artist, so they used to get invited to a lot of these low-level Hollywood parties, their little family . . .
    â€œKelly Michelle Lund!”
    â€œI’m getting ready for bed!”
    â€œIt doesn’t sound like it!”
    Kelly rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay.” Passing Mom’s room, Kelly noticed a big heart-shaped box on the nightstand. Who’s that from? Her stomach gaped, begged. She could practically smell it. Chocolate. Just one piece .
    Kelly heard the weem a woppa song ending, Casey Kasem’s voice, murmuring something about a classic. Casey’s voice reminded Kelly of her dad’s, the gentleness of it. Outside of Catherine’s funeral, where all he’d done was sob, Kelly hadn’t heard Dad’s voice since she was little, but still she remembered. At least she thought she did.
    â€œWe’ll be right back,” said Casey, and then some used-car ad came on, about fifty decibels louder than the show had been. Kelly slipped off her shoes, timed her footsteps on the soft carpet to land with each shouted word.
    Catherine’s framed picture sat on Mom’s nightstand next to the chocolates. It wasn’t normally there, the picture. It was usually on the TV in the den, and seeing it here, in Mom’s room, made Kelly think back more than she wanted to.
    Kelly looked into her sister’s bottle green eyes as she slipped the lid off the box, took a piece from the edge—coconut, which her mom wouldn’t miss. Those eyes. They still laugh at you.
    Catherine had left them on Valentine’s Day. Weird, that hadn’t occurred to Kelly until now. The picture next to the bed. The chocolates. It had taken all that, just to remind her. But the truth was, it hadn’t felt sudden. Years before she died, Catherine had begun leaving Kelly and Mom, a little at a time.
    With Mom, it had started earlier, and it had been a lot more dramatic. Catherine yelled at her, called her a bitch. She slammed doors in Mom’s face, mocked her “no Hollywood” rules, and made a big, spectacular show of pushing her away.
    But she was sweeter about leaving Kelly. Instead of screaming at her, she eased out of her life in such a way, Kelly barely noticed it happening. First, she stopped watching Happy Days with Kelly at night, excusing herself to take phone calls in the kitchen and later heading out to, as Catherine put it, “destinations unknown.” Instead of dragging Kelly along like she used to do when they were little and it was sleepovers and birthday parties she was going to, Catherine would leave on her own to meet her new and mysterious circle of friends, reporting back to Kelly when she returned and Mom was out of earshot. “ So this girl I met at the party? Her dad used to play drums for Jimi Hendrix! ”
    â€œI kissed the most adorable guy. He’s done commercials! You know that Tide one, where those kids roll down the hill and get grass stains . . .”
    â€œKelly, I can’t believe you don’t know who Jimi Hendrix was . . .”
    â€œI’m going all the way. Don’t tell Mom.”
    â€œI lost it, Kelly. For real. I bled and everything.”
    â€œThe Whisky is amazing. You have to go there sometime. All these girls were doing poppers in the bathroom.”
    â€œI can’t believe you don’t know what poppers are . . .”
    â€œI can’t tell you who he is. He’s . . . he’s kind of famous. We haven’t done it yet but we will. I can feel it.”
    Kelly loved these late-night talks, looked forward to them so much, she barely noticed that they were happening less and less, that Catherine was becoming weird and remote, claiming tiredness, slipping off to sleep, saying “tell you later. I promise.” Later