The Beginner's Guide to Living Read Free Page A

Taryn’s not helping. She’s sitting next to Ray, inspecting us, the way we move, letting her eyes run all over us, and mostly over me.
    â€œTaryn’s a year behind you at school, Will,” says Ray, spilling dip on his chin. “So, Michael, you’re already back at work?”
    â€œCouldn’t see any point in taking extra time off.”
    Taryn leans over, her hair so long it sweeps my knee. “Will, there’s something I want to show you.”
    She stands, her skirt taking a moment to fall down her leg, and I follow her, because right now she’s my white rabbit, except her hair’s the color of the cat Mom used to have. Marmalade. It was her cat, she always said, because she never had a girl. Figure the logic. I want to ask Taryn where we’re going, except it doesn’t matter; there’s something about her feet, the way they rise up to me naked and pale, a little pink around the edges.
    â€œThought they might need some time alone,” she says.
    We’re in the kitchen, and she’s filling glasses with water, her finger touching mine as she hands one to me. This time my cheeks refuse to oblige. I go for cover at the table that squats in the middle of the room. “Where’s your mom?” I ask.
    â€œShe’s late but she should be here soon.”
    â€œAre you an only child?”
    â€œNo. I have two sisters, but one’s in India, and the other one is out. Couldn’t do the mourning thing with strangers.”
    I want to ask her if she can but the words dissolve as she smiles and hooks her hair behind her ears. Taryn. She has green eyes, freckles on her cheeks, a small scar above her lip—beautiful, that’s all there is to think about her. The sinkhole in my stomach fills a little. I close my mouth.
    â€œI can’t imagine…” She frowns.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDo you want to break things?”
    I want to break the whole world open, dig around in its entrails till I find some answers, but I don’t think that’s what she means. Taryn goes over to the bench, draws a psycho-sized knife out of a block, holds it up in front of her before passing it, hilt first, to me. It’s heavy in my hand but it feels like someone else is holding it.
    â€œCut into the table,” she says, “like this.” She puts her hands, warm beyond reason, around mine and drags them across the surface, slicing a groove with the knife. Her breath smells of lime. Letting go, she whispers, “Go on, it’s all right.”
    So I do, I carve into the wood and feel its softness as it gives in to the blade, hardly any resistance at all. If I slip, it’ll cut straight through me it’s so sharp; it won’t worry about flesh and bone, just keep going till it’s made its way to the other side. There’s something gratifying in the way the wood submits.
    â€œI did that when my boyfriend dumped me last year. It felt great.”
    I can’t imagine anyone leaving her. She traces her finger over a long groove next to mine.
    â€œWas your mom beautiful? Dad said she was.”
    â€œI…” Someone else is in the reflection of the knife.
    â€œMom, finally.” Taryn grips her mother’s shoulder. They turn toward me, their mouths so alike, both small.
    â€œSorry, traffic was a nightmare. I’m Sandra.”
    As I put down the knife she holds out her hand. It’s cold. Smooth.
    â€œI’m Will.”
    â€œWill, I was sorry to hear about your mother. I knew Anna well when we were younger. Wish we’d got back in contact earlier, but you know how it is.”
    My eye is drawn to the freshly carved groove. It’s about the length of my forearm, the raw wood lighter than the varnished surface, barely visible, the color of flesh. They’re both watching me, these women, and suddenly all their sincerity feels like grabbing. “I should be getting back.”
    Sandra nods. “Of