Page 108 of The Difference Between

“Shut up.”

After hours of Joshua Jackson judging me from the ceiling, I get out of bed and research another donor. At the first photo of Chad Blackstone with his six cats, I slam the computer shut.

Thirty

“This one”—I twist the tube of lipstick and hold it up for Addie to see—“is called Pearl Clutcher.”

She smiles at the sexy shade of red and nods. “That one.”

I pinch her chin in preparation of applying it to her lips then pause. “Give me your best Toto.”

“Woof, woof!”

Satisfied, I put the lipstick on her and clean up the edges with my finger. I pass her a mirror. “What do you think?”

“I love it.” She turns from the mirror to me. “We look alike.”

We don’t, but I smile anyway, and she goes back to rummaging through my makeup dumped on the rug in the middle of my bedroom floor.

“Did you go to the 7-Eleven and jump Uncle Gav’s bones?” she asks.

Heat floods me. “What?”

“On your date.” She blinks, her little mouth slightly open. “Last night.”

“No.” I rub my sternum. “Did he tell you that?”

She grins. “Dean Proffitt.”

I squeeze my eyes shut until I make it make sense—Dean Proffitt is Kurt Russell in Overboard. I laugh. “No, Addie.” I squint at her. “Do you even know what that means?”

She smiles her widest smile that nearly makes her eyes invisible—it’s my favorite one. It’s the one that makes me think she might be the sun. “Kissing.”

She has no idea what she’s talking about, but my cheeks warm by another degree.

“Maybe,” I tell her, making her giggle. “But that’s none of your business.”

I open a palette of eye shadow, and she picks a color. I slide her glasses to the top of her head to put the bold shade of blue on her eyelids. She says, “You’re my best friend.”

I still mid-stroke. “I’m sure you have more fun friends than me who are your age.”

She opens her eyes, quiet a beat. “I have Down syndrome.”

I lower my hand and take in her whole face—different and perfect. I wish I could shield her from every hardship of life. “You do.” I swallow. “Is that a problem?”

“Uncle Gav says it makes me extra special.”

What a him thing to say.

“It does.” I finish her eye shadow. “And extra special for us to get to hang out with you.”

Her smile is back. “Who’s your best friend?”

Yet another elementary question that I can’t answer. Saying my sisters feels like cheating and saying Gavin minimizes my confusing feelings toward him. The fact I don’t have any friends is pathetic—though I could tell Addie and she wouldn’t care. She might even be impressed that someone can exist for forty years and not maintain a single friendship.

“Well—” I pull out a tube of mascara and plunge the brush a few times. I’ve spent my whole life working to earn everything—every dollar and accolade and shred of respect—but very few people appreciate me for being who I am. Addie is one of them. She likes my condo even though she’s never been. She likes my only nameable hobby of walking to work in expensive shoes. She thinks me surviving daily trips in an elevator is impressive. I have done nothing to earn the admiration in her eyes, yet there it is just the same. “I’d say you are.”

Her face lights up. “Really?”