by Hazel Kelly
I looked like the bad guy. The asshole who wouldn’t indulge his little sister. His little sister who’d already been through so much. His little sister who was only asking about an old friend.
But that wasn’t what was going on at all. The truth was, I’d tried to be selfless, tried to be a bridge between the families, a link that would give Maddy an excuse to maintain some kind of relationship with my dad and Brie. But she hadn’t taken it.
Then, for the last decade, I’d been satisfying her curiosity and easing her guilt by letting her know Brie was okay anytime I heard news to that effect. But it was all in vain.
And I was done treating Brie like she lived behind enemy lines when she deserved better. A lot better.
So, yeah, maybe it was selfish of me to finally reject the role of head gossip girl in my little sister’s imagined drama, but there were other roles I was more interested in these days.
Too bad “friendly stepbrother” wasn’t one of them.
E I G H T
- Brie -
I woke when I felt him lay the blanket over me, and my insides smiled. “Hi,” I said, rolling over, though it sounded more like a soft yawn than a word.
With the dim light from the table lamp shining behind him, James’s silhouette was all I could see at first. The mess of his short blond hair, the open collar of his white button-up. His suit jacket draped over his shoulder.
“Hot date?” I asked, sitting up. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I followed the path of his, watching as he studied my things strewn haphazardly across the table.
“Not exactly,” he said, eyeing the bowl of fuzzy kiwi skins. “Did you have kiwis for dinner?”
“Dessert.” I scooted back against the arm of the couch and hugged my knees to my chest.
James noticed the space I’d made on the sofa and glanced at me.
I extended a palm towards the cushion beyond my feet.
He threw his jacket over the back of the couch and sat down, leaning forward like he was still quite fascinated by the evidence of my wild Friday night. Two books of poetry were open on the wooden table beside a raggedy notebook and a pencil case and…crap.
I reached over and slid the open letter from under my warm glass of white wine and handed it to him. Then I watched his face while he read it, trying to guess what he was thinking.
“Sorry,” he said, handing it back. “That’s disappointing.”
“Their loss,” I said like I did every time a magazine made the mistake of their lives by not printing one of my short stories. Except I didn’t really feel that way. Sure, I let manufactured bravado bubble up inside me like foam, and I knew I was in good company. If anything, the more rejection letters I got, the more I had in common with my writing heroes.
But deep down, I wasn’t sure it was their loss. Deep down, I didn’t know if I was good enough. If I ever would be good enough. Deep down, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that I was as lacking in self-awareness as my mother, and that I couldn’t actually write for shit. And what then? Work at Homer’s and live at home for the rest of my life? That’ll give me lots to write about.
“Can I get you a cool drop?” James asked, nodding towards my wine on the table.
I let my head fall towards it, and I don’t know if I agreed because I was a little sleepy or because he looked a little handsome or because I was in need of a little cheering up. All I knew was that I’d wanted to have a drink with James Mason since I was fourteen, and he’d asked so politely. “Sure,” I said, trying to keep my smile from curling too much. “Why not?”
“Okay,” he said, reaching for my glass. “I’ll top you up on one condition.”
I groaned and let my head fall back. “Why do girls always have to do tricks for drinks?” When I lifted my head again his eyes were wide.
“Tricks?”
“I’m joking,” I said, waving my hand between us like I was trying to jump a few frames ahead. “I didn’t mean tricks like tricks. I meant, like, eyelash batting and hair twirling.”
James’s left eyebrow quirked. “Eyelash batting and hair twirling?”
My cheeks burned. “Stop. Just stop.” I hid my face in my hands.
“I thought girls batted their lashes ’cause their eyes were dry.”
I laughed into my palms.
“I’m damn near tempted to go out and use this insider info for evil.”
I dropped my hands and glowered at him. He looked so smug I might’ve kicked him if he hadn’t already stood to go get the wine. “What was the stupid condition?” I watched him walk into the kitchen, my eyes dropping to the way his expensive-looking belt pulled across his narrow hips. Fortunately, I lifted my eyes before he looked over his shoulder and caught me.
“I was going to suggest…” He swung the fridge open, and I got goosebumps when he turned to the side, the glow of the automatic light behind him making his nose and jaw look so…Hollywood. “That we toast to poor Martin.” He set the wine on the counter and let the fridge door swing shut behind him before going to grab another wine glass.
“Martin?”
“Martin with the bad taste,” he said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. “Martin who obviously bluffed his way to his editorial job at Great Housekeeping.”
I smiled. “Oh yeah. Martin. How could I forget?”
James walked over with both glasses of wine, treading carefully so his dress socks wouldn’t slip against the wood floors. “I’ve been worried about him for some time,” he said, handing me a glass. “People are saying he’s lost his touch.”
“Thanks,” I whispered after he sat on the couch again, my eyes crinkling with gratitude.
“To Martin,” he said, extending his glass. “May he learn to recognize talent when it pokes him in the eye.”
I clinked my glass against his and took a sip of wine, watching James’s Adam’s apple bob as the crisp tonic reinvigorated me with a second wind that was probably inappropriate for—my eyes wandered to the clock on the cable box in the corner of the room—two a.m.?!
My stomach dropped. Suddenly, this felt all wrong. I was toasty inside, as if we were sitting across from a warm fire, and James was…not what my body needed him to be. Ugh. Or maybe this wasn’t horrible and wrong. Maybe it was as wonderful as it felt. I mean, on paper it wasn’t weird, was it?
He covered me with a blanket, realized I’d had a rough night, and poured me a drink. Normal stepbrother stuff. Polite stuff. Like making me breakfast after stealing my key and pressing his face against my butt. Oh God.
“You okay?” he asked. “I was only joking about toasting to Martin. The guy’s obviously a complete flake.”
“I’m fine,” I said, desperate to keep my awkwardness buried six feet deep under lock and key alongside the remnants of my childhood crush. “Just remembered something I have to do tomorrow.” Or rather, today.
James was either unconcerned or unaware of the late hour as he relaxed back on the couch, his eyes drifting towards the mantel where an embarrassing photo of my mom and Bill in Hawaiian print shirts stared down at us like they couldn’t see anything wrong with our harmless family bonding session. “What’s that?” he asked, his eyes falling to the table again. “You get a new phone?”
“Very funny,” I said, glancing at the secondhand Nokia beside my stack of Gryffindor sticky notes (even though I was a wannabe Hufflepuff trapped in a Ravenclaw’s body). “My smartphone got stolen at a concert a few weeks ago.”
“Is that why you got this one? So that won’t be a problem again?” He smiled into his glass and watched me as he took a drink, his eyes sparkling at me in a way that felt borderline…flirtatious.
“It’s only temporary,” I said, deciding not to demean myself by admitting I knew exactly how many shifts of ice cream scooping I was away from a new smartphone.
His expression grew serious. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Let me guess, heart disease? Probably with a touch of dementia?”
“Did you bomb at the comedy club toni
ght?” I asked. “Is that what this sad lineup is?”
He feigned a pout. “That hurts, Brie. I thought as an artist I could come to you, and you would understand.”
I wished I knew whether he was mocking me or flirting with me or if this was just normal, brotherly teasing. “I think you mean artiste,” I said, determined not to let him see me sweat.
He seemed satisfied with my comeback, and I felt the couch under my feet sink a bit with the weight of his sigh before he fell silent. And for a moment, the silence was divine. Until it wasn’t. And soon I felt like I was leaving bite marks on my tongue from trying not to break it first.
And I swear he could tell, could hear my heart pounding. I could see it in his eyes.
Eyes that were anything but quiet.
N I N E
- James -
The silence was killing her, and I felt bad it took me so long to notice. I’d been marveling at how annoying the ticking kitchen clock was when I realized Brie’s breathing had become shallow and unnatural.
Was I making her nervous? Should I not have offered to get her a drink? It seemed like the right thing to do, but now that I’d sat down with one, I wasn’t so sure.
It wouldn’t have been awkward if it were Maddy. Maddy would’ve already wiggled her toes under my nearest thigh or thrown her blanketed legs across my lap, and Maeve… Maeve never would’ve fallen asleep on the couch in the first place. Regardless, every cell in my body seemed hyperaware all of a sudden that the woman beside me was not my sister.
Still, I was undeniably interested in her, always had been. Ever since the first time Maddy brought her over after school when I was in eighth grade. There was something about her, a fire in her eyes that seemed too big for such a slight girl to carry within. And she used to think things and not say them all the time, which used to drive me crazy.
When other people did that, I considered their self-censorship a courtesy. It didn’t bother me that they’d ultimately chosen to swallow the words that crept all the way to the edge of their tongues. But Brie’s restraint always made me feel deprived. “I think Brie was about to say something,” I used to point out at dinner as casually as I could. But then everyone would look at her all at once, her cheeks would go pink, and she’d insist I was mistaken.
It was happening now, and it was reminding me of those family dinners we used to have before we became a real family and stopped having dinner together. Of course, I knew she wasn’t the kind of person that needed an invitation to speak. She always shared her thoughts when she wanted to, just not as often as I wanted her to.
To be honest, it was sort of a nice feeling to be that interested in someone else’s point of view. Or at least, I told myself that was what intrigued me. Her point of view. The fact that she was pretty was irrelevant, just as her dreamy curves and infectious smile and bright laugh were irrelevant.
“What are you up to tomorrow?” I asked, my eyes landing briefly on her wet bottom lip before I lifted my lazy gaze to hers. “You said there was something you had to do?”
She nodded. “I’m writing a book.”
My brows lifted.
“I told my professor I’d submit three more chapters on Monday, but I want to tweak a few things before then.”
“What’s it about?” I asked, jealous that some other man was privy to her unspoken words.
“I’d rather not say.” She dropped her eyes to her glass for a second. “It’s only the first draft, and I don’t think discussing it will make me feel any more confident about writing it.”
“Why wouldn’t you be confident? I’m sure it’s great.”
“You don’t do much creative writing, I take it?”
I scrunched my face. “Emails don’t count, do they?”
Her aqua eyes narrowed as she turned an ear towards me. “Not unless they’re packed full of poetry.”
I laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about the last time I wrote a poem.”
Her eyes popped wide with surprise. “You wrote a poem?”
“Why is that so surprising?”
“You don’t seem like the type,” she said, scrutinizing me like it made her uneasy to be surprised by poets in her midst.
“Not all poets wear capes, you know?”
“What was the poem?” she asked. “Was it for a woman?”
I laughed again. “Sort of.” Her eyes were trained on me so hard the palms of my hands started to feel clammy, but it felt good to have her attention like that. Kind of made me wish the poem I was laughing about wasn’t so embarrassing. “It was for Maddy.”
Her thin brows crept up to her hairline. “Really?”
“It was only a joke,” I said, wishing I hadn’t mentioned it. “It’s probably not even fair to call it poetry.”
Her bent knees melted into a cross-legged position beside me, and my pulse jumped as if a drawbridge had been lowered between us. “What was it?” she asked.
“I don’t remember it very well,” I lied, unwilling to admit anything that might make Brie find me dimwitted. Any other audience and I might’ve settled for the cheap laugh, but I didn’t want her to know my sense of humor hadn’t matured in the last ten years.
“You can’t remember the words, but you can remember that it cracked you up?”
I bit my tongue to keep from smiling as the childish poem scrolled across my mind’s eye. Roses are red, Violets are blue. I wouldn’t go in there. Quinn’s just done a poo. “It was probably the situation that was funny, not the poem.”
She took a slow sip of wine like she was awaiting further explanation.
“And now that I think about it, the situation wasn’t that funny either. I think I was just cracking from the stress of living with her.”
“You were living with Maddy?” she asked, her feigned nonchalance wasted on me. “When?”
“Up until I moved in here,” I said. “Well, Maddy and Quinn.”
“Quinn?”
“My best friend. Well, he was my best friend.”
Brie leaned forward, her delicate hands holding the stem of her glass in her lap. “Did something happen?”
I scoffed. “That’s putting it mildly.” She blinked at me, and I pretended it was my captivating charisma that was holding her interest instead of the fact that she was probably just hungry for Maddy-related gossip. “He and Maddy got together while I was in London.”
Brie’s expression brightened with curiosity.
“So I’ve been the third wheel in my place ever since I got back.”
Her nose crinkled. “That’s not great.”
“No.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always wanted them to be happy.”
“Just not together?”
I shrugged. “Is that so terrible?”
“Not unless you said that to their faces.”
I let my face fall in her direction. “I would if I didn’t think they were a good match, but I had a front row seat long enough to know they genuinely care about each other.”
“And you’ve seen enough?” she asked, her smile pulling to one side.
“Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” I took a slow sip of my drink, wishing it were earlier. Wishing we were out. Wishing Brie wasn’t so easy to talk to, so easy on the eyes. So easy to…like. “But who am I to question what’s in someone else’s heart?”
Her eyes wrinkled at the edges.
“Besides, I think part of my discomfort with the whole thing is the fact that it never occurred to me that it could happen, ya know?”
“Anything can happen,” she said, searching my eyes.
I held her gaze until my heart squeezed in my chest. “No,” I said, aching in all the wrong places. “It can’t.”
T E N
- Brie -
I swallowed and looked away, his pessimism making a hard knot form in my stomach.
"She misses you, by the way," James said, calling my eyes back to his.
A thousand questions crowded my tongue. What made him say that? Had she asked about me? Should I admit that I miss her, too? It was the truth. And part of me ached to be honest with him, as if the confession might encourage time to stand even more still around us.
"She's too stubborn to admit it, but I can tell."
I bit the inside of my cheek, pride keeping me from admitting I would still do anything for her. Just thinking about it made me feel pathetic. Yet as much as I wanted to mumble that any interest she had in me was too little too late, lying wasn't something I felt right about either. Fact of the matter was that Maddy Mason had been my best friend growing up, and I would always love her. Even if she stopped loving me a long time ago. "How's she doing?" I asked, trying to keep my cards close to my chest. But then I remembered he'd already told me she was happy and in love, and I felt stupid all over again.
The shallow smile lines around James’s eyes softened, as if he could see through my feigned disinterest. "Really well," he said. "Maybe for the first time in a long time."
"Love will do that to a person."
"So I've heard," he said, scratching the back of his head.
I wondered if James had ever been in love, but the question seemed too heavy to ask. Or maybe I was afraid I wouldn't like his answer. "I miss her, too," I said quietly, as if I wasn’t sure I wanted him to hear.
He glanced my way, and the corners of his lips curled with consolation. "I know."
Something in his tone made me believe he wouldn't tell Maddy. Or at least, that he wouldn't say anything to make me look foolish.
"What did you have for dinner?" he asked suddenly.
I recoiled at his sudden pivot. "For dinner?"
"You said you had kiwis for dessert?" His thick brows rose with his question.
"I had a milkshake at work."
His eyes narrowed. "For dinner?"
"Are you suggesting a free milkshake isn't a balanced meal?"
