“She’s fine,” I reply.
“You were nice, weren’t you?” she asks. “You promised me you would be on your best behavior.”
“I saved her from a predatory man on the plane,” I reply smugly.
“Predatory…” Lily trails off. “Evan, what did you do? Please tell me you didn’t start this book tour off by trying to get rid of Rachel from the get-go?”
Her voice is loud. She’s taken me off speaker, and I can imagine her with her hand on her hip, eyes wide open, glaring at me only the way my sister can.
“She’s just…” I pause, trying to describe how Rachel makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. “I just don’t like her.”
“Or you really like her,” Lily suggests, making me grind my teeth once again.
“I don’t like her,” I grunt. “I’ll book you a ticket and see you tomorrow.”
“Make sure there are Funyuns and frosted Honey Buns. Oh! And there are these Skittles gummies that I’m currently obsessed with,” she adds quickly before I can hang up.
“Got it,” I say.
“Thanks. Best brother ever!” she says before she hangs up on me.
It’s a game. Who can get in the last words? It’s usually Lily because I can’t seem to push the button without her saying her last words, which are usually“Best brother ever!”,or“I love you a trillion!”,or“You are so lucky you have me for a sister.”
And I need those truths more often than I care to admit.
I quickly go through the motions of buying Lily a plane ticket on my phone, and as soon as I put my phone down, there’s a soft knock that echoes throughout the monstrous space. I march toward the door and open it without using the peephole. I’m surprised to see Rachel standing there. She’s ditched the dress she wore on the flight for a new one that features small pink polka dots. The neckline is high, and the ruffles on the skirt are brushing the marble flooring in the hallway. Her feet are bare. Who doesn’t wear shoes in a hotel? It’s unsanitary.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says somewhat softly, making me realize I haven’t greeted her.
“Is there a problem with your room?” I ask. “Melanie should be able to take care of it.”
“No, it’s not my room. My room is fine,” she replies as she peeks around me assessing my own accommodations.
I wonder again about her room. Is she on the same floor?
“It’s just, Melanie told me you had the company credit card for meals. She said I could be reimbursed, but that it would be easier if I just borrowed yours. I haven’t eaten much today, and I thought I’d go grab something for supper. You don’t have to go with me. I promise I can be trusted, and I’ll bring it right back. If you even want to give me a spending limit, please do,” she rattles off.
Something feels weird, like she’s trying to be polite in her own ridiculous way. I can tell by the way she’s added in a way for me to get out of having dinner with her, and in the way she’s clasping her hands behind her back like she had done nervously on the plane when talking to Jett.
Unfortunately, at this very moment, my stomach lets out a loud gurgle that would rival a geyser, revealing that I’m hungry, too.
“Oh, um, of course. You’re hungry,” Rachel says quickly before I can say anything.
Her hands are now twisting in the chiffon material of her dress.
“We don’t have to eat together. We can sit at different tables. You can tell your waiter that you’d just like to get the check for that ‘pretty little thing over there’and make it look like you are a saint of a man paying for someone else’s meal,” she suggests.
“Pretty little thing, huh?” I repeat.
The idea isn’t necessarily a bad one. I can eat in peace, which is what I prefer, and I’d also know that Rachel had eaten, saving me a lecture from Melanie about not taking her out to eat. Melanie would ramble on about how my job was to make sure she was taken care of, even though it’s definitely not. I also wonder why Melanie didn’t just give Rachel a company card if it’s easier.
But Rachel's head had felt warm on my shoulder, and my stomach is currently twisting itself into knots. From hunger. Nothing else.
“Or‘rabid beast of a woman’is fine. Although I think my first suggestion would gain you extra kindness points,” she adds on with a sly grin pulling at the corner of her bare lips. “I promise I won’t be a problem until tomorrow at the debate, and even then, I’ve been carefully instructed to only be a small problem, not a huge one. A problem like the waiter bringing out mashed potatoes for your side instead of a baked potato, not like being audited on your taxes, which reveals how little you actually make, or your landlord deciding to increase your rent even though he’s already charging more than he should be, but he knows you won’t move anyway. Not that you know what any of that might be like. You probably have someone who does your taxes, and you probably own your apartment, or house, or mansion, whatever it is you live in.”
My eyes widen as her words increase. The writhing of her hands is also beginning to leave wrinkles in her dress. Who was this woman in front of me? She sure didn’t seem like the Rachel who wrestled me with her words until she pinned me down in pain.
“Is this how you act when you’re on the brink of starvation?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “And it’s an apartment, not a mansion. And yes, I own it. Also, again, it’s a forum, not a debate.”
