“Of course. You’re my brother.”
I am. By technicality, but more importantly, by the bond that weaved itself into our lives. The resentment tied to him falls apart. Without the negative mold I’ve forced him into, I don’t know much about Locke. Just that he’s my brother, he’s shy, and he’s the reason Liliana and I started talking again.
I reach over, slapping my hand on his shoulder. “And thanks for getting me my girlfriend.”
“What?”
Our chuckles mix, amused and confused.
“Oh man, I have stories. You know that assignment I used as an excuse?”
“The fake one?”
“Yeah- wait. You knew?”
“I said you were obvious.”
I laugh again, shaking my head. “Okay, fine. Yeah, the fake one. But the kicker is that before you walked into the café that day, I hadn’t spoken to Liliana in almost a year.”
“Oh.” He moves back in shock. “I thought she was always your girlfriend.”
“I fucking wish.” My body gets comfortable, leaning back against the car door.
There was never anything Locke had to be sorry for. It was me, my stubborn anger towards my father, who needed to fight for forgiveness. By his loose shoulders, I don’t think he’ll hold my false narratives against me. I won’t, either.
With our mirrored postures, sitting comfortably in our seats and bodies relaxed, I cut the ignition.
“Okay, so this is where it starts. In undergrad, I walk into my comms class, and there’s the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen sitting in the front row…”
twenty-nine
LILIANA
I’ve finishedmy first crochet project in the last few years. It’s nothing big—a pencil pouch I plan to give to my mom. She’s my mother, so she has to pretend to like it no matter how deformed it is.
Still, I’m proud of it. It’s a hobby that makes me happy, and if I work hard enough, I’ll get better. If I hadn’t already signed up for classes in a few weeks, this is what I’d do all summer.
For now, I’ll enjoy my free time. I don’t have to stress over exams like other students. Thankfully, I’ve finished one, and my romance writing class opted to leave my entire grade up to the short story. I can relax until I have to turn it in tomorrow.
Grant finished his finals yesterday, and I contemplate asking him to spend time with me tomorrow night, once my semester is over. Texting him small life updates kept me focused this week, but I’m dying to be next to him. It’ll be the cherry on top of a surprisingly smooth ending to the school year.
Rosie, on the other hand, is struggling. Her messy bun is not a fashion choice, but rather an exhibition of the third nearsleepless night this week. It’s rare that she gives herself a break, so I cherish sitting next to her at the rickety dining table.
“I’m dying, Lil.” She chews through her veggie platter. I point to the drying ranch stain on her torn t-shirt, but she dismisses it with a wave of her hand. “Can’t be bothered. Too stressed.”
“Which class?”
She whines in between bites of carrot. “Hedge funds.”
“What’s that?” I ask, and her eyes go wide.
“Don’t get me started. It’s too fucking complicated, that’s what it is. Like, okay, fine, I made the choice to go into investment and stocks. Yeah, I chose that.” She rolls her eyes. “But I didn’t know there were going to be so many business tools and investment strategies I’d have to memorize. Too many!”
I’m listening to her, but I have no idea what she’s saying. I never do. Rosie has rambled on about her financial engineering degree more times than I can count, but it never gets easier for me to understand. I let her rant, though, and give her my attention.
“And then, to make things worse, my professor said closed notes for our final!”
“Closed?!”
