He grins, and when he gets closer he says, “I like to feed people. It’s one of my special qualities.”
Finn reaches for the bags, taking both from Brady. “And I, for one, have always appreciated that special quality.”
Finn carries the food through my open front door.
Leaning a shoulder into me, Brady says in a low voice, “I got two orders of orange chicken. That way you and I can at least get a few pieces.”
“Good call,” I whisper back.
We follow Finn into the house. He’s gone directly into the kitchen and he’s pulling open cabinets, peering inside.
“There,” I say, pointing at the cabinet beside the fridge.
Finn follows where I’m pointing, removing three plates from the stack. Brady opens up the boxes of food while I grab silverware and napkins.
We settle in around the small breakfast table, and Finn’s the first to talk.
“What’s left to do?” he asks, chewing as he looks around.
“A lot,” I admit, looking down at my fork before spearing a bite of beef and broccoli. “The house looks tidy, but every time I open a drawer or cabinet a mess of shit comes spilling out. It’s a metaphor of her life.” I raise my fork, noticing the confused expressions on Brady and Finn’s faces. “Her surface life appeared clean, but underneath it was a heaping mess. She did such a good job manicuring the outside, I bet nobody would believe the dirt it concealed.”
Both heads, one a honeyed blonde, the other a chocolate brown, nod in understanding.
“I wonder,” Finn starts, “if you’re going to find any more secrets as you go through her stuff?”
I snort. “Like what? I have a long-lost twin?”
“Who you were separated from at birth.” Finn points his fork at me while he talks.
“Evil,” Brady adds around a mouthful of food. He swallows and says, “The long-lost twin has to be evil. It’s mandatory.”
“What’s her name?” I ask.
Finn reaches for the second box of orange chicken. “Leticia.”
“Lindsay,” Brady says, taking the box from Finn. He dumps the few remaining pieces on my plate.
“Ding ding ding! Lindsay it is!” I laugh and eat the chicken.
Finn playfully juts out his lower lip, though I’m not sure if it’s from the loss of the chicken or the loss of naming my evil twin.
“Do you want to hear something really shitty?” I take a bite and look from Brady to Finn.
“Shittier than your mom dying and having to clean out her house?” Brady asks, eyebrows raised.
“Sure, I love shitty news.” Finn folds his arms across his chest and leans back, waiting.
“Do you remember that young girl who showed up here yesterday? Elliot?” I direct the question at Brady.
He nods.
“She wanted to talk to me about some drama. Only, when I took her home, I found out it wasn’t just your average teenage theatrics.” A lump forms in my throat. “She has cancer.”
“Fuck,” Finn mutters, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “I can understand my uncle getting cancer. He’s never taken care of himself and he’s old. But a young girl?”
“That’s awful,” Brady says.
I stand, gathering the empty boxes and stacking them. “She’s dealing with something a young girl should never have to handle.”
