“A classic,” Mal said.
And for a while, that’s all they wanted to say. They watched the baking show drama unfold, nodding along to Maddie’s commentary—“She’ll get a soggy bottom if she’s not careful, see, this is why I would blind bake!”—and humming to the smooth, twinkling background music.
It was comfortable there, cozy and warm and the smallest bit tingly as Mal defrosted from their brief but chilly walk home. With the glow of the TV in front of them, Maddie’s comfortable weight beside them, and the world outside the living room forgotten, Mal felt safe. And while they didn’t feel Correct here with a capitalC, like they did beside Emerson, they didn’t feel Incorrect either, the way they did so many other places—places they found themself when they were in the shadow of Maddie’s light.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Their voice was small—barely a whisper, easy to miss over the chatter of the baking on-screen.
“Always,” Maddie answered effortlessly.
“Will you be mad if I don’t go with you to University of Kentucky?”
Maddie bumped her shoulder against Mal’s. “I told you not to worry about that. You’ll get in. They’ll be lucky to have you.”
“I mean,” they said slowly, “what if I go somewhere… else?”
In the TV’s glow, Mal watched Maddie’s profile carefully. She blinked at the screen twice before asking, “Like where, Mal?”
They shrugged, trying to be casual. “Northern Kentucky University, maybe.”
Maddie waved her hand at the TV, where it turned out a baker did indeed have a soggy bottom. “But that would mean staying in Covington,” she said, still watching the screen. “You don’t want to stay here.”
“I don’t want to stayhere, no,” Mal admitted. They waved their hand at the house: at the pile of unopened bills on the kitchen table, the ancient windows that rattled with the night’s wind. Maddie would understand, too, that Mal was waving at Dollar City, at Holmes down the street, and at their mom, whose light snores could be heard drifting down the stairs from the floor above. “But I might want to stay in Covington.”
Maddie snorted a laugh.
Mal swallowed. “Or on campus, in Highland Heights.” When Maddie was quiet, Mal rushed on. “NKU has this Interdisciplinary Studies program that seems cool. It’s a double major where you’re basically studying zine-making—like this kid Sam, who works at the Haus.”
For a moment, Maddie was quiet, her face working through a series of expressions Mal could only see in profile. It made them harder to decipher, but it looked like their sister was having a small battle with herself, figuring out how to react. Finally, she looked over at Mal, her head tilted to the side, her expression unreadable. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?”
The answer was no, they hadn’t—not all at once, directly. They’d been too busy trying to keep up with everything else that had been falling apart, and coming together, in their life. But in the stillness of the living room, with Maddie at their side, they picked up the thoughts that had been lurking in the back of their mind, beneath all the other Things they’d had to handle lately.
“Yeah, I think so,” they said.
Maddie fell quiet again. The only sound in the room was the twinkling background music of the baking show. Mal resisted the urge to wiggle along with it, like Emerson did to the lo-fi that was always playing in the Zine Lab.
“But we’re supposed to stick together, Mal,” Maddie finally said. “That’s the plan.”
How very right she was, without even knowing it. Even then, the words pulled at Mal like they were in capital letters, their font size expanding on the page of their brain. That was how it had always been: the two Flowers siblings against the world, or at least against the busy schedules of their parents and Mal’s penchant for forgetting homework.
It had always worked for Maddie, who had her soccer team and her successes. And it worked for Mal, too, but it was often lonely, even with Maddie at their side.
“I know,” they said, because they did. The Plan needled at them uncomfortably. “I just wonder what it might look like for us, if I make a different plan.”
“I mean, I’d miss the hell out of you, Mal,” Maddie admitted, looking curious. “Like, I don’t know what I’ddowithout you around. Who would I watchBaking Showwith? And like, could I even play soccer without you in the stands? And who would I give my History homework to—”
“Okay, it’s fine, I’ll—”
“Wait, Mal, don’t—”
“I don’t want to make you mad,” Mal had started, curling harder into the blanket.
“No, don’t do that,” Maddie fussed, trying to gently pry Mal out of their ball shape. “Let me finish.”
“Okay.” Mal opened and closed their hands in their lap beneath the blanket so their nails bit their palms. They went quiet.
“Like, Iwouldbe upset! You’re my sibling and I’d miss you. But I guess—why do you think I would bemad?”
