I’m so late.I check my phone, taking another huge bite of my bagel and choking it down with the lukewarm coffee I poured when I rolled out of bed twenty minutes ago.
“Have I ever told you that you remind me of the Grinch?” Grant’s rubbing his face as he enters the kitchen, a surprising glint of humor in his eye after his past few days of moping around the house.
“Everyday.” I make a show of grinning through the stale chewed up bagel in my mouth and he sneers.
“Gross, Sloane.” He moves toward the coffee pot and I watch his shoulders sink, whatever levity was there instantly dissipating as he takes in the open bag of bagels and cream cheese. I knew I should have used a cutting board. He starts putting things away in jabby sharp movements intended to show me how pissed off he is.
“Stop. I was going to clean that up!” He can be such an asshole when his equilibrium is fucked up. One thing gone wrong in life? Let’s take it out on every human being on planet earth.
“Sure you were,” he responds sharply.
I use my arm to divert him from the few objects on the counter, quickly putting them away. I wish I could replicate his movements, be as passive aggressive as he is and maybe it translates because he says,“What?” his arms crossed as he watches me swallow the rest of my bagel.
“WhatSloane? Just say what you want to say.”
I subtly check my phone because I really don’t have time for this but he is being a dick and it’s fine if he wants to self sabotage his own life but he doesn’t get to take it on the rest of us in the aftermath.
“You’re being cranky to me because of your fight with Gen,” I shrug matter of factly, hoping he’ll sigh and go stew in his room—his typical mode of handling conflict.
“Is there more?” he asks and I raise my eyebrows, surprised but also expect the question to be a trap. He wants me to explode, gives him a reason to put me out on my ass.
“You should apologize to her,” I say calmly, getting up to stick my plate in the dishwasher.
“Apologize for what? Asking her to tell the truth?”
So this is a trap.
“It’s not her truth to tell,” I say the words to myself, an internal thought whispered out loud. But based on the way Grant’s looking at me I know this is about to be a big one. Betrayal and frustration are so poignant in his gaze and it’s not that I don’t care about his problems, but if I don’t leave now I’ll probably miss Mom’s appointment.
I don’t have time to theorize morality with Grant, a discussion we have had so many times in the past. It never goes well. I live in the gray but he only sees black and white.
“What do you mean? You’re telling me she should just keep this huge secret, one that would shake up Olivia’s life completely, forWill? The same Will who's been shitty tobasically every person I’ve cared about since I’ve known him?”
“Sort of!” I snap. This is so like Grant, blaming his life's problems on one person.
If only so and so didn’t do this, then my life would be great.
I don’t like Will, but this isn’t about Will. It’s about Gen—about her making the choice to protect someone she cares about, and about Grant seeing that as a flaw instead of a positive.
I look at the time on the stove.Fuck. “Look, I have to go. I’m going to be late.” I grab my keys, and tug on my boots, sitting haphazardly by the bar stool.
“Late for what?” His voice is full of accusation, suspicion, and I hear it now. How he groups me in with all these things he considers bad.
“Late forwhat, Sloane?” he spits, and something about the hatred, the rage in his voice has tension pulling at my head like if I don’t explode I’ll cry. Exploding feels easier. Cleaner.
“I have a thing…with Mom.”
I watch that betrayal amplify and morph into something more. A break in whatever cosmic bond twins have. The feeling that the one person who should understand you doesn’t understand you at all.
“Why?”
It’s the way he says it that makes me erupt, like I have something to apologize for, like I proved him right about some unsaid thing between us. Like me seeing our mother hurts him as much as our mother did.
“You know what Grant, not all of us are constantly holding people to an entirely impossible standard. Normal people can’t just decide if someone is good or bad likethat. People change Grant, people have reasons they do things. Maybe they don’t want to share those things with thegatekeeper of morality.” Blood courses through my ears and I feel sweat begin to tickle the back of my neck, my heart beating hard in my chest.
“People like Will, people like Connie…” His voice is restrained, like I won’t be able to handle whatever truth he thinks he’s expounding on me. “They don’t justchangeSloane. They don’t get to use their issues as an excuse for fucking up someone’s life.” I wonder if that's what he thinks I'm doing. Coming in here with all my issues and fucking up his life. This wounds me somewhere, a cut I don’t feel right now but deep enough that I know it’’ll come back later when I think I’ve forgiven him.
“Sometimes things are morally grey, Grant. Do I think Gen should be protecting Will? No. Absolutely not. But Will was Gen’s person for a really,reallylong time. That was her best friend, so maybe she thinks protecting him is more important than the truth.Maybethere’s a whole lot of pain under that secret that she knows he’s not ready to face.” I swallow hard. “What makes Will less worthy of empathy, Grant? Just because he’s fucked up? What about Mom? Why is she okay to abandon and we weren’t?” I feel the tears before I can process them, and I don’t know when this argument became less about Gen and more about us.
