“Is there a reason you’re interruptin’ my beauty sleep?” I ask him with just the right amount of cheer and cluelessness. If he even senses he’s being manipulated, it’ll be game over for me. And Connie.
He cocks his head to the side, lifting one brow with expert precision. “Well you can’t sleep on the couch forever,” he says, annoyed. My eyes shift in confusion until he shoves his phone at me, gently kicking one of my trash bags of belongings. “There. Pick one. And buy more luggage while you’re at. Since we’renepobabies.”
“Adoptive nepo babies,” I grumble, staring into the screen at a series of same day delivery mattresses before handing his phone back. “Not necessary. I don’t even know how long I’m gonna be here.” I don’t say it’s because I’m still hoping Connie will change her mind about me staying with her. He’d blow a gasket.
He heaves a sigh before plopping down next to me, bracing his elbows against his knees as he lets his head hang. “Sloane. What the hell happened out there?”
Pursing my lips, I avoid his gaze, jutting up from the sofa to busy myself with his coffee maker.
“Sloane.”
I rifle through this fridge, desperate for some heavy cream. All he has is two percent.
“Sloane, if you don’t tell me why you left your program, why you’re hiding it from Mom and Dad, and why you’re actingweird as fuck, I swear to god—I will call them.” His tone is the one that saysI’m older than you by a minute,and I know he’s serious.
I spin around, holding the watery milk and a mug in my hand, the cold plaster chilling my fingers. The same ones that haven’t been able to paint anything in over a month. Not since the piece I was working on with Elliot, that now sits somewhere in his iconic warehouse, unfinished. Not since before.
Sloane, you idiot.
Telling my brother, with his brow all hard set, that I not only got involved with my professor, but that I let myself get so lost in him that it sucked all the artistic passion out of me, feels like I’d be telling a brick wall. He wouldn’t get it. He’d blame me; he wouldn’t say it, but in the undercurrent of his awkward soothings there would be the truth: that it is so like me to be so careless and chaotic with my feelings. And it still wouldn’t be the whole truth. The whole truth would gut him.
Not to mention, Connie’s cancer. Jesus, I’m just the bearer of all things bad.
I hesitate, wanting so badly for him to be open to some of my burden. “I was stupid. I got involved with this guy and—” He’s already rolling his eyes at me, and I feel my spine stiffen before I will myself to continue. “—it just kind of ruined the vibe,” I finish, shrugging, but I can tell he doesn’t buy it. Eyes narrowed at me he gets up and strides over to the counter.
“The vibe?” His condescension is thick in the air, and if it wasn’t for Connie I would just leave.
“The conditions were not,” I wiggle my head around, trying to find the word, "conducive for me to create anything.” Sort of the truth. “I would’ve been wastin’ my time. Listen, if you could please save whatever demoralizin’ thing you have sittin’ on the tip of your tongue, that’d be great.”
I turn abruptly and spoon coffee grounds into the filter, hoping he’ll disappear into his cave at the back of the apartment. Instead, I can feel him lingering by the counter.
“What?” I spit, spinning on him. He doesn’t even flinch. Just gives me this pathetic smile that spells out how predictable I am.
“Remember when you almost got expelled?” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, just as a frown tugs at mine. This is at once nothing like that time andjustlike that time.
“Suspended,” I correct him. “Because the dean refused to listen to my side of the story.”
“Whatever,” he shrugs, and I can’t help but scoff. “You packed that rollie luggage Evie’d gotten you for Christmas and walked to the end of the road.”
“Yeah, because I felt like no one was lis—” I stop, shaking my head. “What’s your point?” I feel myself shrink in real time as nostalgia pools in his gaze, this unsettling memory of mine somehow funny and sweet to him.
“You just do this. You run whenever you make a mistake or?—”
“Who says I made a mistake?” I hate how shrill it comes out, hate how I’m sure he can see my molars grinding.
Grant’s mouth opens and shuts, his thoughts coalescing around an exaggerated inhale. “No one. But tell me that’s not what you’re doin’? Runnin’ away from somethin’ and toward…” His jaw twitches.
“Go on,” I say, seething. Small. Embarrassed. “Spit it out.”
“Oh come on, Sloane. It’s Connie. It’salwaysabout Connie with you. Your life goes to shit and you think it’s Connie who’s gonna make everythin’ better, like she isn’t the reason you’re messed up to begin with.”
I press my lips hard into each other, lifting my hair as a small reprieve from the hot anger radiating off my neck. “So it’s just me who’s messed up.Got it.” I turn back to the bag of coffee, inhaling deep enough for the fumes to distract me from his insult. Grinds dirty the counter top, and I mindlessly swipe them onto the floor.
“Sloane.” I spoon more coffee into the filter. “I just know she’s gonna hurt you. That’s all.”
Taking a deep breath, I face him. “If you cared about that, you wouldn’t say suchhurtfulthings to me.” I squint, staunching the tears that so badly want to bleed across my waterline.
Grant’s throat bobs, and I witness the apology take hold in his gaze. “I’m sorry. I could’ve said all of that differently.”
