“Gavin, you’re being weird about reading a magazine.” I raise a brow at him.
“I’m not being weird,” he says unconvincingly. Now he’s shoving the magazine deep into his back pocket, as if that’ll make me forget I ever saw him reading it.
I couldn’t care less about Gavin’s habits, reading or otherwise, but his strange behavior does strike me as odd. I just can’t understand what could possibly be making him this uncomfortable about reading a—I gasp, putting a hand to my mouth. So this is what he meant bypruning the garden.
“What now?” He sighs, irritated.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Gavin,” I say knowingly. “I won’t say anything.”
Gavin jerks his head back. “What are you talking about?”
“Looking at porn is nothing to be ashamed of. I mean,I’lldefinitely judge you for it, because you’re my brother and no one should knowthatmuch about their family.” I alternate between snort-laughing and gagging. I manage to keep it together long enough to finish my thought. “But you shouldn’t let that stop you from being who you are. Exploring your sexuality is a natural thing.”
“Ugh, Elena. It’s not porn.” He rolls his eyes so theatrically, all I see is white. “And if I seem embarrassed, it’s because of my secondhand embarrassment over you thinking I need your approval to look at porn.”
“Ha! So it is porn.” I point a finger at him.
“You’re missing the point.” He shakes his head pitifully. “That may be how you operate in life, one pleasure-seeking opportunity after another, but some of us have responsibilities.”
Ah yes. Hisresponsibilities. I know what that really means. The way Gavin gets off on Mom and Dad’s approval, I wasn’t too far off the mark with the porn accusation.
“Where did Mom and Dad go?” I ask, suddenly reminded of them. I mean, how is Gavin supposed to win their approval if they’re not here to witness him being responsible?
“They went to get supplies for the farm. Don’t you listen to anything they say?”
“Honestly I try to block it all out.”
“Typical,” he mutters. Before I can challenge him by saying that it’s typical that the family didn’t include me in their conversation in the first place, he brushes past me to pick up the gardening shears on the ground. Of course, now that I’m here, he walks over to the boxed planters with tall grasslike strands and begins cutting them. Once he has a bunch in his hands, he places them in a reusable bag that’s already filled with leafy greens.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the bag.
He cringes at my catchphrase. “These are herbs. This leafy one is parsley, and this one with the needlelike leaves is rosemary,” he says, slow and high-pitched, like he’s talking to a child. “Or are you unfamiliar with greens that aren’t in the chopped salads you eat religiously? The ones with names as pretentious as you, like Green Goddess and Waldorf Astoria?” He reverts to his usual voice but maintains the same level of condescension.
“It’s justWaldorf, Gavin. And that’s not what I meant.” I make a face at him. “Where did the herbs come from?”
“Where else would they come from?” he says, irritated by thequestion. “I had to trim the rosemary because it was blocking the sunlight from reaching the oregano. The parsley was getting overcrowded, so I had to cut the foliage off to relieve the stress. And the chives were also getting too tall, so I trimmed them.”
“So you really were pruning the garden?”
He doesn’t dignify my question with a response. Instead he stares at me, as if to sayduh.
“When did you learn how to do all that?” It occurs to me, leveling my gaze with Gavin’s, that we’re staring at each other as if we’re strangers. Is it possible that, while I’ve been trying to tell Gavin I’m not who he thinks I am, he’s been trying to do the same about himself?
His eyes dart around self-consciously. “I mean, Mom and Dad said I should clean up the garden, so that’s what I did.” The arrogance in his voice is gone. In its place is an insecurity I’m not familiar with coming from Gavin. “I’m just doing what I was told to do.”
Nope, I had it right all along. Gavin is exactly who I think he is. Not only that, but it now hits me that Gavin’s act is not an act at all.
“Oh my God.” I shake my head, laughing incredulously. “This is just like you to all of a sudden grow a green thumb.”
“What are you talking about?” Gavin’s eyes are half closed, like he doesn’t have time for my nonsense.
“I always knew you thrived on Mom and Dad’s attention, but to force an interest in farming?” I tsk. “That’s desperate.”
“Wow,” he says, slow and drawn out. “Not only are your assumptions about my insecurity tendencies completely wrong, but you’ve now made it super obvious what your insecurities are.”
I arch an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Then how do you explain your newfound hobby?”
He narrows his eyes. “How do you know it’s a new hobby?” he challenges.
