“You mean you haven’t made it a priority.” Because his most pressing needs have always been his sister’s needs. Before my brain catches up, my hand is draped over Ryan’s forearm. “Celine’s lucky to have you as her big brother.”
My skin prickles where it’s touching him, and his gaze pins me in place, the raucous room going silent. The golden flecks framing his pupils gleam like the rays of the sun, the entire solar system revolving around them. Warm and vibrant. Central.
I wish it didn’t send heat radiating through me. Because he’s golden-handcuffed to the company, needs to walk the straight and narrow, to do everything in his power to not jeopardize his job until Celine graduates.
Notcreate a conflict of interest that could risk it all.
Even if he wants to.
I drain the remainder of my drink, and he does the same.
The night air is cool as we wander from the train station back to the hotel, the streets illuminated by bright signage and hanging red lanterns throughout Chinatown. I ask question after question about Celine’s childhood, and he doesn’t seem put off by the rapid-fire interrogation. On the contrary: He regales me with stories. The time she put a cannellini bean up her nostril and had to be rushed to the hospital. When she choked on half a strawberry, prompting Ryan to enroll in a CPR class. Or the daddy-daughter middle school dance he took her to. I imagine young, hot Ryan among all the middle-aged dad bods—the spectacle that would have been for a gymnasium full of pubescent girls.
He’s a captivating storyteller and credits her for it. She would insist he invent original bedtime stories every night, which she called “mind stories.” When she showed particular affinity for one, he would run with the positive feedback and write it. Inventive tales of otherworldly characters and events. The few times he submitted them for college classes, they garnered high grades.
“Now we know your sci-fi author origin story,” I say.
“Blame Celine’s unquenchable thirst for interdimensional travel.”
“Does she write too?” I ask.
“Nah, she was always more interested in science, nature…She wanted to live in the woods as a kid. Her ideal weekend was going camping.”
“Oh god.”
“My thought exactly,” he says. “She begged and begged me to take her.”
I’ve never understood camping. I like being outdoors—on that first warm day of spring, just try to keep me inside—but pitching a tent miles away from civilization and the nearest coffee shop? I can’t make food on a stove, let alone over a fire, and going to the bathroom over a dirt hole buzzing with flies is about the least appealing thing I can imagine. “How’d you get out of it?”
“I didn’t. You should see her when she really wants something. There’s no saying no.”
“Then she earned your compliance,” I say, smug, even though I have nothing to do with Celine’s strength of character. But something tells me Ryan wouldn’t say no, anyway.
“If it means she’s going to save the world’s forests,” he says, “I consider it an investment in climate action.”
“She and Maral should partner up,” I say. “Urban planning and infrastructure reform with an emphasis on nature conservation.” I imagine them working together, becoming a world-renowned team for creating strategies for sustainable urban spread, and feelan inexplicable swell of pride at the fantasy. It’s been so long since Maral worked in the field, so long since I envisioned her as anything other than the kick-ass brand manager so vital toSPOYnow.
“Is Maral’s goal to go back to urban planning?” he asks.
“God, no—we’ve built something really special. She’s as committed to it as I am.”
He nods. “I wondered, given her interest in climate action. But then you’d lose the ace up your sleeve.”
“She wouldn’t leave me in the lurch,” I say, a sly grin curving my lips. “I have too much dirt on her.”
“I have a feeling Maral’s dirt is sterile.”
“Says the most fastidious person in the world,” I say. “I seem to remember the termserial killerbeing used to describe you.”
“Easy to appear fastidious to a sloven.”
I gasp, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “Was that aburn? Did you just burn me?”
“If the mess fits,” he says, eyes glittering under the streetlights.
“Savage. That’s the last time I invite you into my room.”
“I hope not,” he says, the last word clipped as he clamps his mouth shut.
