I scoff, adjusting my bag strap and flicking my locs out of my face. “Someone has to.”
Because clearly, it wasn’t going to be her.
“The man’s getting far too comfortable here,” I add, my voice sharper now that I’m upright. “And he doesn’t even pay rent. How much more am I meant to take before I lose my fuckin’ mind?”
Zaza leans against the counter, studying me with that look she’s had since we were teenagers.
“Ci, let’s be honest here. This isn’t just about the food. You just don’t like him.”
I roll my eyes hard. “Duh.”
What I don’t say is that this conversation wouldn’t even be happening if she’d just send her bum of a brother home. Or that she’s letting him get away with whatever, just like her parents do.
I’m surprised I even let her, let him get away for so long.
But yesterday was the final straw.
Hours.
We went back and forth for hours before he finally gave up and stormed out. Za hasn’t seen or heard from him since and I guess she was worried.
“Yeah, well,” Zaza sighs, softer now. “Besides me, I don’t really think he has friends like that so he likes to hang around me. I almost felt bad for him.”
I arch a brow. “Almost?”
“Almost.”
Fucking siblings, man.
“Hm.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “You and your brother are too complicated for any normal person to understand. One minute you hate him, the next he’s always over. Make up your mind, fam.”
“One,” she says, pointing a finger at me, “I don’thatemy brother. And two, are we complicated? Or are you just using that as an excuse to be horrid to him?”
I pause, hand on the door. “Can’t it be both?”
She laughs, shaking her head, waving me off like I’m a lost cause.
“Just go to work.”
“Fine! But we are unpacking your relationship with your brother when I get back.”
“Or we can unpack how you can be more nicer to him?”
“I’d rather drink bleach and walk into traffic.”
“Goodbye, Francine.”
“Love you too, darling.”
I grab my keys, step out into the morning air, and instantly regret every decision that led me to living where the weather always looks like it’s crying. The sky’s gray, the pavement’s still damp from last night’s rain, and the puddles make my trainers darken at the toes as I jog to the corner?—
Just in time to watch my bus pull off.
Of course.
I stand there, hands on my hips, breathing a little harder than necessary, watching the back of it disappear. Somewhere in the distance, a car splashes through a puddle, spraying water I definitely didn’t need on my jeans.
Typical.
