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HOW MY COMPLETE LACK OF A BACKBONE LANDED ME ON NATIONAL TV: A TRAGEDY IN TWO PARTS
DEAN
Most people have better things to do on a Friday night than rescue their sister from a first date at Applebee’s. I am not most people.
Meredith briefed me on the situation via panicked, typo-riddled texts begging me to bail her out. Apparently, her date spent fifteen minutes complaining about their ex, only to be interrupted by a ping on their phone—which was a text from said ex. So, like the kind twin brother I am, I agreed to brave the horrors of America’s most nauseating chain restaurant to save her.
In true white-suburban-town fashion, Applebee’s is the crown jewel of Auburn, Massachusetts. Nearly half the population is packed into the maroon booths when I walk in, but it’s still easy to spot Meredith’s blond curls from across the restaurant. I awkwardly sidle past the hostess, holding my breath so the greasy fumes don’t make me queasy. I got food poisoning here a few years ago and haven’t been back since. I can still see where I vomited, the stain apparently forever memorialized in the low-pile carpet. I step over it and head to where Meredith’s seated in the middle of the restaurant.
Her date, a girl with freckles and short brown hair, stops talking when she notices me approaching. Meredith twists over her shoulder, relief visibly flitting across her hazel eyes. She feigns surprise.
“Dean!” she exclaims. “What are you doing here?”
I cringe as the nearby tables look over to see what the commotion is. I should’ve changed out of my sweatpants and ratty white shirt. To be fair, Meredith said it was an emergency. Heat singes my ears as a waitress peers over, curious.
“Er,” I say. I had come up with an elaborate excuse on the drive over, but with everyone’s attention on me, my brain short-circuits. So what I get out is “It’s Mom. She’s… dead.”
She’s not. Well, I don’t know. She hasn’t been in our lives for over a decade. A woman at the next booth gasps. Meredith’s eye twitches.
“Oh my God,” says her date, reaching across the table to lay her hand over Mare’s. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. Thatisawful.” Meredith glares at me. I wince.
She throws a few bills on the table, apologizes to her date, and then we hightail it out of there. I keep my eyes trained on the carpet—both to avoid stepping on suspicious stains and so I don’t have to see everyone staring at us. Being perceived is one of my least favorite pastimes.
Once in the car, Meredith punches me in the arm.
“Ow!” I swerve into a curb on our way out of the parking lot. We may have similar builds, but she’s the only one who got Dad’s strength.Mystrengths are more mental than physical. Except for tonight, when I demonstrated neither. “What was that for?”
“For saying our mom’s dead in front of a bunch of middle-aged ladies drinking Dollaritas.”
“The state of our mother’s well-being won’t ruin their dollar margaritas, I promise. I got you out of there, didn’t I?”
“My hero,” Meredith drawls. She slumps back in her seat with a groan. “That was, like, my fourth bad date in a row. Totally not worth sneaking out for. Maybe I should give up and start setting you up on dates instead.”
“You don’t even know what my type is.”
“Let me guess. Someone sweet and bubbly, with a pretty smile, and oh—bigger muscles than you?”
I glare at the road, saying nothing. Damnit. She does know my type.
“Thanks for picking me up,” Meredith hums.
“You better be. I’m missingForest Feudreruns for this.”
She snorts. Either at my long-standing obsession with reality TV, or at the confirmation that I did, in fact, have nothing better to do than interrupt her date.
I peek over at her as she unfolds the sun visor and wipes something off her pale cheek. On the outside, we’re nearly identical: same sharp features, matching dimples, even our laughs sound alike. Somewhere along the way, though, Meredith blossomed into a social butterfly adored by everyone, while I grew into a quiet, nerdy book lover in the shape of her shadow. But I don’t mind that she absorbed all the likability in the womb; I’d hate to have the kind of attention on me that she effortlessly attracts. She’s still my best friend at the end of the day.
“Speaking ofForest Feud,” she says, making me perk up. “There was a commercial for it playing on the restaurant’s TV. Did you know that they’re rebooting the show? The new host is an old contestant. The guy who beat Dad, actually.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Um,” I say. “Yeah. I heard something about that.”
“I almost feel bad for Dad. Like, man, the guy who betrayed him twenty years ago is gonna host his favorite show of all time. That’s gotta hurt.” She clicks her tongue. “But that’s karma for grounding me for no reason.”
“I don’t think that karmic scale is very equivalent. Besides, didn’t he ground you for sneaking out? Again?”
