At the rate I’m going, I may lose my shit completely, and frankly, that’s not an option right now. “That way you can get done here and get back to whatever else you have going on.”
He frowns, his furrowed brows making his eyes look darker. “You’re joking, right?”
“You think I’m in the mood for jokes the same day I bury my sister?” I snap, stopping short of the arched doorway I was headed for.
“About as much as I have other things going on the day I bury my best friend,” he counters. “Call me crazy, but I went ahead and cleared my schedule for this one.” He shakes his head, and I can’t help but notice how stiff he looks, as if tension has wrapped itself around every reckless, carefree bone in his body. Then he exhales, the breath harsh and audible, reminding me to be on guard. Verbal battles are an ongoing thing between us.
Normally.
“Let’s not do this, Liz.”
I guess nothing about today is going to be normal.
“Not today," he says, his deep voice more gravelly than usual. "Not with everything we’re already dealing with.”
“You’re being uncharacteristically mature.” And clearly, I’m not. I don’t know why. Maybe I simply needed one thing to be like it always is. One thing that still feels like it did before. One tiny smidgen of proof the world as I know it hasn’t completely vanished just because my anchor in it has left me. But no, Jovi has to choose today of all days to be a decent human being.
“Maybe you’re right," I concede. "We should be able to manage one day of our lives like civilized adults.”
He nods, turning toward the living room and the sofas to his left. “Should we sit?” He gestures for me to go ahead, and I accept despite my desire to get away from him. It's unfair that even after the only physical link between us ceased to exist, I still can’t be rid of him.
“When did you get back in town?” I ask, doing my part to make some sort of polite small talk as I drop into the loveseat. As soon as I land, it's like the cushions sap every ounce of remaining energy from me and I have to force myself to sit straight. Remain upright. To not crumble into the cracks of the sofa.
Once I'm seated, Jovi chooses the recliner to my right. “The day after the accident.” He doesn’t lean back or appear any more relaxed or comfortable than I do. Instead of sitting ramrod straight like me, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands folded as if he’s trying to keep from popping his knuckles. That much at least, I can be grateful for. Nothing grates my nerves quite like that annoying habit of his. “Was surprised to hear you didn’t get back until this weekend.”
“I’m sorry. Some of us have businesses to run that weren’t handed to us by our parents,” I say snidely. “I came as soon as I could.”
“My apologies. I had no idea life as a boudoir photographer was so demanding.” He doesn’t sound like he’s apologizing. He sounds like he’s calling me out. And he’s right to. I’m full of shit.
Even if my photography business extends far beyond the private boudoir shoots I offer. Most of my work is commercial these days, my images gracing the covers of countless romance novels or being used to promote them.
“Fuck you.” But I’m surrendering, so my request he go fuck himself is lacking in self-righteous anger and thus fizzles before I finish getting the words out. “Fine. I put off coming home. Go ahead, tell me what a coward I am. How I should have done better by my sister. Hell, better by her kids.” I bite back the emotions threatening to leak through every orifice of my face to explode all over this living room.
That’s where I’m at.
Seconds from vomiting my grief and shame all over Jovi and his superior ability to be a friend where I can’t hack the same level as a sister.
“I wasn’t going to tell you any of those things,” he says, his voice low and face turned toward the floor. His brown eyes slowly creep upward to meet mine. “This shit is hard. There’s no right or wrong way to navigate it. And I know you’ve been calling the kids every day.”
“Remmi tell you?” She mentioned he’s been coming by to see them damn near every morning, bringing breakfast from the Biscuit Barn like their dad used to on weekends.
“Trent’s parents.” He looks down at his feet again. “You know it’ll be hard for them when they find out.”
“Find out what?” If there’s more bad news in store for us, I haven’t heard it yet either.
He tilts his head slightly to the side, his brow furrowed like he’s confused. “That Lena and Trent appointed you as the kids' guardian.”
“No, they didn’t.” I pride myself on being an excellent aunt, but I’m far and wide the least maternal person to be found. There’s no way my sister would curse her children eternally by putting them in my care. Not when Trent’s parents are both able and willing and undeniably more experienced.
“Lena seriously never told you?” He sits up straighter. “What exactly do you think the lawyer needs to talk to you about?”
I look around us at the empty rooms filled with material objects but now completely void of value. “This house. Their stuff. I assume it will all need to be sorted through and packed up and sold.” The last word catches in my throat. I’m not ready to face any of this. It’s too final. Too soon.
Jovi shakes his head emphatically. “Liz, this meeting isn’t about the house. Well,” he shifts, “it’s about the house as well. But not at all in the way you’re thinking.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist as a nagging voice at the back of my mind gets louder. What if he’s right?
“Actually, I do. I’m also starting to gain rapid insight into why your sister never had this talk with you.” He chuckles softly, but it’s more exasperation than amusement. “Why are you fighting this? You adore those kids, I know you do.”
