“When it comes to relaxing, I’m like an Olympic athlete.”
I didn’t have to see Emma’s face to know she was rolling her eyes at me.
“Can you please leave? You’re sucking up all my oxygen,” I complained.
Emma huffed and grabbed my legs and swung them off the bench, nearly knocking me to my ass, and took a seat where my feet had been. I was actually forced to perform a backward pushup on the bench to keep from falling to the floor. It was the most exercise I’d gotten all week. I sat up and sneered at my sister.
“What?” Emma shrugged innocently. “I haven’t seen you in months. I thought we could chat.”
“And you couldn’t talk to me yesterday? We were in the car for seven hours together.”
“I wanted to talk to you privately.”
“Oh, well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” I whispered, like we had some pressing secret between us. “You’re finally coming out? Good for you.”
She ignored me and stated condescendingly, “I heard you got a job.”
“I heard you got a boyfriend,” I shot back, and then paused dramatically. “Oh wait…”
A disgusted scowl transformed Emma’s smug face. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not looking for a job.”
Emma and I glared at one another. This had always been our thing. Rarely did a civil word pass between us. Even as kids, we’d never really gotten along. As far as I could tell, I was the only sibling she disliked. Of course, I’d be the first to admit I probably deserved that distinction. Starting from about five years of age, I’d made it my mission to raise her blood pressure at every opportunity. She was just too easy to annoy. But Emma was no pushover, and she was certainly not above employing tactical warfare to put me in my place. We were two completely opposite human beings. How we'd come from the same parents was a mystery to me. In fact, the only thing we had in common was our undying devotion to Jake.
Interestingly enough, it was probably that same devotion which also drove us apart. Emma had been three years old when Jake was born, and she'd doted on him as if he were her very own real-life baby doll. And then I came along, with my hyperactive antics, and ruined everything.
“Have you talked to him since you left?” Emma asked.
“Yeah. I’ve been texting him. Why?”
“He’s all right?”
“I think so. His knee is flaring up again.”
“I figured.”
“He promised me he’d get it taken care of after the tour.”
Emma nodded, nervously tapping her nails on the bench in front of us. “I talked to him the other day.”
“And?” I questioned impatiently.
“He didn’t sound great.”
My stomach tightened. “Why? What did he say?”
“Nothing alarming. He just seemed drained.”
I nodded.
“So you noticed it too?”
“Yeah. He’s been moody.”
“Like ‘moody’ moody, or ‘we should be worried’ moody?”
I cringed, knowing exactly what she meant. Memories of a not-so-distant past still fresh in both our minds. “He’s okay. I think.”
