“CHEMTRAILS” - LIZZY MCALPINE
“Why areyou staring at me like that?”
“Hush,” my brother murmurs. “She’s analyzing.”
He stands across the breakfast bar in his kitchen, his girlfriend’s daughter next to him as they both study me. Lou tilts her head, strawberry-blond hair falling over a shoulder. Her arms are crossed, and her eyes narrowed. “Yep.” She nods before looking to Everett. “She’s a tortured poet.”
He lights up with laughter, like she’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, before planting a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re so intuitive,mi lucecita.”
“What the fu—” My brother shoots me a warning glare. “Fudge does that mean?”
Lou smiles knowingly, and my brother chuckles again, scratching his beard. “Go upstairs and tell Mama to hurry up, or we’re gonna be late.”
“She doesn’t like it when you rush her.”
“That’s why I’m sending you, Luz.” He smiles, and she huffs, slipping off her barstool and bounding up the stairs.
I simply came downstairs to grab a snack, but instead stumbled upon my brother in the most ridiculous fucking outfitI’ve ever seen, eating enchiladas—my dad’s recipe, I’m sure—with Dahlia’s daughter.
“Are those all chicken?” I ask, nodding toward the pan.
To my surprise, he smiles. “Nope. I made two cheese-only. Just in case you decided to eat a real meal tonight.”
He turns to the stove, plating the enchiladas and adding a scoop of Mexican rice on the side before setting it down in front of the chair Lou just vacated. I don’t eat dinner with Everett and his family all that often. For two reasons: I don’t want to feel like I’m imposing on the little life he’s built for himself, and I don’t want to make anyone feel like they have to go out of their way to accommodate my vegetarian diet.
I don’t have the energy to cook for myself most days, so I end up living off snack food, which I’m fine with. But my dad’s enchiladas are the ultimate comfort food, and Everett is the only person who can make them almost as well as Dad.
I know my brothers have an event down at the boardwalk tonight, raising money for the Foundation. I’m not attending, obviously. Even on a good day, even for a different reason, it wouldn’t be my cup of tea. But when you’re the villain in the story, and everyone else is living in their epilogue, it’s probably best not to show your face around the memorial events of the horror you helped cause.
The house was quiet when I woke from my afternoon nap, so I figured they’d already left to begin setting up, and I’d have the place to myself for a while.
The front door opens, and my brother and I both peek our heads around the narrow corner that leads from the kitchen to the front entryway, finding our mother stepping through the door. She sets her purse and keys on the table next to it, sliding her large sunglasses off her face, brown eyes—a twin shade to mine and Everett’s—lighting up as she looks at us both.
“I miei bambini!” she exclaims, reaching me and wrapping me in her arms. “Siete entrambi qui. Bella ragazza, mi sei mancata.”
“Ciao, Mama,” I murmur against her cheek. Both of my parents are on the shorter side, so it’s no surprise I match my mother’s height at barely five feet, my dad reaching five-seven on a good day. Nobody knows where Everett’s obnoxious height and body mass came from. If he wasn’t the spitting image of my dad and hadn’t come out of the womb just four minutes before me, I’d tell everyone he was adopted.
Mom pulls back from me, and then freezes, I’m assuming to notice my brother’s outfit for the first time. I turn with her, taking him in. A jacket I can only describe as a dark blue, sparkly pom-pom, accents his chest and shoulders over a black T-shirt and dark jeans. Though, his belt appears to be…bedazzled? Hand-glued with multicolored rhinestones, and he’s wearing a pair of white sneakers that look the same. His nails are also painted a sparkly, electric blue.
“What’s going on here?” my mom asks, circling her finger through the air in front of him.
“You look like Tom Sandoval,” I snort.
“Who?”
“Is this what the kids are wearing nowadays?” Mom asks. “What’s Dahlia dressing up in tonight? Fishnets and a coconut bra?”
“God, I’d love that.” My brother laughs. “Speaking of, can Luz hang at your place for a while after the event tonight?”
“Why?” Mom asks.
“Give it like two minutes, and I think that question will be answered for you.”
Our mom rolls her eyes, digging through the fridge. “Is this your way of letting me know you’re trying to make me more grandbabies?”
“Oh, they’re trying their damndest,” I mutter. I don’t think Everett realizes how loudly his headboard slams against the wall that I sleep on the other side of. Nodding toward my brother, I continue, “So, what is going on tonight that’s got you all…” I trail off, unable to find words for the getup.
He rolls his eyes at me before answering, “We’re doing a Fall Crawl. We’ve got it all decked out in Halloween decorations and converted the empty suite between the tattoo shop and Wicked Wildflower into a walk-through haunted house. It’s a soft launch for the bakery, where Dahlia will be handing out samples of menu items to get people excited about its opening next year. Darby is selling pumpkins and autumnal flower arrangements, and August’s workers have set up drop-ins where customers can get a pre-designed tattoo done during the event.”
