Hank worked in IT for a hotel group in Boston, where he’d been for years. Like their dad, he had always been an affable nerd, and Dahlia couldn’t imagine him doing anythingotherthan IT.
“Hank, you are one year older than me, and I am not famous.”
Hank snorted. “Whatever, baby sister.”
Dahlia jumped back on the bed, stretching out her toes. “How is work, though?”
“How iswork? Oh my god,boring, Dahlia; shut up and tell me about LA! How the fuck are you! Is Sai Patel a total dreamboat in real life? Are you killing it? Because we just watched the second episode last night, and I have no idea how this all works and when you actually filmed that shit, but in case you’ve already forgotten, let me remind you that youkilled it.”
Dahlia laughed.
And then an odd thing happened.
Her laughter turned into a sob.
It was a laugh-sob. Fat, salty tears hurtled down her face, at the same time that she couldn’t stop giggling.
It was possible she was still a little sleep deprived.
And it appeared that all the things that had changed in her life over the last four weeks hit her the hardest, somehow, when she heard her brother’s voice. The voice that had known her before LA Dahlia. Who would love her no matter which Dahlia she was. She wished he were here in person, could wrap her in one of his rib-squeezing hugs. Help her meld this new version of herself with all the old ones. Promise her it would all work out, that being Team Dahlia wasn’t just a pipe dream.
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line.
“Um, Dahlia? You all right?”
“Sorry,” Dahlia mumbled through her snot. She grabbed a tissue, let out one last weak laugh. “I, uh. I was calling because I wanted to hear exactly what you just said. So . . . thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I think? Have you come down with a case of the sads? I mean, I can only imagine the stress you’re under, baby sis. It’s understandable.”
“Actually.” Dahlia sighed. “I’m . . . I don’t know.”
“Ah. The I-don’t-knows. Those can be even worse. Well, thank god you called. Hold on a sec.”
Dahlia heard rustling and muffled voices in the background.
“Okay.” Hank came back on the line. “Gonna take my lunch break. I’m walking and talking here. You got a notebook?”
“Yeah. Somewhere. Let me find it.”
Dahlia put Hank on speaker and stood up, looking around her wonderful disaster of a room. She tossed clothes around, searching on the floor. She could tell, from the increase in background noise on Hank’s end, the moment he exited his building and walked into Copley Square.
“Ugh, there are a lot of tourists around today. I’m going to try to find a quiet spot by the library. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Aha!” Dahlia spotted a notebook underneath the bed. This notebook was regular journal size, and served a different purpose from the small notepad she carried around set. The notepad was for food; the notebook was for feelings. “Got it.”
“Good. So I am obviously concerned you have the I-don’t-knows, and you will tell me why you have the I-don’t-knows later, if you want, but I have to say I am rather excited that you called. I’ve been storing up some truly killer ideas for awhilenow.”
“Fantastic. Go for it.”
Dahlia settled back onto the bed, leaning against the headboard.
“Top ten Britney songs, 2001 or earlier only.”
Dahlia rolled her eyes so hard she was positive Hank could hear it.
“Hank. We have done Britney before. Like five times at least.”
“But we keep leaving off key tracks! I realized we hadn’t included “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” on any of our previous top tens, and it’s just egregious.”
