That gets a real laugh. “You're ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously perfect for making your parents happy.” I lean back on my elbows. “Think about it—I'm tall, I play sports?—”
“Played.”
“Whatever. I'm conventionally attractive, I have all my teeth. I can make small talk about the weather. I'm basically son-in-law material.”
“You're basically delusional.” But she's smiling now. “My parents would take one look at you and know you're way out of my league.”
I sit up sharply. “Hey. No. Don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“That thing where you make yourself smaller. Your brother's an ass, but that doesn't mean you're less than him.” I turn to face her properly. “You're brilliant. You're funny when you let yourself be. You're building something that could help thousands of people. If your parents can't see that, that's their failing, not yours.”
She stares at me for a long moment. “You really believe that.”
“I really do.” I nudge her foot with mine. “Plus, you're definitely the hottest sibling in the family. Your brother looks pretty generic, no offense.”
She snort-laughs. “That's mean.”
“That's accurate. Probably has a favorite golf polo and everything.”
“Three, actually. He color-coordinates them with his belts.”
“See? Undateable. You, on the other hand, are highly dateable. Well, fake-dateable. Tomorrow, at least.”
Something flickers across her face. “Right. Fake.”
17
ETHAN
Aclatter of mixing bowls yanks me out of my post-all-nighter haze.
Downstairs, the house sounds like someone let loose a pack of caffeinated raccoons. I pull on sweatpants, shuffle to the landing, and peer over the banister.
Freddie’s in the kitchen wearing his mom’s floral apron, aggressively dusting cocoa powder over something that might be brownies. Troy’s sprawled on the sofa, constructing what looks like armor from aluminum foil while Delilah FaceTimes instructions from her architecture studio.
Alfie hunches over the dining table with a hot glue gun and determination. Beside him sits Greg, my monstera, sporting a tiny cardboard wizard hat complete with silver stars.
“Dude,” I croak, descending the stairs. “You turned Greg into Gandalf.”
Alfie glances up, glasses sliding down his nose. “Technically, more Merlin-esque. Gandalf’s hat has a different cone angle.”
“He looks distinguished,” Troy calls out. “Very wise. Veryleafy. Oh, Eth! Freddie’s trying to make better brownies than me. Come down here and tell him he is completely wrong.”
I shuffle into the kitchen where Freddie offers me a chocolate-covered spoon. “Taste.”
“What is it?”
“Brownie batter 2.0. My secret ingredient is too much espresso.”
I taste it. Sugar and caffeine hit my bloodstream like a defibrillator. “Jesus, Fred. This could wake the dead. But, it’s delicious.”
“That’s the plan.” He gestures at my hair with his whisk. “You figure out your costume yet?”
“Yeah, about that...” I hold up my thrift store find—a garland of fake ivy and autumn leaves that looked way less ridiculous in the store. “This is happening.”
