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As someone who frequently missed breakfast, I was always hungry. “Which burrito is mine?”
“Take your pick. One has bacon and the other is meatless. I remember meat first thing in the morning used to upset your stomach, so I got the veggie option to be safe.”
It was the thoughtfulness that always did me in. Oz would twist himself into a pretzel to accommodate people. He was considerate, and though I’d claimed he was selfish the night he interrupted my date with Shelton, he would often place other people’s needs above his own. Especially his family’s. And if Ozzie fucked with you beyond a surface level, then that automatically made you family in his eyes.
Ozzie was a fixer, but he didn’t always possess the appropriate tools for the job. In an attempt to make things better, he’d break something else that never needed fixing. He had tunnel vision, and when he got an idea in his head, he latched on tight. Oz still cared about me; there was no denying that. But I lost sleep over whether he was stuck on the ideal of me, not the reality of who I was today.
Selecting the egg, cheese, and avocado breakfast burrito, I peeled back the aluminum wrapping and took a bite. Oz pulled away from my house, and I settled in for the long drive. “Just let me know when you want me to take over.”
“I just started driving.”
“I know, but I’m not here for decoration. I can pull my weight,” I said around a mouthful of eggs.
“You just sit back and look pretty, at least for the first few hours.”
“Mmm,” was my only response as I sipped on my coffee.
As we passed through town, whose residents were mostly still asleep, I unfolded a napkin, tucking it in the collar of Ozzie’s shirt, mindful not to distract him from driving. I grabbed his burrito, unwrapped it halfway, and pressed it to his mouth.
“You’re feeding me now?”
“You never eat on road trips, and when we get to our destination, you’re hangry. Just trying to avoid the inevitable from playing out this time.”
Oz smirked and took a bite. “As much as I love this, I think I got it from here.” He claimed the burrito with his free hand. “I spy with my little eye—”
“No, absolutely not. I hate car games.”
“That’s because everything is a competition for you.”
“The entire purpose of playing games is to win.”
“In my opinion, it’s about having fun.”
“Don’t act like you’re not competitive.”
“I definitely like winning, but for you it’s a must. The game didn’t matter… hide-and-seek, spades, cornhole—you never let up.”
“I grew up with Cyrus, who was a textbook overachiever. Do you have any idea what it’s like being the little sister to a wunderkind?”
“The only reason Cyrus went so hard was because you did.”
“Bullshit.” Cyrus excelled at everything. He didn’t even try—he was naturally smart, could talk circles around adults at the age of ten, was a bookworm who played football. Cy was one of one.
“He didn’t like you showing him up. But if he had his way, he would’ve preferred being a burnout.”
I turned to face Oz. “Except for the occasional puff of weed, Cy never did drugs.”
“He never let you see him doing drugs.”
The thought of my big brother feeling the need to keep up was absurd. I was always chasing Cyrus, and poor Edison was chasing both of us. “So, he was cool with getting shit-face drunk in my presence, but weed was where he drew the line?”
“Every man has a code.”
As I took another bite of my burrito, the You are now leaving the town of Hume sign passed us by. “How’s the ranch?”
“Fine.” Oz’s voice was hoppy, a telltale sign things were not fine. “Just Pops cracking the whip.”
“Do you guys have a lot of movies lined up?”
