“Oh, don’t be like that,” she scolds, but still in that same chirpy, cheery voice. “It’s already nine. Don’t want to sleep the day away. And besides, if it were a normal week, wouldn’t you be up by now anyway?”
“But it’s not a normal week, Mom,” I grumble. “It’s a vacation. And I was up late working on my next paper.”
“Well, don’t work too hard,” Mom says, like she and Dad didn’t just tell me the other day that I need to be sure to commit myself to my studies, especially since I’m taking so many classes to try to catch up. It’s a constant barrage oftry your hardest but don’t work so hard, you’ll make yourself sick. And while I do believe they come at it from a place of genuine love and concern, the constant contradictions are exhausting. Like, I don’t actually need to be reminded to work hard, thanks. And if you want me to work hard, why are you griping at me about getting a head start on my paper due early next week? And the project due the day after?
This semester is almost over, and I just have to keep my head above water for a little longer, and then it’ll be finals, which honestly feels like a cakewalk after the second half of this semester, because it’s one or two things a day for a few days and then I’m done. And then it’s Christmas break, which I’m approaching with the same mix of relief and dread that I’ve been feeling about Thanksgiving break. Relief for the obvious reason that it’s a break from classes and school, but dread because I’ll be here, under my parents’ watchful eye, waiting for me to fuck up again.
“I made waffles for breakfast,” Mom says, backing out of the doorway. “Come and eat before they get cold.” With that, she closes the door behind her, leaving me in blessed silence once again. At least until I hear her knocking on Gray’s door across the hall. “Rise and shine!” comes through muffled, but clear enough.
At least I’m not the only one getting this treatment. Everything’s more bearable when there’s someone else suffering with you. I’m not exactly sure why Gray is here and not staying at his place, though I suspect it’s to give me moral support, and I’m grateful for it.
Gray’s always been like this. The shield.
I was the one with the wild ideas, cooking up harebrained schemes, and he was the voice of reason, getting me to maybe tone down the danger enough that none of us would get seriously injured or killed, and protecting me from trouble as much as he could. Claiming responsibility, or at least sharing in it, when we did get in trouble for the crazy ideas I came up with. Cleaning up my scrapes without telling Mom and Dad that time I almost fell out of the tree.
I’d climbed too high, then got scared when I looked down and saw how far down the ground was. In my fear, I grabbed a flimsy branch too hard, it broke, and I slid several feet down the tree before catching myself. Terrified, I clung to the tree until Gray climbed up after me, close enough that he could touch my leg, his calm voice guiding me down until we both reached the ground.
He helped me home and snuck inside to get Band-Aids and washcloths that he got wet from the backyard spigot, cleaning up the scrape on my cheek and my raw palms and forearms.
By the time we went in for dinner, Mom and Dad had just looked me over with a resigned sigh and asked if I was okay, then told Gray he needed to watch out for me.
“He did,” I always insisted during these conversations. “He helped me. It was my fault I scraped my arm and my cheek.”
“Well, be more careful.”
And that about sums up our whole family dynamic. Do everything. Take risks. But be careful. And Gray, look out for your sister.
And the first time that Gray wasn’t around to look out for me, I screwed up my life so bad that I got yanked back home and Gray transferred here to be the model big brother he’s always been.
Which is … great.
But also stifling.
Because when do I get to just be me? Don’t I get the chance to learn from my own mistakes? I have no intention of repeating what I went through with Brent. And while maybe Cal seems like him in some ways—the pretty, arrogant, douche vibe comes to mind—he’s also nothing like Brent.
Cal has goals other than partying and smoking pot, though it’s clear that he enjoys a good time, too. And after our conversation last night, I’m coming to realize that Cal likes spending time with me, and not just in the bedroom. He just wanted to hang out. And he could’ve called so many other people—most of the football team is still in town, for one thing—and instead he called me. And he’s been meeting me with hot chocolate after at least one class a day since we went out.
Maybe our little bet that started everything off was a weird way to pursue a girl, but A, it worked, and B, it also shows that he was interested inmeand not just any girl. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him look at another girl since that first party where he escorted me to the cooler and I turned him down cold.
When he told me to call him if I wanted to hang out, or not, whichever, something in my heart shriveled. He sounded so … dejected. And sad. It made me want to tell him I’d meet him at his place in twenty. Except …
I know how my parents would act if I said I was meeting a boy. And when Gray finds out I’m spending time with Cal?
I let out a deep sigh just thinking about it as I pull on a sweatshirt and slippers and head to the bathroom before going downstairs for breakfast. Gray’s already warned me off Cal once before, when nothing had really even happened between us.
Now?
I know Gray thinks he’s looking out for me. But he doesn’t know everything, after all. And I think he’s wrong about Cal. Or maybe he doesn’t see the same side of Cal that I’ve seen. I don’t doubt that Gray dislikes Cal for a reason.
But Cal’s been interested in me for a while. If anything, me being Gray’s sister should’ve scared him off already. And it didn’t. So despite his insistence that he doesn’t want anything serious, his behavior says otherwise.
Which is great, on the one hand, because I honestly don’t like the idea of him fucking around while we’re seeing each other. But on the other, I don’t really have time for anything serious right now either. Not with my class load.
Gray tromps down the stairs behind me in sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt, dropping into his usual chair across from me at the kitchen table. Mom’s still bustling around the kitchen, cleaning up the detritus from waffle making. Since it’s a Monday, Dad’s at work already. He’s currently designing a custom mansion of someone’s dreams.
It’s all very hush-hush, and he and Mom both had to sign an NDA, so all I know is that he’s working for someone famous and demanding, since he couldn’t take the week off like he normally does. But this is nothing new. He’s been doing high-end residential architecture since I was a kid, once he made the leap out of working for a commercial firm. Most of his work has had the name of the owner redacted from the pictures I’ve seen.
Mom’s schedule has always been more flexible. As the interior designer, she’ll have her hands full with this project later, once construction is finishing up. She works from home when she’s not on site, and she mentioned last week that she’s cleared her schedule for the week, which means she’ll be home all the time with no appointments or shopping trips taking up her time.
