Stevie: Nope. He got boring, and I got angsty.
I laugh to myself.
Me: You’re growing up. I’m so proud.
Stevie: Ha. Ha. Like you have any room to judge. When’s the last time you got laid dear sister?
I always hate acknowledging my sex life—or lack thereof, but even more now that I’ve fantasized about someone I definitely shouldn’t be fantasizing about.
Me: What do you want for dinner?
I need to change the subject.
Stevie: Always deflecting.
Me: Fine. I’m making you fish.
Stevie: You can’t cook and you don’t even like fish.
Stevie: Pizza.
Me: Veggie?
Stevie: I’d never touch anything else.
Me: Great, see you soon.
After placing our order, I return my phone to my nightstand, then drag my feet to the bathroom. I take a quick shower, letting the hot steam wash away every lewd thought entering my mind—although it does very little to tame them.I throw on some cotton joggers and a light, long sleeved cut off workout shirt before I get a notification that someone is at the front door.
“You have a key,” I shout before opening the door.
Stevie’s dressed in identical joggers to mine but with a light summer sweater. “I’m aware, but you so lovingly told me you don’t like it when I barge in.”
“How thoughtful of you,” I tease, making room for her to enter. I’m about to close the door behind her, but I can’t help but glance outside into the shadowy courtyard, imagining River’s dark figure lurking incorners, waiting for our usual meet-up time but I’m sure he isn’t out here yet.
Shaking off the daydream, I finally close the door and follow Stevie into my living room. She falls into my couch, tucking her feet beneath her and wrapping herself in a cream colored woven blanket. “I’m full of many emotions.”
I grab another throw from the back of the couch and take the spot next to her. “Why did you break things off with him?”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “He gotwaytoo obsessed, and honestly, twenty was a bit young, even for me.”
I laugh at her revelation. “I recall telling you something like that.”
“I know. I know.” She twists a loose thread around her finger. “I’m worried I’ll never find someone who accepts what I do for a living,” she confesses, a vulnerability I rarely see in her.
I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “The right person will.”
She returns my smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I know. I might play off that I’m happy with being a free spirit…” She pauses.” And I am, but sometimes it would be nice to be with someone who understands what it’s like toworkwith dead people.”
With a loving smirk, I say, “Wow. I’m proud of you for coming to that conclusion all by yourself.”
Stevie picks up on my humor and tosses a pillow at me.
I laugh and throw it back.
“Enough about me and my pity party. How’s writing going?” she asks, changing subjects.
You’d think that since I’ve been lying to her for over two weeks I’d get better at it, but I still find myself struggling with hiding things from my sister. “Um, good.” I stand and make my way to the kitchen to occupy myself while we wait for the pizza to get delivered.
