Page 1 of That Time I Kissed My Brother’s Best Friend
ChapterOne
KASEY
“You’re late for Christmas, Kasey.” My mother announces this from the doorway of our turn-of-the-century Craftsman. She’s wearing jingle bell earrings and a necklace made from miniature twinkle lights. “Daddy and I told you to be home yesterday.”
Homeis Abieville, a small town on a big lake in the Adirondacks. From our backyard you can see the water. If it weren’t for all the trees, you could see the whole town.
“I got here as soon as I could,” I say, and my still-motion-sick stomach lurches as the wheels of my suitcase bump up the last step of the porch. “I took the redeye from LAX, a connecting flight through Denver, then a ride share at the Albany airport so no one would have to pick me up.”
“Nowonderyou look so terrible.” She gathers me in for one of her famous hugs. And byfamousI mean crushing. “Goodness, Kasey!” she shrieks. “Careful with my bulbs!”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Well.” She wipes both hands down her Mrs. Claus apron. “The good news is I think I smoothed things over with everybody.”
I wrinkle my nose. “About … your bulbs?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“About the fact that I look so terrible?”
“No.” She swats at a strand of red hair that’s slipped from her bun. “About the fact that you were late for Christmas. We’ve been over this already.”
My shoulders creep up, and I hazard a crooked smile. “But it’s only July 1st, Mom.”
She lifts a finger. “My point exactly!” She beams like she’s a lawyer resting her case. “The whole family was expecting to decorate the cousin tree last night. You know that’s Big Mama’s favorite part of the holidays. And the only reason we’re celebrating in July in the first place is to lift her spirits.” She glances at the house next door and lowers her voice. “Well. Hers and Aunt Remy’s.”
“I really am sorry.” My heart sinks like an anchor. “But you know I couldn’t reschedule my interview.” My mother stares at me, blinking. “For the job atThe Chronicle? The one where I’d be the youngest person ever to lead one of their departments?” Another couple blinks tell me my mom still doesn’t have a clue. “No big deal if you forgot,” I say.
But it’s kind of a big deal.
“Oh yes, that’s right.” She pats at her bun. “Your interview. AtThe Chronicle. Of course I remember you telling me.”
Nope. Don’t think you do.“Anyway, Ms. Witherspoon says she’ll be making her decision by the end of the week, which is good because the rent in LA is killing me.”
My mother clucks like a hen. Correction: like a hen in a Mrs. Claus apron. “If you need Daddy and me to help with—”
“No, thanks,” I interrupt. “I can make it on my own. I just need a full-time salary, ASAP.” I hoist my computer bag higher on my shoulder and adjust the grip on the handle of my suitcase. “Anyway, I’m all yours now. No distractions. Promise.”
My mother nods at the battered computer bag. “Then why did you bring your work bag? It’s not like you’re a doctor on a house call.”
Thanks for the reminder, Mom.
“I’m not planning to write,” I say. “The laptop’s just my little insurance policy.”
Her eyes go wide. “Against what?”
“Not a what,” I say. “Awhom.” And that whom is my brother, Brady. I peek past my mom into the house where Brady and I grew up. I haven’t lived here since high school, but Brady moved back for a while after college. He finally got his own place down the street, but I still expect him to jump out and prank me. Again. “If Brady tries anything while I’m home, he’ll end up in my next article. I can see the headline now: Brady Graham Breaks World Record for Worst Smelling Socks.”
Cluck. “That’s not funny, Kasey.”
“Come on, Mom.” I arch an eyebrow. “It’s a little bit funny.”
My mother’s mouth twitches. “Brady forgot one pair of socks in his gym bag for a few months back in middle school,” she says. “Is that a crime?”
“As the one who was in charge of laundry back then, I’m here to report the stink was basically a felony.” I crane my neck, trying to see over her shoulder again. “Can I come in yet, or are we going to stand out here on the porch talking about Brady’s feet?”
“You’re right!” My mother throws up her hands. “Well, get on in here, then.” She steps back to make room for me and almost knocks over a Yankee Candle on the console. It’s eggnog scented, which is perfect for ninety degrees and eighty percent humidity.
