Page 12 of That Time I Kissed My Brother’s Best Friend
Brady smirks. “You and Mrs. Slater sure have been busy making plans, huh, Mom?”
By now, my head’s officially spinning. This is a lot of information to take in after finding out Kasey Graham is in the same town as me. Scratch that. She’s in the sameroomwith me. And it sounds like we’re going to be together a whole lot more this week.
How did that happen? Who’s in charge here?
Mrs. Graham bobs her head. “You’re absolutely right, Beau.”
Wait. Did I say something out loud? Something that was absolutely right?
“We’ve got too many activities to keep track of.” Mrs. Graham glances at Brady. “Especially for those who struggle with time management. But I’ve got an idea.” She snaps her fingers. A real light bulb moment. “Kasey can make a big poster of this schedule to hang on the wall for everyone’s reference. You’ll do that for me, won’t you, Kasey?” Mrs. Graham doesn’t wait for a response. She just shoves the paper at her.
Kasey’s eyes go extra wide. She looks pretty blindsided. I know the feeling. “Sure, Mom.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Doc Martens. Nice. Cut off shorts and tan legs. Nicer.
Mrs. Graham claps her hands together just once. But loudly. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll just go finish up the potato salad.”
“Hey, Mom.” Brady raises his hand like we’re back in sixth grade and she’s our teacher. “Are the snickerdoodles ready yet?”
“No. So before you get your ugly sweater, I need you to come to the kitchen to open up some mayonnaise for me. I figure three jars ought to do it.”
Brady snorts. “That’s a lot of mayo for cookies, Mom.”
She frowns. “It’s for the potato salad. Now, come on. Let me borrow your muscles.”
“Still sounds like too much mayo,” he says.
“Brady, now!” Without waiting for a response, she charges back into the kitchen.
Brady looks at me and shrugs. “Sorry, man. Guess I’ll catch you later.” Then he leaves me alone with his sister.
Kasey Elizabeth Graham.
Oh, man. I’ve told myself a million times I’d be over her the next time I saw her. But here we are. And I’m so not over her. I am way, way under. For a couple of beats, we both stand there, saying nothing. When the heat starts creeping up my neck, I wish I had an ugly Christmas sweater on to hide it.
“So, Beau.” Kasey breaks the silence, but there’s an edge to her voice. A sharpness. “I hear you’re back from saving humanity,” she says. “One picture at a time.”
I duck my head. “Something like that.” I was aiming for humble, but I probably sound like a jerk. I’m epically blowing it, and I don’t know how to make it better. Then again, I can’t make things much worse.
She raises an eyebrow. “So where in the world are you off to next? What’s on the big hero’s agenda?”
I clear my throat. “I’m in between gigs at the moment.” This is technically true, although I’ve been coordinating my next freelance assignment for months. It’s a real score, partnering with a Pulitzer Prize winning photographer. A once in a lifetime opportunity. But right now, I just want to hang out in this living room with Kasey. “Anyway, I’ve got some free time on my hands.” I nod at the wrinkled paper. “I could probably help out with that poster.”
Kasey cocks her head. “With what?”
“The holiday schedule your mom asked you to make. I can help. But only if you—”
“Fine.” She chews her bottom lip. Then she disappears down the hall. Cabinets squeak open and slam shut. When she returns, she’s got a roll of butcher paper, a box of colored markers, tape, and scissors. “Here you go.” She sets the supplies on the coffee table. “I’ll be back in a half hour to check your work. This is important to my mom, so try not to screw it up.”
She spins on a heel, and I watch her head up the stairs.
Wait. What just happened here, Beau?
Wow. She still really hates me. And I’m stuck here, fighting some battle between wanting to fix things with her and needing to stay loyal to Brady. He’d kill me if he knew half the stuff I’ve thought about his sister over the years. Now I just have to get through this week. Then I’ll be gone again. And Kasey can go back to being a memory.
In the meantime, I said I’d help her out. So I hike up my board shorts and drop to my knees in front of the butcher paper. How different can making a poster be from making photographs? It’s all art, right? I take a beat. Wait for inspiration. Something to give me an idea of how to begin...Nope. Nada. Nothing.
That’s all right. Like any new task, I won’t get anywhere without diving in, so I open the markers and the top of the box rips off in my hand. Great.
Strike one, Beau.
